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I’ve had a good two weeks working at hospital. Well, actually, this week was much better than the first, but you get the gist of it. I’m finally starting to get the hang of it again.

I’m working at a psychiatric inpatient unit. So far I like it a lot. My attending has given me good feedback, at least for having been only my first two weeks. We’ll see if I can keep it up.

I had three patients thank me this week, which felt great. Then I had a patient get significantly better. He said his symptoms were the mildest they had ever been for the past 3 to 4 years. And he thanked me profusely, even said his mood was “excellent”. And guess who changed his medications? Me (with my attending’s approval of course).

I still don’t feel quite like a doctor, but I’ll get there. My attending keeps reminding me to present myself as DOCTOR Dana. I keep forgetting the doctor part, haha.

And I still feel like an idiot frequently, but less so this week at least.

I have a lot in my head regarding my work so far. My feelings and thoughts are very convoluted. I’ll post more about that this weekend.

As for my own mental health… I’m in a very good place right now. Been able to keep it up. No extreme homesickness so far. However, I’ve been terribly crappy at taking my Prozac. I forget every other day, practically. And then I go to hospital and make sure my patients take their medications so they get better and reach some stability. Geez, can’t even do that for myself.

But I’m OK…right now. I’m just worried about this becoming a slippery slope. I don’t have a psychiatrist or therapist yet in the city that I adore, and I’m starting to get worried. It’s not that I need one right now (although I am running out of meds…shit), it’s that I don’t want to fall in the hole and then be forced to look for one. I’d rather prevent all that from even beginning to happen.

But I’m so lazy you guys! Right now I have time to see a psychiatrist or therapist, but I’m so friggin’ lazy to go and do it. I’m so tired by the end of the workday (and my workday really isn’t that long, to be honest), I have no energy for doctors’ appointments. My work in the unit seems simple, but the truth is I’m always moving and always doing something.

There’s never a dull moment or no work to do. I didn’t think I’d get physically tired so easily at first, but oh how wrong I was…

 

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I’ve had a nasty flu for the past few days. Had to miss out on dance class today because of that, ugh.

Yesterday I finally received word on that teeny tiny apartment I was meaning to rent blindly. My application was accepted. All that’s missing now is my signing the lease forms and such. So it seems, I almost have a place to live in the city that I adore. That took a huge weight off my shoulders. For some reason I’d been working myself up so much over this apartment. It wasn’t letting me sleep.

In addition to that, yesterday I had the LEEP performed. It was quick and everything was fine. And hopefully it took care of everything and I won’t have to deal with this again. Hopefully the HPV infection won’t persist. But only time will tell.

I also saw R yesterday. It went well. It was kind of a farewell session, it being my next-to-last appointment with her. It was weird because I felt I didn’t have much to say. Back when I was in the hole, I always had something to say. But nowadays I sometimes feel I’m just narrating my day-to-day to G and R. And that’s really good, actually, because it means I’m managing on my own mostly and need less help from them. That’s progress. Lots of it.

So I spent part of the session reminiscing about how when I started seeing her everything was so different. I was terribly vulnerable, crushed, and needed help. R said she was proud of me and that she has no doubt in her mind about my excelling at whatever life brings me from now on.

We spoke about treatment, what I want to do and what she recommends. We agreed I’ve been in remission for quite a while now and could stop my Prozac. However, she recommends I should keep it up during this transition time going into residency and stop it 6 months after I’ve felt stable and well in the city that I adore. I agree and that’s what I’ll do. Stopping Prozac now is simply not an option.

In addition, R also said she wants me to keep going to therapy in the city that I adore. She said having the added support is not a bad idea during the transition time and that while training as a psychiatrist I will be faced with difficult situations that will potentially trigger me. She thinks having my own therapist will help not only me but my patients, as I can deal with countertransference issues with my new therapist. Plus, having my own therapeutic process is important if I’m interested in doing psychotherapy in the future. I agree with her 100%.

It’s weird, knowing my next appointment with her is my last. And it’s weird to think I’ll be going through the same thing with G at the same time. But I feel I’ll be ok. We’ll see what happens.

Well, enough rambling for today. I’m kind of out of it with this flu.

I forgot what I was going to post about. Bummer.

Either way, this is a short one. It’s been a little over a week since I’ve again begun another sleepless rut. I manage to fall asleep at night after a little while and then I spend the night tossing and turning while half asleep or wide awake. Then I wake up early on my own. And I spend the whole day like a zombie unless I have some activity to distract me.

I hate these sleepless ruts. I think this one has a lot to do with my currently crappy sleep hygiene. Plus, the stress of the Match is both consciously and unconsciously affecting me. And, finally, suddenly coming to a halt with my activities and having nothing to do for now after a period of high stress such as interviews has really gotten to me. I can’t seem to turn off my brain and I’m always feeling like I forgot something I had to do. But I have nothing to do! Cue the vicious cycle…

Obviously what worries me about the sleepless ruts is that after a while they really get to me and can result in triggering depression. I’m starting to feel it getting to me, so naturally I’m worried.

Seems like I’ll be limiting my social media after hours in the next few days. Plus, popping some Ambien…much to my dismay (I’m not a fan of messing with my sleep’s chemistry).

Oh! Now I remember what I was gonna post about! Right, I guess it’s for another day then…

 

All right, ladies and gents…my update is long overdue.

Interview season has really fucked up my blogging, what with the unstable housing and not knowing where I’ll be one day or the next. I’ve discovered, during this time, that I actually don’t like being a nomad as much as I thought I did. The instability takes my long-held hobbies and shakes them up. Hence, writing has been sparse, art has been sparse, dance has been sparse…everything.

But I’m still here, kicking and screaming. I have 4 more interviews left, might actually cancel the last one and make that 3. That’s a total of 10 interview offers, waitlists pending, 2 programs I won’t rank, and probably 7 programs I’ll rank in the end….making it 8 because one has a research track I’ll be ranking too. The savings I’ve had for years have disappeared in the span of 3 months. All I’m saying is: this shit better be worth it.

And the Russian? Russian no more. That asshole. No good piece of shit. He ghosted on me. Approximately 2 months of dating and he completely disappeared, just like that. After one month of waiting, I texted him again after he appeared in my facebook newsfeed (he’s like a unicorn on facebook, so if he has time for that, it means he has free time for sure). I just want him to send me my fucking earrings (he has a postage store right across the street from his place…I mean, c’mon). Obviously, my message went unanswered, just like the ones before that.

It bothers me how nasty he’s been. He’s shown his slimy, true colors all right. And it bothers me, because like him there’s many other people out there. I mean, seriously, he must think I’m the teeniest human being to ever grace the Earth to have the indecency to ignore me in such a way. To me, that’s disgusting.

Ghosting is disgusting. Don’t ghost, my friends. Don’t be such asses. If you don’t like someone, just throw your ball of shame out the window and tell them straight up. It shows you respect the other person.

But, the Russian? Good riddance. Because, there’s another guy I met. A friend of a friend. Might post more about him if it goes any further. What’s important about him is he made me realize I deserve love. And nice things. And a good man. So, even if nothing solid happens with this new guy, I’ll be forever grateful for his entering my life. He made me realize I put the Russian on a pedestal when all along he was a bleached, hairy little ass. We’ll call this new guy C for now.

And just to show you how awesome C has been….the Russian half-joking/half-serious told me not to be my weird and goofy self during interviews. He was appalled at how goofy and unpredictable I could get at times. Meanwhile, when I asked C if my weirdness scared him, he answered with: “No. It’s what I like about you.”

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I felt an explosion in my pelvic area when he said that. It was my ovaries.

So, that’s the good stuff in my life right now. The kinda shitty stuff encompasses family and food. The two F’s.

My previous post was right after Christmas. I felt like crap. My mom was in a terrible mood on Christmas because the night before we had a small argument. She, in a bitter tone, mentioned she isn’t going to visit me if I match for residency somewhere far away from here (which is pretty much everywhere I’m planning on ranking…oops!). She’s been saying that for a while now. It’s her way of dealing with the coming empty nest. Like I’ve said before, my mom has the emotional mind and defense mechanisms of a 2 year-old. I get that. I get her pain. I can’t imagine how difficult it must be (seriously).

But…I wish she’d just go with the flow and root for me in spite of the pain, the way my dad has been doing. He’s always rooting for me in spite of obviously not wanting me to leave. So, I told my mom she’s making me feel like shit with her comments and snide jabs. Cue the small argument.

She behaved like this when each of my sisters left. It’s nothing new. But it sucks all the same. I’ll have to suffer through it. I know she’s just talking shit. I know she’ll come visit me. I’ll just have to…suffer through her wrath for now.

As for food…I purged two days in a row now. I’ve been eating terribly. I know I’ve gained weight. I’d say the eating disorder monster was hibernating for a bit there and it’s slowly waking up again. Thank you for nothing, holiday season. Trying to hide your eating disordered ways during this time only results in gaining weight because of all the excess food that’s constantly on the table. But that only causes the ED behaviors to rear their ugly heads later on if you’re not fully recovered or in a good place mentally. Hence, the nasty ED cycle during the holidays.

So, here I am, very slowly trying to decrease my portions without anyone noticing, going back to my fasting ways. To me, purging is just the instant relief I need at rare times. My baseline is eating small portions/fasting. That sounds horrible, and it probably is, but I’d rather have that than be fat.

Oh, and as a side note, I’ve been terrible at taking my Prozac lately. Just like with blogging/writing. And no therapy because it’s the holidays! Gee-whiz, no wonder my mind has been tending toward the dark side. But no. No no no no. I refuse.

That’s that for now, my people. I’ll get back to your comments and emails soon. I’m falling asleep as I type this.

 

Ah, I think I’m depressed again. Though I don’t want to call it that. I’m feeling shitty. Yeah, that feels just about right.

It just so happens that I’ve been kind of crappy with my Prozac since I left home to visit the Russian in October. And I haven’t had therapy in who knows how  the fuck long. G and R? I don’t know who they are anymore. I also haven’t been writing as much and today and yesterday I tried to sketch but I couldn’t even doodle. Sigh.

And I know what triggered it all. In addition to the obvious (the Russian, interview season, thinking about my goddamn future on a daily basis…) I’ve been back home for a few days now. It was like turning on a switch.

I’m back in the noise and with my parents, but most of all back to this tired old place where I’m from and which I’m so sick and tired of. It doesn’t change. It literally does not change. If you visited this place 50 years from now you’d find the same people, the same conversations, the same problems. I’ve always been an outcast here, and having the joy of pretending I was a nomad across the different states for a month now made me forget just how much I don’t fit in here.

Also, not helping my depression is the fact that I need a fucking car to get anywhere interesting here. Sounds stupid, but it’s much easier for me to balance my emotions when I know I can just pick up my two legs and go somewhere within 5 minutes without having to turn on a car and think about gas, traffic, or road rage. So, I lock myself in my room because it’s just fucking easier and it’s my comfort zone…hence the isolation and falling into depression again.

And then there’s my parents. The same old tired crap that drags me down again and again. I love them to bits but my god, I cannot live with them anymore. Anything they do or say sends me spinning into bitch-mode.

I’ll be leaving for another interview in a few days. Then I’ll be a tourist somewhere else for a few more days. Then I have to come back and study for Step 2 CS. Oh the excitement…

And the Russian. Nothing there, obviously. Texted him today because he has a pair of earrings that I adore and left in his apartment. I refuse to leave them there. I suggested he ship them or we meet up quick when I’m back in the city that I adore in January for an interview. I was crossing my fingers he’d say meet-up, but was expecting having to text him my address. No answer. No nothing. Texted him again, nicely, asking him if he had any preference. Again, nothing.

I’m so fucking heartbroken you guys. I want to be angry at him and I know it’s what I should be, because he’s the one avoiding me and not showing face. But I can’t help but think that I was just wrong in sending him that angry text (which wasn’t even insulting, by the way, it was firm and angry but not indecent). I keep thinking about the small things we shared before it all went downhill…the conversations, the uncanny coincidences in things we liked and just the things we talked about, the movies we liked and joked about, the conversations about medicine and philosophical stuff, him saying “I love listening to you ramble”, the kisses, the intimacy, the jokes we shared, the places we went together, that cute smile of his, and that fucking geeky laugh he has that makes me weak in the knees because it makes his tough exterior melt away for just the teeniest second…..

I miss him you guys. And there’s no getting him back. There’s no fucking getting him back (ah, hello tears…they’re starting to well up). I fucking ruined it.

And of course that sends me on a tailspin of thinking: Oh I don’t want to be a doctor anymore, fuck I don’t want to be a psychiatrist, why am I even interviewing for residency?, I’m a good for nothing idiot, I’m fat and pathetic, can’t even hold onto a great guy who was interested, I just want to crawl in a fucking hole and wither away and die in my own fucking shit.

Last night I couldn’t sleep. I can’t sleep anymore. The noise in this house and this fucking neighborhood just don’t let me sleep. The noise in my head, thinking about interviews and the teeniest details about what I answered, what I did wrong here and there, how I would rank the programs, where I would be willing to compromise where I not to match in my #1 program (which is very possible)….it’s all keeping me awake at night.

And then come the thoughts of wanting to die, the suicidal thoughts that never come to fruition because fuck, if I’ve made it this far I’m not just going to kill myself on a whim (in my case, I know it’s “on a whim”…I know myself well enough to know that the thoughts will wither away after a while, doesn’t mean it’s “on a whim” for others though).

And then, by fucking g-d….I wake up in this fucking good-for-nothing place that offers me, you guessed it: NOTHING. This place offers me zero opportunities, zero life, zero happiness. The only things I find here are my parents and siblings, my friends, and my dogs. Nothing else.

So I wake up. Go back to sleep. Wake up. Go back to sleep. Dream about the Russian never coming back home from work. Wake up. Go back to sleep. Dream about the Russian avoiding me during an interview day where we coincided. Wake up. Can’t go back to sleep. Hate myself. Sit on the bed. Get up. Open the blinds….and fuck, I’m still in this shitty place they call my hometown. I’m here again. Stuck again.

I go through the day. I eat dinner. Hate myself for it. Purge a bit. Feel the high. Alone.

No Russian. No new interview invites. No new adventures. No place to grow. It all withers away the moment I start to get comfortable. Hurting so much.

(And yes, I’m crying.)

 

I exploded yesterday and it wasn’t pretty. It was like watching a modern day version of the Chernobyl disaster.

However, I did exaggerate a bit yesterday when I posted and said that now my parents know everything. I didn’t quite tell them everything. I told them I was abused for 5 years….well, I screamed at the top of my lungs that I was abused for 5 years. So, now my parents know. And the neighbors too. Plus their Memorial Day BBQ guests. And when I say “neighbors” I really mean everybody within a 200 foot radius (or maybe 500 feet?). Now, I didn’t tell my parents about the food issues. So, yeah, I didn’t tell them everything.

Ok, I give up trying to minimize what I told them. I told them a shitload. Period.

I haven’t been doing well these last two weeks in part because of some issues related to my sister MM and her husband. They’ve been having some problems that have involved also my sister Y and it has all turned into a big, glob of a monster-mess threatening what little integrity the family had. And I’m basically the only one supporting MM during this whole ordeal, so I’ve been carrying on my shoulders her issues in addition to mine. I knew I was stretching myself thin, but I pushed through.

My parents, knowing I am MM’s confidante, were all over me, asking me what was wrong with MM, creating more tension and putting more pressure on me. So, I snapped.

It started with my angrily going over to dad to tell him everything. It ended with both my parents sitting in front of me, in complete shock and sometimes confronting me while I screamed at the top of my lungs about everything that was wrong in the family, and their marriage, and their attitudes, and what was happening with MM, and my own issues, and how I was depressed, and suicidal, and had been abused for 5 years and…..it was a horrible word vomit. And of course it included all the theatricals, with sweat dropping down my forehead, tears and snot running down my nose.

Oh my….I still can’t believe I did that. I feel an incredible amount of shame, to be honest. I feel horrible.

Since that mess yesterday things have been calm at home; heck, even friendlier than usual. But I still feel like shit. I said too much and not in a pretty way. At least my dad agreed with a lot of what I said and he listened and later told me I opened his eyes to a lot of issues. My mom’s reaction was combative, as is usual for her, but she was surprisingly receptive every now and then.

I just feel so ashamed. There is just no other word to describe what I feel. And to think now my parents know the truth. 98% of it. I basically have no secrets to tell them anymore. I feel like I’ve been standing naked in front of a completely silent audience since yesterday. Talk about feeling vulnerable.

My dad said to me at one point after the mess that he wanted to talk to me in the coming days. He said it didn’t have to be today, tomorrow, or even this week, but he told me to think about it. I know he wants to talk about the abuse. I’m just glad he didn’t ask me anything yesterday or today, even. I’m glad he made himself available and is obviously worried, but gave me some space. Heck, maybe it’s because he simply doesn’t know how to approach the issue, but either way I’m glad he reacted that way. At one point during my nuclear word vomit, after I mentioned the abuse, I even said I didn’t want any hugs, kisses, or anything from him, and he seemed to just get it. He finally understood why I have trouble with that.

Mom, on the other hand, had a different reaction. I approached her a few hours after the mess and asked her if she had anything she wanted to say to me. She was calm, and said no. Then she said she was tired when she noticed I didn’t believe her. But I decided to leave it at that. I’m just….afraid she might not believe me about the abuse, to be honest. And I’m afraid she might never address the issue or….geez, I’m just afraid of what she thinks or will think.

So that’s what happened yesterday. I don’t know where to go from here. I’m honestly not expecting things at home to change, probably they’ll change for a bit and then go back to how they were. I just….don’t know what to do with myself. Should I apologize? Should I leave it at that? Should I cross my fingers and hope for the best? I don’t know. I have no clue.

And, to finish this post on a lighter note, I had a medication mix-up today. Instead of my usual 30mg of Prozac that I take in the morning I accidentally took 20mg of Ambien right after I woke up. I realized something was wrong when, halfway through breakfast I noticed one of my dogs had two heads instead of one….and when I stood up I had the nastiest ataxic gait (that’s walking like a drunk, to my non-medical readers)….then I think I hallucinated at one point (nothing serious)….then the amnesia….then the hiccups….

Yeah, don’t take 20mg Ambien on an empty stomach. I spent the day knocked out in my room, which was fine since I was too ashamed of myself to even take out the trash.

I guess they don’t call it Memorial Day weekend for nothing.

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“Shit, that wasn’t Prozac….”

A lot has happened this past week, and yet I feel completely out of it. I get a few pangs of emotion, for maybe an hour or so, the most recent being about 3 hours ago due to a really bad trigger. But other than that, my emotional side is disconnected from everything else. I don’t feel much and time feels warped.

To top it all off, I’m feeling horribly full right now. And there’s barely anything in my diary from these last couple of days. I feel like a robot.

Being away from home for a few days has proved to be both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because I don’t have to deal with all the negative energy at home. A curse because I feel alone and am already, after so many years, conditioned to perpetuate the negative energy even when I’m on my own. So, I’ve discovered, I don’t need my parents to feel shitty. I do that to myself as is. *sigh*

I talked about food with both G and R this week. G said I don’t eat so I can avoid being sexually attractive. R said I don’t eat because communication in my family is based solely around food, so my way of rebelling against that is to not eat. They’re both right. It’s not a simple issue.

The appointment with R left me feeling exhausted and tense. She was talking more than usual and gave me some very tough love. She got me thinking about a lot of things, and yet I feel so disconnected from it all now, as though none of it happened. Same thing with G. Back to square one.

Today hasn’t been much about food, but pretty much entirely about The Ex. I ended up having flashbacks a few hours ago and I had to take a nap. I know when you’re having flashbacks you’re supposed to be nice to yourself, to take your time, to ground yourself, to be kind to yourself and breath, take a warm bath, or whatever….but really all of that is time consuming and I have a lot of studying to do. But of course I can’t study with a million flashbacks in my head…hence the nap. It’s a constant battle between my responsibilities and having compassion for myself during difficult times.

Most everything having to do with sex triggers me immensely, and that was the case today. I felt like I was back in The Ex’s house, back in his room, in his bed, feeling the cold floor beneath my feet, the soft light, the dampened noise, the strange and cold/humid air, lying on a queen-sized bed, condoms, cold sweat, saliva, fucking humidity everywhere…I felt small…so small and vulnerable.

I felt terrified because I felt I was there again. I knew I wasn’t there, I knew I was in an apartment far away from him. Yet, I felt I was there again with him, in his house, in his room, in his bed, breathing the same air. Being used. His fatness coming into contact with my small body. Fungal infection in his toe web and all. Disgusting.

I tried to ground myself, but I was too tired to even think. So instead, I took a nap. It didn’t work much.

I feel my body is working against me. I try to have a healthy relationship with my sexuality, but it’s almost impossible. Arousal is a mix of good and bad things for me. Things that feel kind of good but horribly bad at the same time. Ugh…I don’t even know how to explain this. It’s an infinite abyss of confusion. My body responds one way, my mind responds in another. My body responds to the here, the now, while my mind responds to The Ex. Pleasure and terror. Hence, the confusion.

You know why I love my Prozac so much? Because it makes me feel asexual. And feeling asexual means no arousal, no confusion, no sex, no nothing.

I’m afraid of everything right now. Tense and anxious. I have to go distract myself….again.

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