I had a really good day at work today. Despite quantum-sized fuck-ups by our health care system to keep my day fraught with action, I had my quarterly review from the higher-ups to keep me on pins and needles. My anxiety was through the roof. This was no panic attack, this was sheer terror.
My group sessions were observed and I was interviewed on my knowledge of company policy, my skill level, and what I plan to improve for the sake of my patients.
…So I was basically interviewed for a job I already have.
And my boss said I nailed it. (Again.)
Climbing this mountain means several things. Most importantly that I have to give myself a little more credit. I spend so much time scared of what I don’t know that I forget how much I actually know. I’m no expert – the patient is always the expert – but I do know a few techniques that may be able to help a few people out there. Myself included.
Sometimes it’s difficult for me to acknowledge how far I’ve come in my recovery because it’s a little uncomfortable at times. Sliding back into my “hole,” as I call it, is where I spent most of my life. It’s where I felt – and still feel – most comfortable. Being in the land of the living requires energy, motivation, willpower… Things that I may not have all of at one time. However, comfortable isn’t always good. How many people have been in relationships with toxic friends/partners and stayed because of comfort or familiarity? My hole is home because it’s all I’ve known; it was not a choice. Sometimes that pit in the ground calls my name – those days when I’m stuck in the bed and can’t move, when I stay up until 6 in the morning and wake up at 10am fully rested. That’s when I remember how many decades it took me to escape from that thing. And I remember how many others it continues to house and those it has swallowed.
I don’t think life is supposed to be comfortable. I think comfort is strictly for describing furniture.