That’s right. Third double shift in a row.
I can’t remember what I even ate for breakfast this morning or what my plans are for tomorrow morning.
No wait. I do remember. It’s too much to talk about. As the night drags on, I’m finding myself sinking into a pit of loneliness. I’m tired. I’m always tired.
I thought this was supposed to get better. I thought I was supposed to be getting better.
I can’t call anyone. I hate talking about it, but I can’t keep it inside. I remember what happened last time.
People fine their way to me. I’m “approachable,” “easy to talk to,” and “I’m trustworthy.” All great characteristics. Nothing bad about that. What is? It’s that I want to help so much that I am dragging myself down not even realizing it.
I’m sitting here. Alone. On the couch. With a cat laying on me because I’m “that crazy cat lady” with the cats she didn’t want in the first place. I’m am hurting a pain that I have never felt before. One of regret and guilt. A guilt that tells me I will never be loved the way I should and the regret that I wish I was better than I was.
Third double shift. I guess staying busy doesn’t account for how much I feel like losing myself on the inside.
In the middle of all the chaos at work, I found my chest pounding. My mind lost track of order. My world was spinning. A panic attack. It’s been a while since my last one. I can’t live like this.
People come to me who deal with the same thing and just want someone to be there, so I’m there.
I need someone, too.