Well, THIS sucks.
I haven’t hit bottom, but it feels like the bottom is rushing up to meet me and I’m not sure what to do about it. Most of it is situational, but I think my brain has caught onto the fact that the Celexa is gone and it’s paying me back for trying to hide it with other medications.
The situational stuff is easy to figure out. A close family member is in crisis again/still, and told his Dad last night that he wanted to jump off a bridge. His Dad does not need to hear that, but on the other hand I’m glad he’s at least communicating with someone, as he’s still mad at me for not allowing him to move in with us when his marriage fell apart and Wifey kicked him out of the house. I love him dearly, but we’ve enabled him too many times, and he’s learned nothing. Zip. Zilch. Nada.
So I decided that it was time for him to grow a pair and figure out his own problems, because it will never happen if he thinks he can crash on our sofa every time he fucks up his life. That does not, of course, relieve me of the burden of guilt when he calls his father and tells him that he’s been alternating nights in a homeless shelter and sleeping in his wife’s car. In 25* weather. In a big, dangerous city. With the holiday season approaching.
The trouble is, I never know when he’s lyin’ or when he’s truthin’; and not to put too fine a point on things, but the most obvious clue that he’s lying is if his mouth is moving. He could’ve just as easily been at his new girlfriend’s house—the one he took up with two days before his wife threw him out—as in a shelter. He told his Dad that he had a job interview today; I can’t help but question that as he made no mention of it when he called late last night. Long story short, his life is a hot mess, he has mental problems that he will not even acknowledge, let alone seek help for, and he is wearing out his welcome everywhere he goes.
Then there’s my own job situation. Damn my brain, it teases and tempts me with possibilities, even as I know that I’d be insane to think I could do anything with them. I’ve spent a good amount of time over the past few days trying to figure all the angles, to see if there’s any way at all that I could do the job I interviewed for, and hating myself because I can’t find one. To get thisclose to my dream of becoming a Somebody and achieving some form of economic security—and not being quite able to touch it—is soul-killing, and inside I am raging against the Fates that have apparently determined that I shall stay mired in mediocrity for the rest of my days.
This is not how things were supposed to work. This was my last chance to be something more than what I am right now—a rapidly aging nurse who can’t really even BE a nurse anymore—and my sick brain blew it for me. I had no business even interviewing for that position…..damn grandiose thinking had me believing for a minute that I could actually do it. What I should have done was thank the panel for speaking with me, and then ask them to remove my name from consideration because there is no way in Hell that I can travel and work irregular hours without getting sick.
But I didn’t, and now I’m actually praying that I’ll receive a letter saying “thanks but no thanks”. The prospect of having to turn down the position infuriates me……I feel like I’m giving in to my limitations, and as we all know, I do not do that gracefully. And while I realize that I’m heading into a depression and it will pass, it feels right now like the last spark of hope for a late-in-life resurgence has been extinguished.