Today was worse than a nightmare.
I’ve been feeling rather run down the past few weeks. Little sleep, working more than 40 hours a week… it’s been exhausting.
I’ve also been going through a depression episode.
I woke up later than I had originally wanted to. Not a big deal though. I wasn’t really running late, just not as early as I had wanted to be. Got to work on time and was scheduled with one of our best servers and one of our… competent yet still not strong servers. I’m a decent enough server, but this was just the preparation for the perfect storm.
Because I was one of the stronger servers, I was being constantly sat during our first rush. Well, that rush never ended. I never caught up. Soon enough, I was completely overrun. I was running everywhere, taking orders where I could, trying to drop off tickets and seeing if tables liked their food enough. Then, I just screwed up. Something just clicked the wrong way and my body snapped. My heart was racing, I started hyperventilating, and I felt sick. I went to the bathroom, tried to calm down as much as I could. I then tried to get back on the floor. The first table I went to complained about my service, or lack thereof, which was perfectly reasonable seeing as I didn’t do anything, but was definitely nothing I could handle at that moment.
Today, I broke.
Today, I broke, and the hospital had to fix me.
The panic attack came back. I went to the break room. I don’t really remember that much. It’s all kind of muddy. I remember looking down at one of the tool boxes sitting on the floor in our paper storage room and seeing a hammer. I wanted to beat myself with it. I wanted to find something sharp or blunt or anything really.
That’s when I knew I couldn’t go home alone.
Not if I wanted to be breathing tomorrow.
Some how, I got hold of my sister. She took me straight to the ER. I was completely numb, shattered. I couldn’t look up from the ground. I answered questions my shaking my head yes or no or one-worded answers. I didn’t feel pain when they drew blood. A lot of doctors came in. I didn’t look at any of their faces. If you were to ask me to point out the nurse who helped me through the entire ordeal in a room with 3 other nurses, I wouldn’t know.
I got a wristband at some point. My dad wants me to take it off. I know this scared him. He hates suicide more than anything. Calls it cowardice. While he understands depression, self-harm, and anxiety through his being a psychologist, he gets mad at me for being suicidal. He gets angry.
He didn’t believe that I had depression until today.
I’m just very sad that this is what it took for him to realize how much help I really need.
I don’t take pleasure in playing saxophone anymore. It makes me nervous. It reminds me how terrible of a saxophonist I really am. I can’t bring myself to go to a practice room. I can’t.
I hate my body. I do. I starve myself, then I binge eat, and I eat like shit, and it’s a horrible, vicious cycle.
I’m terrified for next semester. I’m not prepared to go back to school at all.
I’m very uncomfortable around people I used to call and do call friends.
My self-esteem has hit rock bottom. The job I took pride in broke me today. The girl who had her whole life figured out 6 years before college doesn’t even want to see that life or any life anymore. My friend group has dissolved into smaller sections that are more exclusive. The religion I was taught my whole life… I don’t even have faith in a god anymore. A car ride with my dad back home was pure torture as he avoided the conversation that needed to be addressed.
My depression didn’t stay in that hospital and it certainly didn’t start there either.
I’ve hit the bottom.
I’ve really hit my lowest point thus far.
People will be optimistic and tell me that I “can only go up from here”.
They are so wrong.
Just as there is always a way up, there’s always a way down further. That is, until you reach the ultimate destination.
Death: that constant that goes neither up nor down.
I know I can go both ways here. I don’t want to be like this anymore.
I’m seeing a new doctor plus a therapist. I’m on a new medication. I’m taking steps to get there.
It’s just frustrating that I’d take these steps only to have this big of a mental break down.
It gets worse each time.
Here’s to hoping that this is the last one.