Get out your crash helmets because here comes the crazy.....

I know I'm PMSing. Irrational thoughts and irritability are allowed. But after working a few doubles this week I've come to realize why I hate my job.

It begins with my intermittent FMLA. Thank you Bill Clinton. Being nuts sucks. Being nuts and being around crazy people sucks even more. I had sudden on set symptoms a while back and did not meet the 2 hour window for calling out. My boss told me between that and my tardiness that HR was going to give me a final written warning. I explained to my boss that I thought I was exempt from the 2 hour window if it fell under my intermittent FMLA. HR said I was still expected to comply to the standard expectation of 2 hours notice. Told my boss I remember reading somewhere that I didn't have to. Guess what? I was right fuckers! But it's obviously a battle. The administration wants me gone. I want to keep my shitty job because it's the only one I've got and the economy sucks right now. I've started by calling the labor board. Up next is the Department of Health, OSHA, and possibly JAICHO.

So what's so shitty about this job? Wait before we go there, let's talk about what's good about this job. Money. I'm well paid to sit on my ass and make sure people are still breathing. I get to use my computer. Benefits. The health insurance isn't too bad, and much better than most. And lastly, I'm union. What's this mean in layman's terms? I plan on using every last ounce of resourcefulness to tell the administration to fuck off. I'm keeping my job.

Working 2nd reminded me why I hate my job. I've worked a decent amount of overtime lately so I've done everything I can to try and get 3 days off in a row. My boss won't sign off for overtime, so I'm S.O.L. I ask if I can get coverage for my Saturday instead of this Wednesday. "No, I have to check the schedule." In other words, I can suck your dick and let you come in my mouth, but when I ask for a kiss, I'm told to fuck off. Yeah, this game's about over.

I remember when I took this job. I didn't want to change the world. I knew I couldn't heal anyone or fix anyone, but if I could offer some comfort to someone in their suffering I believed I could make a difference.

I was naive. I thought the people around me felt the same way. I thought they believed in compassion. Instead, now that I've joined the dark side of bitterness and hatred, I see people who have been abused and beaten up by the administration. Their efforts to make the milue what it should be have been beaten down and insulted by the administration in one way or another.

If I'm working an evening shift I have to take .5 Klonopin before I start. I remember when I first started I wanted to read charts. I was told on orientation that this is not only ok, but encouraged. But when I sat down to learn about the patients I'd gotten yelled at too many times for being behind the desk. Slowly, they sucked my desire to know the people I was taking care of out of me.

As I would flip through the pages of the charts, I'd often wonder what fine line held me from being more like them. Horrible histories that only a fellow survivor can understand were written out before me. Why did they flip their shit entirely, and me not so much? Today, I don't even bother to read the charts. I'm lucky if I know their names. What's the point? We're all fucked in the end.

As I herded them into the dining room for relaxation group (which is where we sit around and listen to music), I remembered how I had lofty ambitions to improve this group to have meaning and purpose. I did extensive research; consulted with a licensed hypnotist, and began writing papers to support my techniques and methods that I wanted to use in relaxation group. Yoga, guided meditation, breathing techniques. I went out and learned everything I could about it. All for nothing. It all fell to the way side because the administration doesn't care about the quality of care we give. It's a line we are fed that this is an evidence based practice. Here's my practice based on this research. Nah, how can we save a buck?

I was done. They'd beaten me down so much I switched to third shift. I didn't have anything left to give to my patients. I could no longer support them through their suffering by offering my empathy. All I can do now is watch them sleep and listen to them snore.

I have no more to give. I saw a patient crying after she got off the phone with her husband. Yes, part of me wanted to be nosy and know what was going on. But part of me wanted to let her know that she wasn't alone. Help her process the moment in the moment. I couldn't do that because I was bogged down with the mundane tasks of doing 15 minute checks; vital signs, blood sugar testing, passing trays, and cataloging new admissions belongings. No time to care, just time to do. That's the way to save a dollar. What's amazing is I have a Bachelor's in Psychology to do this shit. If they really wanted to save some money they should get a fucking monkey.

Today the final shred of my broken heart fell as I walked onto the children's unit and saw a child I knew. A sweet boy who does not deserve the tourments of his own mind.

Mental illness knows no bounds, but I really wish it would leave kids alone.