DISCLAIMER: this post is a bit rambly and discusses personal and medical issues. I’m not asking for sympathy, but trying to keep track and be honest with myself and everybody else.
It’s been almost a year since I wrote anything except emails. I fear I’m losing my touch, but I’ve had my reasons. Social media is a brilliant veil – with it you can show people exactly what you want them to see. I don’t regret the leaps I’ve made, even though they’ve been occasionally ungraceful. I’m beginning to find my footing here – and I am so intensely grateful for the friends I’ve made, the ones I’ve “imported,” and the ones with whom I’ve stayed connected.
In October, 2014 when I moved to Richmond with the beau, I stepped into a new position just before someone else in the office quit. The other person’s duties, my new and unfamiliar tasks, and some elements of what had been making me professionally unhappy at JMU fell onto me during the search for a new person. I found myself scrambling to learn one new job while juggling two others, as those of us at the bottom of the totem pole often do.
It was a long, truly horrid winter here. The heat pump of my apartment (built in the late 1800s) quite simply couldn’t keep up with record cold temperatures. It was often below 50* in my house, and on numerous days it was below 10* outside. I spent the winter blasting a space heater at the office, and at home under the covers or in layers, slippers, and blankets, toting a space heater from room to room. The dude started working somewhere that was unsatisfying and poisonous, and neither of us were in great shape mentally or emotionally. He quit a few months later, and unemployment is fun for exactly no one.
Spring arrived, and with it my mood improved a bit. I started looking for other work in May of 2015. Throughout the winter and spring, I sought and failed to find a doctor because I know my own immune system (hint: it is shite) and the necessity of a primary care provider. During this saga, I tried two different doctors and a NP at one large practice (Capital Area Health Network, for those who want to know). They screwed me around for months, then treated me with suspicion and disrespect, so I moved to a different practice in the ‘burbs. I waited three months to get an intake appointment. At this point I was feeling pretty down about work, (not) making new friends, and other things related to life transitions.
I absolutely bombed a standard depression screen. Read more