Frustration and depression

I went to the doctor today to get the pin in my pinky out. Alas, the doctor told me my finger’s not quite healed enough for that yet. It frustrates me. My hand feels like there’s a lead weight in it. It’s stiff in the mornings, and sometimes for hours later, exercises or not. It feels like my pinky is dragging behind the other fingers. I can’t quite make a fist, and my grip in that hand is pretty weak. I don’t trust myself to hold anything with real weight in that hand, as I’ll drop it.

I feel depressed. I can’t do my job because of this. I keep feeling that this is my own fault. If I had done something else–anything else–I wouldn’t be here with a deformed hand that may as well be encased in cement for all the use it has. I was just walking to work that day–mentally aligning my day in my head as I went. I didn’t pay attention. I wasn’t watching. Because I wasn’t, I’m sitting here with a worthless hand.

It’s very hard to get up in the morning to go to work–the place where I’m not pulling my weight and being nothing but a drain. I wish I could stay in bed forever. I’d probably be of more use at home. It’s very hard to go to work and put on the mask, to pretend that everything is okay and I’m just fine. I don’t feel fine at all, and every day is a struggle.


There is no peace

I’m sorry to have been away so long. Something major happened to me not long after my last post here, and I’m still dealing with the repercussions of it.

I was mugged on the way to work on the day after Christmas. During the attack, I was flung to the ground and dragged a bit, and during the struggle my left pinky finger was broken and the tendon ripped off the bone. I had surgery last month to reattach the tendon, and have started physical therapy to get things working again.

That’s a very dry recitation of the physical stuff. The emotional journey has stalled, pretty much.

I’m terrified walking to work in the mornings, despite having pepper spray and my neighbor walking with me. I keep feeling like people are going to jump out of the shadows onto me and keep sweeping my eyes left, right, up, down, in front and behind. Once I get to work and the door is locked behind me, the terror doesn’t stop. I jump at every sound, check the door every five seconds, keep thinking I hear people trying to break in. My workplace could stand against the zombie apocalypse, and still I feel unsafe.

You’d think I’d feel better once I was at home, right? You’d be wrong about that. At home I run scenarios in my head, judging what I’d do if someone broke in, what I could use as weapons, escape routes, hiding places. I’ve timed how fast I can escape/hide/fight. Constantly. I’m always checking my doors, seeing if they’re locked, even if I’ve just locked them. I keep scissors within reach all the time when I’m home, in case someone breaks in and I need to fight. I feel unsafe at home, too.

I dream about the mugging all the time. I keep seeing it over and over. In the dreams I keep trying to change it somehow.

I feel guilty all the time. If I had paid more attention, none of this would be happening. I’m useless at my job, and everything is backed up, with everyone else doing more and more to pick up my slack. My hand barely moves unless I concentrate on it. I feel like it will never get better. Nothing will ever be better.