I have a week’s plus backlog of notes to do while restling with a headache and near-debilitating depression. And it is getting the &*%$ done.
That’s around fifteen different pieces of documentation from a week ago most of which I will struggle to remember details from and spend twice as much time as I should take for notes tracking down things like phone records and emails, all done to justify to the insurance companies that we’re doing something, plus eight more for this week that I can more or less guarantee won’t be happening tonight.
And that’s getting them done tonight having to be up early tomorrow for school observations, with the knowledge that I could have, should have gotten them done yesterday or this morning (we didn’t have the go-ahead to input them until Monday night), but that I spent all that time sleeping instead because at the time that was what my mood-disordered body demanded-and-needed at the moment. And that I could have done it Monday night, at least started it, except that I spent the majority of Monday night in sobbing, wheezing, fist-balling, hair-tugging hysterics, because when I’m not at work that is my intermittent level of functional.
And I’m getting it done tonight because I need to be able to tell my boss tomorrow that this doesn’t effect my work, when I confide in her that I’m having a difficult time and am getting more help in January but in the meantime am saving personal days instead of using more over the holiday in case I need to seek help that is more intense and more immediate.
Because my job is what I am and what I have, right now, is what I love and take pride in, and I will be damned if this is going to fuck that up. I am a capable, responsible human being regardless of coping skills and brain chemistry. I will make this happen.