I’ve worked at Apple for two years and In that time have taken off 2 weeks in total. One week was for my grandparents anniversary that brings family from all over the US together on Cape Cod. And the other was for a trip to France.
I don’t take time for myself. I’ve always worked in the restaurant industry so I never knew what vacation time was and I’m not in the habit of using it. That being said, recently I felt like I was either working or not working-nothing in between like my own life. I didn’t have a life, I gave it up to commit to my job. My job is fantastic but I put so much passion into it and get so little back that it leaves me with an underlying feeling of unhappiness. My leaders could see I wasn’t the same bubbly Nicola I’ve been in the past and suggested I take a week off.. I had the vacation time to swing it so I did. I left work that day and committed to getting my life back.
My backstory is quite lengthy so I will save that for another time. In short, I have been battling depression for about three years and never knew it. It’s coupled with a substance abuse issue that has been significantly improved on in the last year. Like I said earlier, I found myself either forcing myself to be perky and happy at work or in and out of sleep on my days off. I moved and didn’t make any new friends and my passion for cooking and being creative died. I felt like I was dead most of the time. I couldn’t feel my limbs but I could feel my thoughts and they didn’t want to live with me anymore. They didn’t like my brain or its vessel- I didn’t like my brain or vessel. I wanted out. I frequently Engadged in self harm like punching myself in the head trying to numb myself from hating what I was thinking. I would drive myself into madness then try to shut it all out by drinking until blackout. It became my ideal way to cope- get drunk enough that my conscious brain would give up and some other part of me that I wasn’t aware of or interact with would take over and I’d wake up in bed alive. It was a vicious cycle and I felt like I had to suffer through the “new me”.
A few weeks ago I relapsed. I binged drank at a bar and drove home with no memory. My neighbors found me on my front lawn and helped me inside and into my bed. I woke up in the morning so disoriented and confused I tried to account for all of my belongings: wallet, phone, keys. Where are my keys? I see my car but there are no keys. I have to get to work, I’m shitfaced, and I can’t find my car keys. I’m bruised from head to toe (a different story) and have no control over my thoughts. I spin into a panic attack and begin vomiting. I put clothes on and start looking around where my car is parked to see if I may had dropped them when my neighbor come out holding my keys shaking his head in disappointment. I got the same talk my parents would’ve given me but all I could do was think about how I wanted to end my shitty existence. I grabbed my keys and told him that thanks to him i no longer want to live. He said the world would be better without idiots who drink and drive like me… little did he know I was drugged and assaulted that night. But my fault. Don’t worry, anything you say will never have the same effect I have over my own brain. You will never hate me as much as I hate myself.
I have been seeing a psychiatrist who has been helping a little. We are trying to figure out if my depression is stemming from the alcoholism or if it’s a neurological thing. I’d prefer no meds, but I also don’t have the ambition to tackle this shit.