Well. That was a pish start to a job.
The first return to work was abandoned after 2 weeks.
I just went steadily downhill after that. A whole other 7 weeks. A whole other story – one that shows little sign of ending.
I am back again now.
Feeling like I was the prize catch that turned into an albatross. Or maybe not. Maybe I am just too sensitive. Reading too much into little nothings from people who are frantic with an excess of work – people I hardly know – people who don’t know me.
Anyway. It hasn’t been the best beginning. And I am still not entirely myself – though I hesitate to say that I am still recovering. I suspect this lower energy, old-feeling me is my new normal. And I just need to get used to her.
I also suspect that the physical illness has gifted me a mental depression. Like it wasn’t enough to scorch and excoriate my lungs and inflame every organ. It has left burnt earth inside my head. A dead zone.
And maybe that’s all just a natural response – as it should be.
I reason. Tentatively. I am just tired. My confidence has been crushed. And to top it all – I am the new girl – one who hasn’t time to be ‘new’ or to acclimatise – one who has to take decisions; organise; strategize; just know what the answer to the problem/s is/are.
I don’t much feel up to it. I don’t much feel like I’ve the energy ‘it’ requires. Nor the inclination to do anything other than sleep.
I dream of sleep.
I dream of simply folding into myself and my bed. Into that velvety darkness of deep dreamless sleep.
But there’s the rub.
Plenty of time for that when I am dead, says my sensible practical work-ethic wired head.
I will get there. I suppose. All things pass.