I guess that it is always easier to fall hard on your ass, than to pick yourself up, dust your hands, and trudge on.
It is always easier to bring yourself down, than to give yourself some credit and a pat on the back.
I’ve been back in clinicals for a month already. I’m surprised I lasted this long. But I’m even more surprised at my progress.
They tell me I push myself too hard. That I am a perfectionist. That such small matters shouldn’t bring me down like it did.
But I tell them that I am trying. I’m trying so hard to be my best. I’m trying to catch up with my peers. I’m trying to live up to expectations. I’m trying to give my patients the best. I’m trying to salvage what’s left of the dire situation and working doubly hard just to make up for my shortcomings. I’m trying to function like any other person despite the pain and fatigue, the breathlessness and palpitations.
And you know what? I did it. It didn’t happen without mistakes. It didn’t happen by chance. Nor did it happen because of some stupid excuse. It happened because i tried, and fought so hard. Nobody could see through me. It happened by my own merit. For me to be wanted by the ward sisters is such an honour really, and I should take pride in it. But at the end of the day, it’s the patients that matter, and not us.
So easy to trample all over myself and get downtrodden. So easy to go on a downward spiral. It’s like my happy pills don’t give me that high in the morning anymore. And drugs can only do so much.
I feel like I’m going into another battle. Just that this time, my nemesis is me and myself only. Only one of us will emerge victorious- the good or the bad.
Why oh why. I’m so tired. So tired of everything.
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