During nursing school, I went above and beyond.

During nursing school, I went above and beyond. I still worked and volunteered in the community. When COVID hit I went into homeless communities to direct resources and even made a positive pressure room with ducktape, plastic sheets, and box fans to keep a food bank running safely, pushing 1,500+ meals out a day. When everyone was describing sourdough recipes and boredom, I was either studying anatomy & physiology or working my day job in an addiction unit that specializes in substance abuse complicated by pregnancy. Stories of rape and assault echoed in my mind during class, causing me to stand up and take on the stress of advocacy when I just needed to rest. It is no surprise that my health took a downturn so that I needed a tumor removed between the winter and spring quarters. Later, at just 33 years old I had a stress-induced outbreak of shingles, during finals. Then the summer of civil unrest where I volunteered as a street medic in Portland, washing pepper spray from the eyes of protesters and running from frothing ICE agents in a makeshift ambulance. It wasn't all bad. I was proud that I had the respect and support of my professors, even though I am bad at taking it. I was able to request a clinical experience in a COVID Isolation and Quarantine unit where I saw nursing run the show gallantly. But when school ended, despite us being the first vaccinated and the federal mandate lifted on public gatherings and outdoor mask use, our university denied a social distance and masked graduation for nurses while hosting a football game with thousands of spectators...

I feel so damn tired and it feels like I won't get the closure for this harrowing time that I really need.

I feel so damn alone and aching inside for the sickness within the culture of my country, the xenophobia, my dad becoming a Q-anon nutjob, my niece having a trial and error mother, my family members dead from the inadequate health system I joined to improve.

Now I sit here and type my heart out after passing the interview for my dream job, but even that silver lining has darkened as a bureaucratic snafu has left that in jeopardy.

After five years working in the addiction unit with my work family, my last day is this week and I don't know how I will survive without their understanding and support.

I certainly cannot burden my poor mom with all of these trials and eat me up and leave me feeling naked, raw, and bleeding on the floor of my own life.