As many times as I can repeat this, my brain refuses to listen. My brain right now is in its own world. Every thing that it thinks about, the rest of my body can hear it loud and clear. And it’s my body that’s suffering, too.

Day 12 on the injured list and things are still hard to manage. Every morning, I constantly pop two Ibuprofen pills to dull the aches in my broken hand. Honestly, it was a good thing that I wasn’t prescribed something more powerful such as Tylenol 3 or a more powerful drug. I would pop those like candy. My sleep was great. I was sleeping more soundly and slowly decreasing the usage of melatonin to only when I need it. I used to pop those like candy, too. I hated being without my sleep.

And if that’s great, my mood and emotions are getting the best of me. I’m still sad, angry and just want this rough patch to move on so I can keep on living, not just surviving. I’ve noticed that I’m more cranky and short-tempered now. Every day this week, I’ve had killer anxiety and panic attacks. Ones that stop you in the middle of sleep, work, and driving. Every time they hit, I always assume the worst: I feel like I’m dying. But not. It’s called irrational thinking. Trying to stay positive during low points are no easy task.

At work, every co-worker has been a gem with me and even understand that I’m immobile and not able to do simple tasks one-handed. Most customers are nice. Some stare at my cast and it’s like they’ve never seen a broken hand before. I never say anything to someone in a cast or in a brace because whatever happened maybe too painful or personal. That’s why I don’t ask, out of respect. Since I returned, so many people stare and asked what happened. Some make wise crack jokes like: “What or who did you punch?” Nice. I’m going through PTSD and you’re asking me this right now?

If that’s not annoying, try having customers rush you with their orders. I can only do so much one-handed. Counting change back with my left hand is hard because I have to give out change first and then the bills. Then actually handing your order to you is another struggle especially if it’s more than one item. I can’t put any weight on my hand at all or I can cause serious damage. Asking me for a drink tray is also challenging because I can’t do that either. I’ve had people tell me: “Why can’t you give me my order with two hands?” Then I lift up my right hand and say: “This is why. A broken hand.” I still have to work and support myself. Bills don’t pay for themselves.

One customer really caused me to lose my cool and I walked off the floor as fast as I could without saying something that I would regret. It was a return customer that’s very impatient and will yell (I mean yell) at you if you get her order wrong at the order screen. Imagine someone ordering so fast that you need a moment to put it in correctly. When I was customizing her order the way that she wanted, she will always burst right in and say: “No, that’s not right. How many times do I have to repeat it?” I was mad. I told her a few days ago, that I’m left-handed right now and it’s not my dominant hand. So if I hit the wrong key then don’t start yelling at me or anyone. She didn’t care that I was in pain from a broken bone, all she cared about was her drink. But yesterday, I lost my cool and told one of my staff members to take care of her.

What she doesn’t understand is that I’m suffering from PTSD, depression and anxiety; so the added stress isn’t something that I don’t need. My co-workers told the lady that she’s injured and is suffering right now. The lady’s response: “So! I want my drink.” Wow. This is just some of the abuse on a daily basis at work. For me as a customer, I would’ve sympathized with the situation and applaud the person for doing the best that they can even though they’re on limited mobility.

Today starts minor physical therapy. Two weeks down, four weeks to go. My doctor will work on rehabbing the thumb, index and middle fingers to keep them mobile and prevent them from getting stiff on me. Meanwhile, I’m drowning in expenses like car and medical bills. My anxiety is going crazy. If I had an extra money, I would see my therapist, but that’s too expensive. Writing out my feelings help, but being more talkative would be better. My world isn’t over, it’s just on hold for a while. I just want a nice vacation from this dark period and have a nice long happy period. I can dream, right? For right now, I just take it day by day. Be patient and positive. If only my brain could get the memo.