One of the things that I really, really can’t explain to anyone–including myself–is the incredible burden of hormonal issues on my mind. It simply does not function properly. Slash that, I simply do not function properly.
But how can I explain all the little ways in which I am broken? Or, rather, the little signs of the tremendous brokenness?
My husband only realized the extent of it one day at the end of May when I called him one morning. I never call him in the morning on a work day.
But this day I did. I asked him if he had a second to talk and he did as he had just arrived and could step back outside. Then I told him my quandary: should I go to work today?
This was quite an astounding question since I was incredibly happy that I had been able to get through 9 months at this job without taking a sick day. There had been some not-so-good (to put it mildly) days, but I had always managed to get through them at work. And this day in question was not one of unbearable physical pain.
I explained the bit of logic I could grasp, namely that I was going to be late for work. I had fallen apart that morning and not gotten things together in time and might be 15 minutes late for work. I had not taken a sick day yet, that I had sick days built up, and that taking a sick day would not be counted against me in upcoming reviews. On the other hand, I had been late once or twice recently, and the percentage of days which one is late is a factor in performance reviews.
I walked to the car as I called my husband. When he heard my confused question and explanation he responded that he thought I should stay home from work. It was clear to him that something was really, really wrong with me. And though I could push through the days on which I was purely physically sick, this was different. This was a little scary.
Yet, even as I heard his response that I should stay home and take it easy I decided that I needed to try to get to work. I thought that there was a slight possibility that I might be able to make it to work on time, and it somehow seemed reasonable to commute into work and then “call in” sick only once I verified that I could not, in fact, make it there on time.
It is worth noting that I typically make a point of not asking my husband for his advice unless I am planning on following it. But at this time it seemed to me that I needed to get off the phone as quickly as possible and try to hurry into work, even though I had just heard precisely the opposite advice.
And so I did.
And I got to work on time.
I don’t even remember what time my “I’m going to be late” worries started that day, though it seems quite clear that I had plenty of time at that point. But even knowing the time would not help at all, because the point is that my mind simply does not work the way it should. Sometimes, despite my best efforts to be reasonable, I find myself unable to follow the most normal of patters. Decisions that are usually made unconsciously will overwhelm me.