(no subject)
I wanted to be a doctor as a kid. Well, okay, I wanted to be a veterinarian for horses, then I had a phase where I wanted to be a firefighter (I blame movies), then I said I wanted to be a stripper (I was older by then and wanted to piss off my dad, which worked beautifully). I always thought it would be neat to be a doctor, though.
I abandoned the idea years ago when I realized that the mental health issues running in my family had finally caught up with me. Fuck, they tackled me into the ground.
My mum is bipolar. My grandmother and one of my aunts are basketcases too.
Funny how it feels to finally talk about it, since it was supposed to be this huge family secret. Bah.
I never ended up trying to slit my wrists in the kitchen just so my kid could stumble upon me and freak, but I was pretty bad. I mostly got the manic stuff where I couldn't sleep for two weeks straight. And then I'd just do stupid stuff because I was about to jump out of my skin. So mostly I got strange men to fuck me unconscious because I was about to go insane if I didn't stop, then I got into drugs. Bad, bad idea.
Anyway. I thought it wasn't a very good idea to be allowed to prescribe medications for poor helpless patients while I was myself a basketcase, you know?
I've been doing so much better in the past few months that I actually just looked up what kind of requirements medical schools have. Right, I knew it's hard to get accepted in the first place, I knew about the crazy working hours (it pretty much swallows up your whole life) but I had forgotten about the residency part.
It's a minimum of two years. Odds are that I would end up in a totally different city, working on call at some hospital. They can work 36 hours day. Right. I can really see myself with my shaky mental health, living away from my husband for two years, running on caffeine and trying to pass my exams at the same time. Excellent idea, Karl. Why don't you put yourself in the hospital this time around?
I'm such a dumbass.
I guess I'll end up getting a PhD in biology or something. Or maybe it's not too late to become a vet. I don't know what I want to do with myself.
I abandoned the idea years ago when I realized that the mental health issues running in my family had finally caught up with me. Fuck, they tackled me into the ground.
My mum is bipolar. My grandmother and one of my aunts are basketcases too.
Funny how it feels to finally talk about it, since it was supposed to be this huge family secret. Bah.
I never ended up trying to slit my wrists in the kitchen just so my kid could stumble upon me and freak, but I was pretty bad. I mostly got the manic stuff where I couldn't sleep for two weeks straight. And then I'd just do stupid stuff because I was about to jump out of my skin. So mostly I got strange men to fuck me unconscious because I was about to go insane if I didn't stop, then I got into drugs. Bad, bad idea.
Anyway. I thought it wasn't a very good idea to be allowed to prescribe medications for poor helpless patients while I was myself a basketcase, you know?
I've been doing so much better in the past few months that I actually just looked up what kind of requirements medical schools have. Right, I knew it's hard to get accepted in the first place, I knew about the crazy working hours (it pretty much swallows up your whole life) but I had forgotten about the residency part.
It's a minimum of two years. Odds are that I would end up in a totally different city, working on call at some hospital. They can work 36 hours day. Right. I can really see myself with my shaky mental health, living away from my husband for two years, running on caffeine and trying to pass my exams at the same time. Excellent idea, Karl. Why don't you put yourself in the hospital this time around?
I'm such a dumbass.
I guess I'll end up getting a PhD in biology or something. Or maybe it's not too late to become a vet. I don't know what I want to do with myself.