It was one of them never ending nights at work tonight. Eight hours on my feet and no time for breaks. Two residents fell, one was sent to hospital with a suspected broken hip (at least I didn't get all shaky/anxious/panicky till after) the other lady was fine- just a bit shaken.

On top of the normal work stuff, we had surprise assessments- yeah, real fun. Busiest shift of the day, already understaffed and then they go pulling us staff off the floor for fifteen minutes at a time, three times each (yeah that makes 45 minutes- the equivalent of our breaks).

I feel so bloody work out right about now. Just shaky and exhausted, paranoid to boot- already been up four times to check the back door is locked as well as the windows.

*sighs* and I had the strangest dream last night. Strange odd I mean. For some reason I was talking to my dad about my SI and my PTSD. The most vivid part of the dream was when he told me I'm just pretending, that I'm good at pretending. I remember him telling me I should take the mask off, and then my skin peeled off my face and all I could taste/smell was blood. Was when I woke up.
Gack I hate tasting blood. Too many bad memories, too many memories too close to the surface.