It’s really unfortunate that my birthday was on a Wednesday this year. PTSD screws with me 2 days before and 2 days after, in a sort of bell curve of pain and then recovery.

I can sometimes work on the edge days of the bell curve. But the days framing the triggering day, and obviously the trigger day itself, are bad. Whether the PTSD is escalating or I’m in recovery mode, I’m not… all that operational I guess.

Problem is that the bulk of my work occurs in the middle of the week.

I want to cry because not only could I not help my team during two crisises on Tuesday, I don’t have enough spoons to get to work and eat breakfast and eat lunch and do some necessary, fuck up production if I miss items, and get home, and eat dinner. It’s partly physical, because PTSD episodes drain me via the high demand on fight-or-flight resources. It’s of course emotional, because I’m tired and the all-consuming fear haven’t completely relinquished their hold. And I hate this, it’s intellectual because it’s hard to make good decisions when the above are in effect.

The operation I’m involved in is very delicate. Needs coordination between three different teams in three entirely different departments, one of which we’re constantly in conflict with. In it’s way, it’s also a diplomatic… thingummy. I don’t even have the spoons for that. And it can’t be done on Friday.

The thing is, if this is really required at this time, I will rip myself to shreds in order to do it. Loyalty and duty are buggers sometimes. It’s not a question if I can; it’s a question of if I can do it safely. The answer is sometimes “You’ll probably die in a car crash coming home.” (Or, in Lord Peter Wimsey’s case, “You’ll probably stumble into a marsh and drown.”)

Well, it’s not like a coworker is going to go to jail accused of murder if I don’t make it.

Sigh. This next part is very hard. I have to tell the boss.