A Journal From a CNA

When I, at sixteen years old, decided to become a CNA, I didn't know what I was doing. I didn't think I would be used as a vessel from drug smuggling in a facility that ran as an undercover drug cartel. I didn't know I would be groomed by the person I looked up to most within my workplace and gaslighted to the point that I would begin to think I was crazy. I didn't know I would walk in on dead bodies, attempted murders. I didn't know I would watch my residents, once so full of life, wither away to ghosts of the people they once were. Maybe it was the trauma that made my job so undesirable. I was too young to know any better. The memories still haunt me at night.