I will echo the posters above when it comes to:
(1.) You're an intern; it gets far better in the PGY2 and 3 years.
(2.) Try to identify what it is that you dread.
I was like you.
I was an intern, and had a terrific case of the "intern blues". I hated going in to every shift. It got a little better after I knew how to "medicine" better.
One thing has stuck with me, though; and it really does undermine my work satisfaction to this day. It's the reason that I want to cut down on hours, or take up a non-clinical job after some time.
I've said it before on here dozens of times, but it bears repeating:
The number one cause of burnout is the patient.
...
After 10 years of being an EM physician, the fact that 90% of my shift was spent doing things that had no point, or could have been obviated if the patient exercised the tiniest bit of self-care or common sense, I began to hate the patients. Sure, there were the resuscitations, and the really sick ICU admits, but those are/were a tiny fraction of the daily work, and ended up just taking too much time. The other patients were sure to let me know that they've been waiting "too long" when I finished actually doing the medicines (sic) and could get around to them. I began to hate them.
When signing up for the SAME diabetic foot wound that I have seen 4x before, I began to hate the patient.
When being asked for "a work note" by 3-4 people in the room who absolutely had no reason to be there. I began to hate them, too.
When the noncompliant gastroparetic screamed at me for more narcotics with an empty McDonald's bag at the beside, I began to hate her.
When that very same noncompliant gastroparetic threw herself on the floor from her bed after being denied more Dilaudid, I hated her more.
When that VERY SAME noncompliant gastroparetic found the bed removed from her room and the mattress on the floor during her next visit as a result of her bad behavior, and she screamed loud enough for the entire department to go temporarily deaf, I hated her the most.
When the BOOMER female screamed at me to admit her (thereby committing medicare fraud) because her apartment was being fumigated and she didn't want to have to find alternate lodging, I began to hate her.
When the same BOOMER female called her PMD so "he can tell you that you need to admit me", I hated her more.
When the patient had been in the US for 20+ years and STILL didn't speak a lick of English, I began to hate them.
When the obese old man with chest pain argued with me that I was wrong that his chest pain was high-risk and almost certainly coronary in nature (complete with EKG changes!) because I "wasn't old enough to know what I was talking about", I hated him.
When the old woman with too much money and not enough courtesy snapped her fingers at me while I was running thru the lobby to go to a CODE BLUE and said "Booyyy! - Bring me that wheelchair", I hated her.
When mom and dad brought their completely non-sick kid to the ER at 3:15 AM, and both are too stoned to remember why they're there, I hated them.
Every day became poisonous with resentment.
Couple that with the fact that Americans aren't getting any healthier, and the knowledge that the heathcare train is running straight down the tracks and towards the cliff, and hatred turned into despair. Every day became a merry-go-round of the failures of humanity.
My dad came down to visit me recently. We went out for breakfast one day. Great breakfast/lunch restaurant near my place.
I looked around the restaurant while waiting for my sandwich.
All I saw around me were *patients* that I had learned to hate.
Now, these hungry patrons weren't people that I had actually recognized from the ER, but rather; their archetypes were everywhere, surrounding me. The obese BOOMER greedily shoveling French Toast and bacon into his pie-hole, dripping syrup into his chest hair over his CABG scar was one table away. Beyond him sat a white-trash family of 5. All obese. Mama June is forcefeeding the toddler pure sugar while the other children scream and grind scrambled eggs into the floor with their sneakers when dad takes their gaming devices away. Dad is on his fourth Mountain Dew. Behind me, I heard a gravelly voice say: "I already had my breakfast cigarette." I turn and see a ghastly, emaciated frame of a mustached man wearing what was originally an off-white baseball cap that had now turned fully brown from the nicotine and tar. The Noo Yawkers sitting in the booth were sure to complain about every little thing, and had to throw in: "its not like back home in Noo Yawk; you just can't get good food down here". I'm pretty sure I saw a woman sitting at the bartop take a stick of butter out of her purse and peel it like it was a banana before taking a large bite.
I didn't say much during our meal. Dad noticed and asked me what I was thinking about. I promised I'd tell him when we were back in the car.
Back in the car, I let it all fly. "All I saw when I looked around that restaurant were the things that work has taught me to hate."
Dad sat silently for a bit before saying: "Wow. There's so much venom in your words. I get it. But something has to change, or else you're headed for an early grave."
It's a shame.
I used to be such a people person.
Then, people ruined it.