Yup. At the start of last year, I was working 12.5 hour night shifts in a care home for the elderly. 4 shifts a week was my standard. Spending 50 hours a week getting punched, scratched, and spat at by old people with dementia - just because you're trying to change their shitted up nappy - is already a bit rough. But to make it all the worse, the place was chronically understaffed, meaning there was seldom a chance to get a break during those 12.5 hours, and there was constantly begging/nagging to pick up 1 or 2 shifts a week.
Regularly working 75 hour shifts in the dead of night took a fair toll on my mind, but it took a real toll on my body, especially by virtue of making it difficult to get enough sleep. I managed to exercise and eat well, but I was still getting a bit fat.
I was living with my ex-GF at the time (fucking terrible idea,) who was constantly making my living situation untenable, meaning I had to move out and leave my dog behind. After having already being broken in body, moving out to a shitty little bedsit, without my dog, broke me in spirit too - especially as I could hear my crackhead neighbor and his scumbag friends causing trouble at all hours, meaning it was only a matter of time until they directly caused me trouble. I called in sick for 3 days and, after months of helping out with 25 hours of overtime a week, they sacked me.
My employer didn't have control over everything that happened to me, but they really put me in a weakened state. And then nearly finished me off. I didn't end up in hospital, but I came pretty close to turning myself into chunks of flying mincemeat on the train tracks.
So ends the tale of why I struggle to trust women. And why working your staff too hard is risky, when life is already chock full of vicissitudes.