my demon has a first name

It's Guilt.

After six months of trudging, through the darkest year I have been through in years, I realized what has been weighing on me like lead. I have been plagued with guilt.

I felt so foolish for loving a man who didn't love me back, who supposedly toed some line in the sand and then danced all over it, and then suddenly jumped back behind it when things got real. I couldn't believe I fell for someone so hard, invested so much, just to be humiliated and alone again. I felt desperately unlovable.

After spending so much time with this man I loved, whose recreational activities included more beer consumption and large meals than I was used to, I eventually acclimated to that lifestyle. On top of that, I nursed a painful shoulder injury from my martial arts class, and ultimately stopped going--so my exercise routine took a dive from four times a week to about three times a month. Obviously, I gained weight.

And spending all summer in crippling depression meant that I wasn't enthusiastically prepared for the school year to begin, so when a student of mine committed suicide a few weeks into the school year, I was consumed with grief. That same week, my grandmother broke her hip badly and needed surgery, followed by months of rehabilitation. I didn't feel up to the task of coping with my large class sizes, my online certification classes, my bills, my grief, and my lesson planning and lab preparation.

Cue the frequent "Hey how are you"s and "Just thinking of you"s that Noah texted me every few weeks. I didn't know how to process it, where to put it among the fragments of my broken heart, in a way that made any sense. Inevitably, I was desperate to see him again, and every time we met for drinks we slept together. I always tried to rationalize it because it felt so good to be with him again, but it just delayed the aching for a few more days.

I spent all this time thinking I was starting my last year of teaching, that I just had to get out, and thought I could just will it to be with a few applications...mostly because I was so anxious about timing and being qualified that it paralyzed me. Despite knowing that this was a numbers game, and my success depending heavily on putting five times the number of applications out there, I was a confounding mix of perpetually exhausted, extremely busy, and freaked out about rejection; I only managed to squeeze out 7 or 8 applications.

Of course, the 'harmless' Noah encounters became more frequent, longer, and predictable. Every two weeks, at most. But I let him do the pursuing, somehow explaining to myself that at least I wasn't chasing him. Except then I allowed it to be a beck-and-call situation, so whenever he contacted me I was available to drop everything and come over. And there I was, back among his friends, who politely reincorporated me into their socializing; some acting a bit perplexed, some boldly pursuing the "so what's up with you two?" probe, others just musing knowingly. There I was, being his booty call, and I had allowed it to come to that. The next morning he was always hung over and coldly distant, so I generally tried to leave once he fell asleep.

And that's how I got pregnant. And made a difficult choice and struggled through two months of perpetual nausea, fatigue, and despair until my abortion and subsequent healing time. Which seems to be ongoing.

And along with the procedure, I asked to have an IUD put in, and it turned out to be askew somehow, which is the most serious pain I could ever imagine associated with my uterus. Though it had been my assumption right away, the gynecologist performed an ultrasound that pointed at ovarian cysts being the probable culprit. So then I assumed I had approximately 6 more weeks of pain until they receded. The pain did not go away, it was crippling, stabbing, bleeding pain, every single day. I was eating ibuprofen by the handful. I could barely stand, let alone try to exercise or be active at all, and after months of torture I sought a second opinion from a different gynecologist, who confirmed my original suspicions about the IUD. Another three weeks went by before I could get an appointment to have it removed, totaling more than 4 months with this daily pain and bleeding. In late April I finally had it taken out--a process that took seconds but felt like all the pain I'd felt each day summarized in one yank of the IUD cord (after dilation, of course, because the string had slipped inside my damn cervix). I felt like an idiot for putting up with it for so long, but I had been under the impression that this was cyst pain and that it would eventually go away.

Oh, and then there was work. I hated work. I hated getting up early after spending long nights agonizing with painkillers and heating pads, trying to get any sleep at all, after working late on homework assignments or freelance editing. I hated being prepared for the next day, having healthy food for lunch, clean clothes, clean hair, ready lesson materials and lab supplies. I hated leaving for work on time, getting there for office hours, talking to anyone about anything positive, staying after to get anything accomplished. I was in so much pain, I was so exhausted, I had such a broken heart.

I wanted to die. I simply wanted to evaporate and disappear. I mean, what a waste of a fucking year. I got fat, I got pregnant, I got my heart broken, I got nowhere professionally, I got into a bad routine, and then I got fucking reprimanded by my shitty boss. This was not a very social time for me, since I seemed to prefer hiding under a rock.

I felt like everything had gone to shit, like nothing was worth doing and that it was just going to keep getting worse.

I knew it was all my fault. I had so much guilt, and I just felt so fucking miserable.

Spring break made a slight difference, though, and I changed gym memberships to something more affordable, closer, and with hours I could work into my schedule. I didn't change my diet much, so the processed food and sugar addiction led to some serious weight gain (and psychological back-tracking). My friends threw a few life lines out there for me, which really meant a lot, but I was convinced that I was such horrible company that it was better for me to stay tucked away.

I finally graduated from my certification program in May, even though those bastards didn't tell me when I was done or send any kind of notification. A month and a half later I'm still waiting for my diploma. At least I saw it through to the end, because that was a mountain of work and a huge strain on my finances.

One of my students has a mom who is a supervisor at the local zoo, so I got in contact with her and asked to be a volunteer; she genuinely pursued it for me and got me in as a volunteer for two keepers in animal care. I've been scooping poop painfully early in the morning twice a week, but I actually love it! The work I do is tangible, and when I'm finished I truly feel accomplished, even if it's the same thing every day. I get to interact with exotic zoo animals (grizzly bears, giraffes, lions, lemurs, reptiles, birds, gibbons, giant tortoises) and I'm proud to see the care and attention they get. Enrichment is fascinating. It's really the most fun I've had in a long time, and I have felt incapable of joy forever, so it's also a relief.

My dear friend has also been gently coaching me to learn how to swim laps for exercise. It's really challenging, but I am getting better and tanner and stronger. It's helping motivate me to be more active and confident in my skin.

I've applied for a couple jobs and am getting job postings forwarded to me from friends.

I've also been reconciling with the possibility that I will have to teach again next school year, if I don't find a job within the next few weeks. I will continue to look for alternative employment, something that really resonates with my passions and experience, but deciding now that the prospect of going back does not equal a death sentence is pretty important. Everyone knows I don't want to go back, but I'm not going to harp on about it if the summer job hunt is not a success. It will be okay, because I am not trapped there. I may have a contract, but if I can find a better job I'm going to take it. At least I would be making a little more than the last year, and I've shaved down my monthly bills a tiny bit, so financially I might not struggle so much.

I also think I wouldn't be miserable living in my apartment another year, though I do need to clean and de-clutter a LOT. It's not the worst place, I have a lot of closet space and I have a little yard, and I wouldn't want to give that up for a crappy little balcony or something, and I don't think I can afford anything better or further away.

I felt so fucking guilty that the life I wanted was waiting for me to pull my shit together, when I absolutely couldn't do what I thought I needed to by my self-imposed deadlines, and it occurred to me just the other day. Guilt has been weighing me down for a year, solidly.

And I need therapy something fierce, but at least I can start processing and get a little work down.

And seriously, recognizing the dark shadow, the dead weight on my shoulders, somehow lifted the burden significantly. I remembered that things haven't always been this way, and things won't stay this way. I've had a complex experience and I am not plateauing--things are going to change and it will be okay.

I even applied for another really great job opportunity today.