Posts
Well, I accept it. I need medication for my anxiety.
Because hopefully, anxiety is what makes me see myself as wholly unloved and unlovable. I'm not convinced when any of my "friends" tell me they love me, because it just sounds hollow, like they're including me in their events and gatherings out of obligation or gracious kindness. But it doesn't feel terribly kind.
I've been essentially abandoned by the people who did claim to love me, the ones I genuinely believed loved me; they're gone without explanation.
I'm surrounded by coworkers who avoid conversation with me. My students are resisting nearly every task I ask them to do.
And I notice, this is how I feel about this time every year. I know already that I desperately hate my job, that I'm more than over the nature of the industry and the shoddy way our administration "manages" things. The subtly corrupt things, the glaring sexism, the ridiculous accountability I'm forced to assume, I want out so badly.
Knowing myself better, taking a long hard look at myself, as I'm obliged to do from time to time, has offered me some insight. I live in the moment. I am transparent. I am passionate and sensitive. I have anxiety and it makes so many things difficult. Anxiety turns into depression frequently, and though I realize it's a sickness of habituated thinking, it is a sickness nonetheless. I want very badly to do the right thing and be a good person and perform well at my job. I want to impress the love for learning and for the system of life into my students.
I don't want to battle them every fucking day just to accomplish this. I don't want them to lie to me, to criticize me, to attempt to sneak things in a way that insults my intelligence and demonstrates what little respect they have for me.
It's impossible to be breezy and take everything in stride when there are so many of these kids and they so plainly couldn't care less about anyone but themselves. They are so desperately emotionally immature. Not a surprise, of course, because my students are this age every year. But I'm weary of this battle. This age is tedious and feckless. They are ungrateful. They are sarcastic and ignorant. They value nothing beyond social status and immediate pleasures.
I hate who I am around them, battling them. I am not winning. I am imploding. I am rotting. I am ugly. My passion for my subject is obscured behind my frustration and confrontational attitude. I am the worst possible version of me and I hate myself for it. All I want is to get away from this horribly toxic environment, and yet, I'm supposed to stay here and perform perfectly for the next seven months.
The only thing, I've discovered, that makes me feel as though the yolk of teaching is off my shoulders, is medication. In half an hour, I hope to have a prescription for something that might just salvage my sense of self and my job performance.
Does self love come in a pill?
10.30.2016
11.19.2015
reacquainting
Something very profound just happened to me today.
The backstory: I am learning a lot about myself lately; my strengths and limitations, my effort level and my habits, and where I have allowed guilt and shame to destroy my self-worth and motivation. So, while I am truly investing myself at work, and in my friendships, I have abandoned myself.
Luckily, my cats have not.
I have focused heavily on pouring good things into the beings around me, and that includes my students, my dear friend in town, my dearest friends out of town, and my coworker friends whom I respect and the animals who rely on me.
And yet, that sense of having a good thing going was dashed by finding out last week that one of my teacher's aides has essentially been falsifying assignment grades for some of his friends, and his own mom tipped me off. I agreed to pursue it, because I had honestly hoped it wasn't true, but when the reality of the situation became clear, I felt betrayed and vulnerable. And furthermore, the students who benefited from augmented grades and didn't confess, I just felt such disappointment with their lack of integrity, at my expense. So, ultimately, the kid got dropped as my TA, and did come and confess and apologize, and it is a situation I feel terrible about because I really did believe in his potential to be better than that. Oh well.
And after a string of apathetic responses to the delightful side of biochemistry, especially the complaining about "having" to make a cheat-sheet for tomorrow's quiz, I have been considerably grumpier and sensitive. Today, a complicated lab I tried to administer outside (for the 5th year), seemed like a risky venture since the glass beakers lined the low brick wall along the sidewalk outside my room. I guarded the damn setup with my life all day, between passing periods, and even brought my lunch outside to stand there and eat while watching it. And literally before my eyes, this (particularly petulant) sophomore boy in my 2nd period, the one who PLACED the beakers on the wall, steps directly over one beaker and shatters it on the rocks below. Then he stoops to pick up the broken shards! I overreacted--yes! I rushed over to stop him from touching them and insisted that he STOP, which offended him, and he bellowed, "Sorry for trying to help!" and stormed off. I retorted, "Yeah, you were helping!" and kicked the rocks. It was unprofessional, and the worst thing is: along came my new principal, having possibly witnessed that scene.
He helped me pick up the broken beaker, and assured me that as a former chemistry teacher this was a familiar occasion. He brought the pieces into the glass waste, and then tidied up after the rest of the setup. It was exceptionally kind, but I was so embarrassed. And I was hurt and angry at that fucking kid! One of my dear young ladies sat with me and ate her lunch while I watched the surviving glassware.
The kid came and talked to me after school to apologize, though he did throw in a dig about the rock-kicking, but I appreciate that he made the effort otherwise. This guy is a pain in my ass, and I have bent over backwards for him and he's constantly off task, talking, or just arguing with me over something. He is bright and curious, but he fucks off too much and I'm sick of his shit. Plus, he's in a class that fucks off too much, so they're the only group that just got slapped with a seating chart. It's the worst real punishment I've enacted on a whole class so far this year. I'm frustrated. That kid frustrates me.
And after drinking a little rum, and wallowing in it for a few hours, I toked a little, bought gas, worked out and danced. On the way to the gym, a young guy on a motorcycle pulled up next to me and yelled my name. It was a kid I had 3 years ago, one of those tremendously troubled kids who had a shitty home life but money and freedom and a job with the family business, so he didn't apply himself at school and eventually stopped coming to school altogether. And yet somehow...he graduated? That was the shady bullshit that went down last year, but maybe finally getting out of high school was what this kid needed. He had a big grin on his face, and when we stopped again at the next red light, he told me he was working a lot and starting community college in the spring.
That is such wonderful news. And such a spooky way for the Universe to reach me. This kid had been such a horrible blight on my experience 3 years ago. His desperate situation inspired my deepest sympathies and my attempts to reach out and help, and he lashed out at me so many times. The following two years, he was so warm and friendly to me, genuinely interacting with me -- he even changed the oil in my car! And here he was, 19 years old, riding a badass bike, covered in all the safe riding gear, looking like he finally had landed on a path.
The Universe spoke to me, and I had an undeniably clear moment of fate. This kid represents the worst problems I had with so many kids, and here he was demonstrating that I in fact had influenced him in a meaningful way, despite all the unprofessional ways I had handled myself as his teacher.
Thanks, Universe. I needed that.
The backstory: I am learning a lot about myself lately; my strengths and limitations, my effort level and my habits, and where I have allowed guilt and shame to destroy my self-worth and motivation. So, while I am truly investing myself at work, and in my friendships, I have abandoned myself.
Luckily, my cats have not.
I have focused heavily on pouring good things into the beings around me, and that includes my students, my dear friend in town, my dearest friends out of town, and my coworker friends whom I respect and the animals who rely on me.
And yet, that sense of having a good thing going was dashed by finding out last week that one of my teacher's aides has essentially been falsifying assignment grades for some of his friends, and his own mom tipped me off. I agreed to pursue it, because I had honestly hoped it wasn't true, but when the reality of the situation became clear, I felt betrayed and vulnerable. And furthermore, the students who benefited from augmented grades and didn't confess, I just felt such disappointment with their lack of integrity, at my expense. So, ultimately, the kid got dropped as my TA, and did come and confess and apologize, and it is a situation I feel terrible about because I really did believe in his potential to be better than that. Oh well.
And after a string of apathetic responses to the delightful side of biochemistry, especially the complaining about "having" to make a cheat-sheet for tomorrow's quiz, I have been considerably grumpier and sensitive. Today, a complicated lab I tried to administer outside (for the 5th year), seemed like a risky venture since the glass beakers lined the low brick wall along the sidewalk outside my room. I guarded the damn setup with my life all day, between passing periods, and even brought my lunch outside to stand there and eat while watching it. And literally before my eyes, this (particularly petulant) sophomore boy in my 2nd period, the one who PLACED the beakers on the wall, steps directly over one beaker and shatters it on the rocks below. Then he stoops to pick up the broken shards! I overreacted--yes! I rushed over to stop him from touching them and insisted that he STOP, which offended him, and he bellowed, "Sorry for trying to help!" and stormed off. I retorted, "Yeah, you were helping!" and kicked the rocks. It was unprofessional, and the worst thing is: along came my new principal, having possibly witnessed that scene.
He helped me pick up the broken beaker, and assured me that as a former chemistry teacher this was a familiar occasion. He brought the pieces into the glass waste, and then tidied up after the rest of the setup. It was exceptionally kind, but I was so embarrassed. And I was hurt and angry at that fucking kid! One of my dear young ladies sat with me and ate her lunch while I watched the surviving glassware.
The kid came and talked to me after school to apologize, though he did throw in a dig about the rock-kicking, but I appreciate that he made the effort otherwise. This guy is a pain in my ass, and I have bent over backwards for him and he's constantly off task, talking, or just arguing with me over something. He is bright and curious, but he fucks off too much and I'm sick of his shit. Plus, he's in a class that fucks off too much, so they're the only group that just got slapped with a seating chart. It's the worst real punishment I've enacted on a whole class so far this year. I'm frustrated. That kid frustrates me.
And after drinking a little rum, and wallowing in it for a few hours, I toked a little, bought gas, worked out and danced. On the way to the gym, a young guy on a motorcycle pulled up next to me and yelled my name. It was a kid I had 3 years ago, one of those tremendously troubled kids who had a shitty home life but money and freedom and a job with the family business, so he didn't apply himself at school and eventually stopped coming to school altogether. And yet somehow...he graduated? That was the shady bullshit that went down last year, but maybe finally getting out of high school was what this kid needed. He had a big grin on his face, and when we stopped again at the next red light, he told me he was working a lot and starting community college in the spring.
That is such wonderful news. And such a spooky way for the Universe to reach me. This kid had been such a horrible blight on my experience 3 years ago. His desperate situation inspired my deepest sympathies and my attempts to reach out and help, and he lashed out at me so many times. The following two years, he was so warm and friendly to me, genuinely interacting with me -- he even changed the oil in my car! And here he was, 19 years old, riding a badass bike, covered in all the safe riding gear, looking like he finally had landed on a path.
The Universe spoke to me, and I had an undeniably clear moment of fate. This kid represents the worst problems I had with so many kids, and here he was demonstrating that I in fact had influenced him in a meaningful way, despite all the unprofessional ways I had handled myself as his teacher.
Thanks, Universe. I needed that.
6.29.2015
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.
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.
5.06.2015
Still truckin'
The aftermath has been pretty brutal, I'll admit.
These last four and a half months, they've been a lot of things, but mostly they've been the darkest depression I've seen in years. All the mean things I could possibly say to myself, I said. All the worst things I could think, I thought. I cried, all the damn time, and I stewed and lost sleep and ate my feelings and stopped working out.
I kept messing around with Noah, though, until February. Not that I had changed my mind about wanting him the hell out of my life, but I didn't know how to execute that strategy, and I felt that since he had never done anything overtly unkind (more oblivious and selfish), I couldn't put my foot down that firmly and walk away.
He finally fucked up though, in a way that couldn't be denied, when he ignored me for three weeks and texted me with a straight-up booty call late one Friday night. I didn't respond, and stayed silent even after he "apologized" for his inappropriateness the next day. The following week he decided to tell me he was thinking of me, but again it was in the middle of the night on Saturday. So I let him have it the next day, and pointed out his pattern of only thinking of me late on weekend nights when he's drunk, and that he clearly sees me as a booty call and worth nothing more. He told me that I knew there was "more to it than that," and I set it straight in one message, citing his mixed signals and the obvious heartbreak and healing I've had these past few months. I told him I wasn't asking him to commit to me, but that he couldn't ask me to be a convenient piece of ass either.
And that was it, and it's been two full months since that conversation, and I'm actually starting to piece myself back together. Gradually.
I'm feeling more cheerful, I'm nicer to myself, and I am feeling the motivation to get healthy again and maybe be social again. It's so slow, because I truly think I was shattered. I was rock bottom, I was close to the edge and close to the end, contemplating why the hell I even bothered trying anymore and what the major consequences of ending it would be. Obviously nobody benefits from that sort of pit, but I was stuck in it, and it was awful, and somehow I still managed to function at work and pay my bills.
And I think I might have had a turning point in early April during our spring break, when I took myself on a short solo camping trip in northern Arizona. It was beautiful, I spent time by myself with nature, and just processed how I felt. I didn't exactly reach any conclusions, but I started thinking different, new thoughts, rather than letting the old awful ones tumble around in there. I got some new ideas in my head, and new fodder for my heart, and I think honestly I started healing.
So it's been about a month of healing, I'd say. A month. That's after a break-up that happened at the beginning of JULY. After an abortion the second day of JANUARY. And here I am in May, having dragged myself through another school year while just barely holding on to my work load and my last shred of self-confidence.
I'm grateful for Lisa, who has propped me up and believed in me through this whole process. I'm very grateful for a handful of genuinely strong friends who spotted me in the water and did their best to keep me afloat. I'm also pretty lucky to have spent this year with some pretty awesome kids; they're such nice people and I hope we have a mutual affection for one another, since I'm afraid I'm too much of a hothead for my kids to really love me. But who knows.
Anyway, my new gym membership is on its fifth day, and I've had my 3rd workout already. It's three blocks away, and I can run/bike/drive there easily, and I can work out basically whenever I want and whenever I have free time. I can already feel the winds changing...
These last four and a half months, they've been a lot of things, but mostly they've been the darkest depression I've seen in years. All the mean things I could possibly say to myself, I said. All the worst things I could think, I thought. I cried, all the damn time, and I stewed and lost sleep and ate my feelings and stopped working out.
I kept messing around with Noah, though, until February. Not that I had changed my mind about wanting him the hell out of my life, but I didn't know how to execute that strategy, and I felt that since he had never done anything overtly unkind (more oblivious and selfish), I couldn't put my foot down that firmly and walk away.
He finally fucked up though, in a way that couldn't be denied, when he ignored me for three weeks and texted me with a straight-up booty call late one Friday night. I didn't respond, and stayed silent even after he "apologized" for his inappropriateness the next day. The following week he decided to tell me he was thinking of me, but again it was in the middle of the night on Saturday. So I let him have it the next day, and pointed out his pattern of only thinking of me late on weekend nights when he's drunk, and that he clearly sees me as a booty call and worth nothing more. He told me that I knew there was "more to it than that," and I set it straight in one message, citing his mixed signals and the obvious heartbreak and healing I've had these past few months. I told him I wasn't asking him to commit to me, but that he couldn't ask me to be a convenient piece of ass either.
And that was it, and it's been two full months since that conversation, and I'm actually starting to piece myself back together. Gradually.
I'm feeling more cheerful, I'm nicer to myself, and I am feeling the motivation to get healthy again and maybe be social again. It's so slow, because I truly think I was shattered. I was rock bottom, I was close to the edge and close to the end, contemplating why the hell I even bothered trying anymore and what the major consequences of ending it would be. Obviously nobody benefits from that sort of pit, but I was stuck in it, and it was awful, and somehow I still managed to function at work and pay my bills.
And I think I might have had a turning point in early April during our spring break, when I took myself on a short solo camping trip in northern Arizona. It was beautiful, I spent time by myself with nature, and just processed how I felt. I didn't exactly reach any conclusions, but I started thinking different, new thoughts, rather than letting the old awful ones tumble around in there. I got some new ideas in my head, and new fodder for my heart, and I think honestly I started healing.
So it's been about a month of healing, I'd say. A month. That's after a break-up that happened at the beginning of JULY. After an abortion the second day of JANUARY. And here I am in May, having dragged myself through another school year while just barely holding on to my work load and my last shred of self-confidence.
I'm grateful for Lisa, who has propped me up and believed in me through this whole process. I'm very grateful for a handful of genuinely strong friends who spotted me in the water and did their best to keep me afloat. I'm also pretty lucky to have spent this year with some pretty awesome kids; they're such nice people and I hope we have a mutual affection for one another, since I'm afraid I'm too much of a hothead for my kids to really love me. But who knows.
Anyway, my new gym membership is on its fifth day, and I've had my 3rd workout already. It's three blocks away, and I can run/bike/drive there easily, and I can work out basically whenever I want and whenever I have free time. I can already feel the winds changing...
1.07.2015
aftermath
Four days later. I'm making my way, getting by, recovering. Coping.
Sure, I've had all the emotions. I've run through all the thoughts, all the ups and downs, the what ifs and possibilities, the fantasies, the annoyance, and the healing process. I've pictured what my child could have looked like. I've imagined myself in my impoverished circumstance trying feebly to provide for a child. And then considering that there would be another income to help pay for child care, the idea of raising my rejection baby with someone who had already "made it clear" that this was an arrangement solely based on the welfare of our progeny...the thought of that humiliation and endless sense of hurt and rejection, with the added responsibility and the sacrifice of my dreams...
Not worth it. I'm still glad I did it.
Noah came by this weekend for a few hours, to take me to dinner and presumably to spend time with me while I recovered. He said he'd "be in touch very soon," and I truly hope he does not try to connect with me again. I hope he stays away. Spending any kind of time with him makes my heart literally yearn for him, all I feel with my entire being is how much I love that man, and it aches so deeply that he does not share that sense of affection for me, regardless of what his true feelings are. I can't keep recovering after seeing him. He just represents hurt. He just keeps pulling me down, keeping me from healing.
I don't need that.
I'm also tired of changing these super-absorbent maxi pads. They are fart-trappers. They are bulky and uncomfortable. I realize it's a minor issue and I'm willing to deal with it, but I wonder if Noah realizes I'm still dealing with this whole experience while he is officially off the hook. I want him to leave me alone, even though I know he is a good man who is simply trying to do what seems like the right thing. I can't ask him to be willing to confront himself and find his freedom to be vulnerable and see that I would be a perfect partner for him. I would never ask someone to discover how to love me. But dear lord it hurts to love someone so deeply who is behind a wall.
Whatever. Some serious changes in my world view have taken place, I feel far less consumed by despair, and I can finally EAT FOOD without gagging!!!
My quality of life has improved dramatically in those two ways.
Sure, I've had all the emotions. I've run through all the thoughts, all the ups and downs, the what ifs and possibilities, the fantasies, the annoyance, and the healing process. I've pictured what my child could have looked like. I've imagined myself in my impoverished circumstance trying feebly to provide for a child. And then considering that there would be another income to help pay for child care, the idea of raising my rejection baby with someone who had already "made it clear" that this was an arrangement solely based on the welfare of our progeny...the thought of that humiliation and endless sense of hurt and rejection, with the added responsibility and the sacrifice of my dreams...
Not worth it. I'm still glad I did it.
Noah came by this weekend for a few hours, to take me to dinner and presumably to spend time with me while I recovered. He said he'd "be in touch very soon," and I truly hope he does not try to connect with me again. I hope he stays away. Spending any kind of time with him makes my heart literally yearn for him, all I feel with my entire being is how much I love that man, and it aches so deeply that he does not share that sense of affection for me, regardless of what his true feelings are. I can't keep recovering after seeing him. He just represents hurt. He just keeps pulling me down, keeping me from healing.
I don't need that.
I'm also tired of changing these super-absorbent maxi pads. They are fart-trappers. They are bulky and uncomfortable. I realize it's a minor issue and I'm willing to deal with it, but I wonder if Noah realizes I'm still dealing with this whole experience while he is officially off the hook. I want him to leave me alone, even though I know he is a good man who is simply trying to do what seems like the right thing. I can't ask him to be willing to confront himself and find his freedom to be vulnerable and see that I would be a perfect partner for him. I would never ask someone to discover how to love me. But dear lord it hurts to love someone so deeply who is behind a wall.
Whatever. Some serious changes in my world view have taken place, I feel far less consumed by despair, and I can finally EAT FOOD without gagging!!!
My quality of life has improved dramatically in those two ways.
1.02.2015
A New Start
In seven hours or so, I'll finally be heading in for the procedure to terminate this pregnancy. I have waited for nearly six weeks to take care of this unfortunate circumstance, which is ridiculous considering the amount of trauma and strife and weight gain and hormonal spiking going on during that time. But state regulations insist that an ultrasound be done at 5 weeks, and then the clinic can only perform procedures on Fridays, and it also just happens to be the holiday season, so... here we are at almost 9 weeks when I discovered my pregnancy three weeks in.
I've experienced so many degrees of low these past six weeks. Loss of self-respect. Despair. Anger. Bitterness. Mild hopefulness. Blame. Guilt and shame. A deep sense of failure. Isolation.
I'm also unhappy to report that I've just tossed my careful, disciplined diet and motivated workout regimen out the window, and it has rapidly resulted in unattractive weight gain. It won't stay this way, and I know it, but in the meantime I need to wear clothing and nothing fits. Improving this specific issue won't be as rapid the problem progressed, of course, but I expect that being on my feet and on the go more often will be more energy-demanding than sitting on my couch all day every day.
The friends I've communicated most closely with during this time have reminded me that this isn't the end of the world, that I'm not a worthless failure for making a choice to preserve my stability in a scenario with no perfect options, and that stewing in my bitterness over being used by Noah and self-contempt for allowing it for so long is simply a massive waste of my energy. Nothing can be done to undo those moments. And furthermore, there is no perfect behavior Noah can assume to atone for or repair anything. He's making himself available to remedy the situation in the manner I have chosen, he's agreeing to pay for it, and he's trying his best to be supportive when I'm sure he really has no idea what to do about it.
I have every right not to welcome him back into my life, or to entertain even casual, polite contact. He has no place in my life because his assertion that we could definitely be friends, and that he never wants to do anything to hurt me, have always been trumped by his selfish (and drunken) desires to get laid. And who better to exploit than someone who's willing to drive over in the middle of the night, cheerfully?
Even if I didn't give my power to him, if I wasn't boiling with fury that this "break up" from early July has come to this point six months later, I am still deeply resentful that his cavalier attitude and my feelings have managed to introduce a tiny gamete into my body that has changed my internal chemistry so dramatically. I've had all-day nausea and sick feelings almost every day of the past four weeks. My boobs are too big for my bras and they hurt and I bump them into everything. I have a fucking 9 week old fetus that has ribs and fingertips and that does NOT make me feel guilty about aborting its future. What kind of life could I possibly provide this child? I'm already morbidly depressed, broke, and single. Should I add the stigma of a single mother on welfare to my already near-suicidal state of mind?
I'm sorry to admit, if abortion wasn't an available option, there's always suicide. Because I feel as if I've lost every inch of progress I've made since 2008. The sense that there's nothing to live for is basically all I experience day in and day out. The grim notion that if I simply willed my future into a positive one, that I would undoubtedly be a force to reckon with, is already so defeating. If I could align myself with a positive perspective, if all it took was trying, I think it would be possible. But last time I dug myself out the suicidal mentality, I had a fantastic therapist to guide me, and this past time I had a mediocre one with an intimidating receptionist. Last time I had very little money to spend on sessions, and dove in the deep end to tackle my issues, and had tremendous epiphanies that parted the clouds in the skies and I saw light and happiness for the first time in years.
And in this past year, I saw the skies close over once more, and no daylight has reached me for so long and the hope of finding myself living my dreams with a light heart seems so lost.
My dear friends who have been so supportive don't realize that this is one of the many details weighing on my depression. So it's not just as easy as meditating more often, or working out at least a couple times a week. I need to catch a break with my career goals, because it has been an incredibly unyielding battle since 2008. I am meant for grad school, I am my very best doing field and lab research, and I would be fulfilling my life's purpose in conservation work. That's literally who I am, not a teacher, not a customer service rep, not a server or writer or insurance broker or anything else. I am a scientist, more specifically a field ecologist, and the world doesn't make sense unless I am living my passion. When I was a little girl, being outside was the only thing that made sense. Working with animals, behaviors, interactions, that makes life matter to me. It makes it profound, spiritual, connected.
And for seven years, I had hoped I wasn't taking too broad a side-step into the world of teaching (science) to make it possible to qualify for a decent grad program working in a lab where I would flourish. I just need that break, finally. It's the only thing that feels right, that feels worth it at all.
That's why I'm doing this tomorrow, so I can actually, legitimately try to live my own dreams. It's the only thing I want from 2015, to get into a graduate program for conservation or ecological restoration or something near there, and I'm literally open to anywhere that could be a good match. I know that future is out there and I'm ready to make it happen; to not let anything stop me.
My resolution is to stay resolved, and not resigned.
I've experienced so many degrees of low these past six weeks. Loss of self-respect. Despair. Anger. Bitterness. Mild hopefulness. Blame. Guilt and shame. A deep sense of failure. Isolation.
I'm also unhappy to report that I've just tossed my careful, disciplined diet and motivated workout regimen out the window, and it has rapidly resulted in unattractive weight gain. It won't stay this way, and I know it, but in the meantime I need to wear clothing and nothing fits. Improving this specific issue won't be as rapid the problem progressed, of course, but I expect that being on my feet and on the go more often will be more energy-demanding than sitting on my couch all day every day.
The friends I've communicated most closely with during this time have reminded me that this isn't the end of the world, that I'm not a worthless failure for making a choice to preserve my stability in a scenario with no perfect options, and that stewing in my bitterness over being used by Noah and self-contempt for allowing it for so long is simply a massive waste of my energy. Nothing can be done to undo those moments. And furthermore, there is no perfect behavior Noah can assume to atone for or repair anything. He's making himself available to remedy the situation in the manner I have chosen, he's agreeing to pay for it, and he's trying his best to be supportive when I'm sure he really has no idea what to do about it.
I have every right not to welcome him back into my life, or to entertain even casual, polite contact. He has no place in my life because his assertion that we could definitely be friends, and that he never wants to do anything to hurt me, have always been trumped by his selfish (and drunken) desires to get laid. And who better to exploit than someone who's willing to drive over in the middle of the night, cheerfully?
Even if I didn't give my power to him, if I wasn't boiling with fury that this "break up" from early July has come to this point six months later, I am still deeply resentful that his cavalier attitude and my feelings have managed to introduce a tiny gamete into my body that has changed my internal chemistry so dramatically. I've had all-day nausea and sick feelings almost every day of the past four weeks. My boobs are too big for my bras and they hurt and I bump them into everything. I have a fucking 9 week old fetus that has ribs and fingertips and that does NOT make me feel guilty about aborting its future. What kind of life could I possibly provide this child? I'm already morbidly depressed, broke, and single. Should I add the stigma of a single mother on welfare to my already near-suicidal state of mind?
I'm sorry to admit, if abortion wasn't an available option, there's always suicide. Because I feel as if I've lost every inch of progress I've made since 2008. The sense that there's nothing to live for is basically all I experience day in and day out. The grim notion that if I simply willed my future into a positive one, that I would undoubtedly be a force to reckon with, is already so defeating. If I could align myself with a positive perspective, if all it took was trying, I think it would be possible. But last time I dug myself out the suicidal mentality, I had a fantastic therapist to guide me, and this past time I had a mediocre one with an intimidating receptionist. Last time I had very little money to spend on sessions, and dove in the deep end to tackle my issues, and had tremendous epiphanies that parted the clouds in the skies and I saw light and happiness for the first time in years.
And in this past year, I saw the skies close over once more, and no daylight has reached me for so long and the hope of finding myself living my dreams with a light heart seems so lost.
My dear friends who have been so supportive don't realize that this is one of the many details weighing on my depression. So it's not just as easy as meditating more often, or working out at least a couple times a week. I need to catch a break with my career goals, because it has been an incredibly unyielding battle since 2008. I am meant for grad school, I am my very best doing field and lab research, and I would be fulfilling my life's purpose in conservation work. That's literally who I am, not a teacher, not a customer service rep, not a server or writer or insurance broker or anything else. I am a scientist, more specifically a field ecologist, and the world doesn't make sense unless I am living my passion. When I was a little girl, being outside was the only thing that made sense. Working with animals, behaviors, interactions, that makes life matter to me. It makes it profound, spiritual, connected.
And for seven years, I had hoped I wasn't taking too broad a side-step into the world of teaching (science) to make it possible to qualify for a decent grad program working in a lab where I would flourish. I just need that break, finally. It's the only thing that feels right, that feels worth it at all.
That's why I'm doing this tomorrow, so I can actually, legitimately try to live my own dreams. It's the only thing I want from 2015, to get into a graduate program for conservation or ecological restoration or something near there, and I'm literally open to anywhere that could be a good match. I know that future is out there and I'm ready to make it happen; to not let anything stop me.
My resolution is to stay resolved, and not resigned.
12.18.2014
rewind
I'm so tense today I can't stand it. It's the last day of final exams and I'm sitting with a group of kids I currently feel no affection for, because they pulled back a few weeks ago during the goddamned bullshit drama with the student council teacher and her active defaming of my reputation.
I've had no refuge from my strife, I've had no glimmer of hope, I've worked at home alone every evening, I've returned to work no more rested or restored than the day before, and I've come to face a group of people who simple take without giving.
I have absolutely nothing left to give. I'm so fucking furious about being pregnant and having to wait to resolve this situation, three weeks, two weeks, one week, one day, a few hours. Today is my consultation and ultrasound, but I can't schedule a termination appointment any sooner than 24 hours later, and of course they're closed tomorrow through Sunday. That means Monday, maybe. And next week is goddamned Christmas and I have to be available for family activities and drive my miserable ass up to Phoenix and keep my horrible secret all to myself.
I'm furious with Noah and I've had all kinds of angry conversations in my head with him. I've vowed that this will be the last chapter in this goddamned Noah saga. It's over. I'm absolutely fucking fed up with being a crumb taker, being used and hurt carelessly time and time again. I'm supposed to see him today for this appointment, and I anticipate that he'll pay for anything my insurance won't cover, which I imagine is next to nothing. And then he'll have to be there for the procedure with payment in-hand, and then I want that selfish motherfucker OUT OF MY LIFE. Permanently. I don't want to hear from him, or see him, or pretend he ever cared about me. I hate his fucking guts and I'm sick to death that I wasted an entire year hoping he'd change his mind.
I'm such a fucking fool.
This has been absolutely the worst, most demanding year I've had in a long time.
Another heartbreak. A student suicide. An obvious dead-end in a thankless job with unrealistic expectations and a pitiful salary. An injury that prevented my regular exercise and eventually defeated my momentum in working out. An unfortunate amount of weight gain.
And now morning sickness with a pregnancy that couldn't be worse timing with someone I want to avoid for the rest of my life.
Goddamned morning sickness. It's literally all day long. It's worse at night when I'm just trying to relax, and every little taste in my mouth makes my whole gut churn. Luckily I've only vomited a little bit once when I was brushing my teeth, but I basically always feel miserable.
If nothing else, the morning sickness is what's driving me insane and making me desperate for this all to be over. The sicker I feel, the more I hate Noah.
The more I feel like this is the bottom and I'm doomed.
The more I feel like I'm used up and this is the end of the road.
My consultation is today, immediately after the second final exam, and I want to throw away every moment between now and then to just get it over with.
This year, 2014, is going to end a lot of things.
I've had no refuge from my strife, I've had no glimmer of hope, I've worked at home alone every evening, I've returned to work no more rested or restored than the day before, and I've come to face a group of people who simple take without giving.
I have absolutely nothing left to give. I'm so fucking furious about being pregnant and having to wait to resolve this situation, three weeks, two weeks, one week, one day, a few hours. Today is my consultation and ultrasound, but I can't schedule a termination appointment any sooner than 24 hours later, and of course they're closed tomorrow through Sunday. That means Monday, maybe. And next week is goddamned Christmas and I have to be available for family activities and drive my miserable ass up to Phoenix and keep my horrible secret all to myself.
I'm furious with Noah and I've had all kinds of angry conversations in my head with him. I've vowed that this will be the last chapter in this goddamned Noah saga. It's over. I'm absolutely fucking fed up with being a crumb taker, being used and hurt carelessly time and time again. I'm supposed to see him today for this appointment, and I anticipate that he'll pay for anything my insurance won't cover, which I imagine is next to nothing. And then he'll have to be there for the procedure with payment in-hand, and then I want that selfish motherfucker OUT OF MY LIFE. Permanently. I don't want to hear from him, or see him, or pretend he ever cared about me. I hate his fucking guts and I'm sick to death that I wasted an entire year hoping he'd change his mind.
I'm such a fucking fool.
This has been absolutely the worst, most demanding year I've had in a long time.
Another heartbreak. A student suicide. An obvious dead-end in a thankless job with unrealistic expectations and a pitiful salary. An injury that prevented my regular exercise and eventually defeated my momentum in working out. An unfortunate amount of weight gain.
And now morning sickness with a pregnancy that couldn't be worse timing with someone I want to avoid for the rest of my life.
Goddamned morning sickness. It's literally all day long. It's worse at night when I'm just trying to relax, and every little taste in my mouth makes my whole gut churn. Luckily I've only vomited a little bit once when I was brushing my teeth, but I basically always feel miserable.
If nothing else, the morning sickness is what's driving me insane and making me desperate for this all to be over. The sicker I feel, the more I hate Noah.
The more I feel like this is the bottom and I'm doomed.
The more I feel like I'm used up and this is the end of the road.
My consultation is today, immediately after the second final exam, and I want to throw away every moment between now and then to just get it over with.
This year, 2014, is going to end a lot of things.
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