What if I decide not to be candid anymore. What if I decide to say, "just kidding, everything is fine." What if I don't tell you that things have really sucked lately--that my brain is not so functional. I forget things. I get lost. I don't care--and yet I am easily overwhelmed.
That last one is a mystery to me. If I truly don't care, how is it that I am overwhelmed?
What if I don't let you know that the psych NP has decided to try getting me off the bupropion because it doesn't seem to be working to fend off the Depression. What if I don't tell you that I am now on 75 mg of venlafaxine-- the drug that I was weaned from one painstaking bead at a time last spring.
What if I pretend that after changing medications on Friday, everything has miraculously gone back to normal and I am not experiencing any residual symptoms of the crap end of Depression.
What if I neglect to mention that I have little appetite and I'm tired ALL THE TIME. My sleep graph shows me getting more sleep, but of poorer quality in the past few weeks.
I confessed to all the relevant parties (bosses and co-teachers) that things are going not well. As if they cannot tell. I felt certain that they were going to be angry with me for doing poorly. Which is dumb. Because they are not monsters.
And I didn't feel like they would be upset if I called to say that I have walking pneumonia and wouldn't be up to snuff. But somehow letting them know that my brain is not working seems like a cop-out. Of course, I use my brain every bit as much as I use my lungs while I am teaching. Even more, hopefully.
I am showing up to class. I am teaching. I am even planning at least one class at a time. But any major changes to curriculum--any big WOW projects, any long-term planning is right out the window. As is any sort of collegiality.
meds: 300mg bupropion, 250mg lamotrigine, 75mg venlafaxine (day 6)
Quaker, teacher, parent,