I forced myself to go to the Children's Museum. I was of little help. I was so tired. If I didn't think it would have caused some alarm I would have just laid down by the water tables and stared at the ceiling. I don't know what it is that ceiling and sky hold as a draw. I find when I am feeling UnWell, that looking up is preferable. Looking at nothing. Empty sky. Blank ceiling.
I have been experiencing some of the "hysterical deafness" that sings in my ears when I am stressed. I don't know what I am stressed about. Just that things don't feel right and it pisses me off.
To the best of my knowledge this was the third time I missed work due to Depression related crap.
The first time was when I was teaching K-12 and had to be sent home because I could not stop crying (about what? I don't know. Didn't then, either). That was more than 12 years ago.
Second time was last spring-- when I also could not stop crying. Teaching adults this time, but still can't really do that through a haze of tears.
This time I was only on the verge of tears. And my face was made of clay and felt like it might crack. I meant to go to the Y to work out, but I lost track of time and got there too late to do anything but take a shower and change into my work clothes. I felt sick to my stomach, but it seemed psychosomatic so I tried to ignore it.
I left the Y later than I should have. I had forgotten my phone at home. I missed the turnoff to take the daughter to my friend's house. I thought I might have to pull over because the pile-up of minor irritations was having a greater affect on me than I expected.
I was having trouble thinking-- sluggish thoughts. The idea of being able to be useful in a classroom seemed ludicrous. I drove to work, dragged the daughter in, and told my students I was not well and needed to go home. I felt like faking a cough or looking more obviously ill. Because mental colds are just not a thing. But that is what it felt like. That I just needed some time to recover from whatever it was that was leaning on the sore spot of my Depression. Twisting the knife.
Went home, went to sleep. Spouse came home early to pick up children from school. This was a great relief. I think I slept more.
Did not volunteer. A mix of dread-- fearing my ability to be emotionally present for children-- and surprise scheduling conflict. One son forgot his backpack and I needed to return it to him. I don't remember what all else happened.
Grateful Crap: still standing
took my damn meds every damn day
Quaker, teacher, parent,