The diary of my anxiety

I know I’ve posted today and that you guys must be sick of me, but there’s a lot going on my mind today. My anxiety is through the roof, even being on medication. I get back to work the day after tomorrow, after being gone for weeks. My students know that I’m sick, but they have no idea what it is. I don’t tell them (well, most of them) about my depression. They know that I go to endless doctor’s appointments, that I need to miss work sometimes, but they have no idea why. Should I tell them? I had never been gone for so long, maybe they will want answers. Should I be honest? Do they have a right to know? Won’t they think I’m less professional? Some people are very prejudiced when it comes to depression because they don’t understand it. They think you’re down and sad and weak and that you should just pull yourself together. Maybe some of my students are like that. Maybe they will think I’m weak, crazy, faking it or just being dramatic. I’ve heard all of these from people. On the other hand, why would I care what they think? They don’t know what I’ve been going through. They’re no one to judge. Maybe they won’t even do it. They are usually nice and kind. And then, then there’s me, feeling ridiculous because I’m worried about what my students might think of me. Why do I care? I don’t need other people’s approval. If they don’t like it, they can find another teacher. I don’t care what they think. I shouldn’t care.

Then, there’s the part of me that is simply scared of going back out there. Leaving my home, where I’ve been resting, without the usual stress, to get back to running a business and trying to be a girl boss. Maybe I need more time. Time to rest and heal. Can I afford that? I don’t know. I’m afraid I will get back to work and that it will all come down falling on me at once. The responsibility, the constant calls, emails, text messages, meetings, schedules, homework, cancellations, taxes, the whole thing. What if I go back and I can’t do it. I came home because I was in bad shape. Exhaustion and sleep problems were getting the better of me. I’m better now. My depression medication seems to be working. I’m calmer, I’m happy, I’m enjoying life, making plans and full of energy to go back and take on the world. But that’s just on my mind. My mind and body are usually not in good terms. What if I go back and I feel as bad as I felt before? That dreading to wake up in the morning, dragging all day and looking at my clock all the time, thinking when I was finally going to be able to go home and rest, just to start all over again the next day? What if I go back and feel like shit? What if I can’t do shit? I’m so scared.

Also, I’ve been thinking about specific situations that I need to take care of, all the time. I need to reduce my schedules, change the hours. Be done by 7. That’s what my boyfriend and I agreed. I’m going back to work now, but I can’t work later than 7. We need to come home early, relax a little, do our own stuff and live our lives. He’s very exhausted as well. We’ve been doing this working endless hours thing for years. We need a life. I know he needs to slow down as much as I do. The problem is, I have students from 7 to 10. Every single day if I want to. If I gave them the chance, they would schedule classes for Saturday and Sunday as well. But I can’t. I’m going to have to talk to all these people and tell them that I can’t work after seven. I will give them the option of joining them in two groups. If I do that, I keep the students and only work late two days a week. If they don’t want it, I might lose them, lose money. What if they get mad? What if they think I’m failing them because I can no longer work nights? I hate to disappoint. It scares the shit out of me. I’m dreading and fearing these conversations. And they will happen this week, starting the day after tomorrow. I can’t stop thinking about what I’m going to say and how they will react.

This is what has been on my mind, every second of every day since I came home. I rest, but my mind doesn’t keep up. I’m always worrying a little. Sometimes a lot. My anxiety is always there. It’s like it has a life of its own. It should have its own diary.