I suppose it's always best to start at the beginning, so here goes. Depression hit me really hard back in April. This is by no means the first time this has happened, so I knew what was happening. In the past the worst bout I'd ever dealt with only lasted about oh, 3 months maybe. When it cropped up this time, I figured it would eventually fade and I'd be feeling better in no time. But days turned into weeks and weeks into months. Before I knew it, it was nearly time for me to move to Honduras and I wasn't feeling any better. If anything, I was feeling worse and worse as time wore on. There were many nights that I asked the questions, "What if things don't get better? What if I can't do this? Should I stay home?" In the end, I obviously decided to stick with my plan. I suppose I was really hoping that the change of pace and such would help out and get me back to feeling normal again.
It wasn't long before I realized that just being here wasn't going to be the thing to change what was happening in my head. I tried a variety of things in hopes of feeling better. Nothing really helped. But I was still very determined to stick it out until June. I couldn't bear the thought of walking out on a commitment I'd made. Couldn't bear the thought of my boss maybe being mad at me for being another foreign teacher to screw her over. Didn't want to be another person who walked out on these great kids who deserve every opportunity to get the best education possible. Not to mention the fact that I really don't want to go. I love my job. I love the kids that I spend each day with. I love feeling like I'm making even a tiny difference in the world. I thought that love would be enough to eventually make things better. I thought I could handle it. No matter how terrible it would be for me, I wasn't what mattered.
But then last week happened and it was absolutely horrid. There came a day that I realized that if I tried to fight it out here, I literally might not live to see June. I realize that's probably a shocking statement, but it's the truth. When you've already been feeling like this for nearly 7 months and the prospect of help is still another 7 or so months away, it feels like it will never end. And no one should have to feel like this for forever. It simply isn't doable, that's why people look for a way out. The hurt gets too much. And I get that. Luckily, I still have the presence of mind to know that the part of my brain that tells me that this is my forever is wrong. There is help out there, I just have to ask for it. I have to put myself first. So that's what's happening.
I fly back into Springfield on December 20th and will do my best to return to the normal life I had before. Honestly, this plan makes my life considerably more difficult as I now have the task of finding a place to live and a car and everything else that I was hoping to save for until June. I'm trying not to stress about that right now, though. I know that all of that will fall into place, as will finding a therapist and psychiatrist who can offer me the help that I need. I know that working through what I've got to work through will by no means be easy, but I do believe it will be worth it
For a long time I fought the idea of coming home because I thought everyone would see me as a failure. Heck, I would see me as a failure. I am trying to fight that thought though because I know I haven't failed. I have succeeded in fighting against my own mind day in and day out and never losing that war.
Thank you all for supporting me on this amazing journey and I am so glad that I've had the chance to share it with you. I can only hope that you'll continue to stand with me on the considerably less fun leg of my life journey that lies ahead, I'm sure I'll need all support I can get.
