Monday, November 26, 2012
Fifty-two weeks ago today I did my daily routine.
I woke up at 5:00. Pulled myself out of bed. Turned on my computer and opened up my webcomics. I pulled out a Yoplait yogurt from the fridge while I read them. I only ate a spoonful or two.
I hadn't eaten breakfast in months. I felt too sick, too sad in the morning to eat.
I thought about how for each day of Thanksgiving break I cried, dreading the return to school.
It had to stop. I knew that I was through with teaching, but one more year to give it a shot turned into one last year turned into "just finish the semester" turned into...what can I do?
I got into the shower and I start crying. I cried on the way to work. I cried as I climbed up the stairs to my classroom. Just like I had been for months.
I just tried to deal through my first block class. During second block planning, I ate chocolate candies and drank hot chocolate. I somehow survived block three, lunch I had a lunchable. I endured block four, the class that does everything in its power to make my life hell.
This is the class that has stolen projects from other students to turn in, stolen each other's iPods, and lit a fire in my class. They constantly trying to stage a coup in my classroom.
You know, just your typical teenagers.
I was in school until 5 or so, grading, emailing, writing detentions and referrals.
I drove to my psychiatrist's home--my second visit.
I told her how I'd been feeling. Not much better than the last time. I talked about how I cried all throughout Thanksgiving break. My heart was constantly palpitating, racing and skipping beats. I felt sick, and I had never been more miserable.
And that's when we decided: I will quit.
That's it. It's over. I'm going to simply quit. Put in two weeks and end it.
I went home and ate ramen and half a bag of potato chips. A standard dinner for me by this point.
The next day my Assistant Principal was very understanding.
The next two weeks were hellish. I felt like December 9, my last day, would never come.
But it did. It did, and I cried. It was over.
I packed up my things and moved back into my parents' house. They were very gentle with me. I still cried because my dream of being a teacher, of changing lives was long over. But I didn't cry as much.
Slowly, I started pulling my life back together. I applied to as many jobs as possible. I broke up with my at the time boyfriend who didn't value me. I started working at a tutoring center because I felt so lost with no work to do. I took up running using C25K. I started dating someone I had liked for a while, even though I knew it was crazy to start dating so soon.
I started taking an active approach to my health, taking classes at the gym, incorporating ST. I started counting calories.
Even before I got my current FT job, I knew: my overall disposition experienced a complete 180. I was happy. Every day. I rarely cried as opposed to crying multiple times a day. I felt good physically, emotionally, and mentally. My life was not only becoming mine to control again, it was now full of joy, of purpose, of positivity.
It was so hard to get to this point, but here I am, without a regret of those touch choices I made. It was difficult, but it was so worth it.
So many of us are struggling with various things--weight, work, relationships. And we usually know what the right choice is, but it's hard. It's hard to challenge ourselves, and it's hard to let things go, comforting things that may ultimately destroy us.
But you and I? We're worth it. We are worth being happy and healthy.
And don't let anyone else tell you otherwise--not even yourself.
So go ahead--make those tough choices. Do the hard thing. I won't say it won't suck.
But it is so, so worth it.