Me caigo

I'm cracking up.

Looking back I can see that this has been on the horizon for months, but I didn't imagine that it would get worse. Well, it has. I shake, I cry without warning or provocation, my ability to focus is shot, my sleep is the worst it's been in ages. If I'm so damn tired, why can't I stay asleep through the night? My shiny new therapist could offer several explanations, probably all good.

He asked if I was getting at least eight hours of sleep a night. It was such a preposterous question that I laughed out loud, perhaps a bit rudely, and reminded him that I'm a grad student. He smiled knowingly (psychologists have PhDs, after all) and told me he had to ask anyway.

Anyway, it's gotten to the point that I'm having to make some major adjustments, at least as major as they can reasonably be mid-semester. Some things will have to wait until May (getting 8+ hours of sleep a night, for example). I am blessed in that the people around me-- fellow students, remaining friends, advisor, and my amazing husband-- are powerfully supportive. However, that doesn't change the fact that I'm cracking.

I still haven't snapped in front of my students, though, and I take tremendous pride in that. When I teach I'm in a zone, on a different plane, and there's no room in that space for my issues. I have fifty minutes each day to cram a certain amount of grammar and conversation and writing and listening practice into their heads and mouths, and I don't have time to worry about myself. Forcing myself to go teach every day has been pretty decent stop-gap therapy, for what it's worth.

I'm still here. I've beat it back before, and I'll keep doing it for as many years as are alloted to me. Someday (hopefully some far-off day) I will die a natural death and this will be over.