I have been saying I want to switch jobs for at least a year, if not longer. I have been saying I’m unhappy in my job, that I’m tired of what my job requires of me. But over the past few weeks I’ve come to realize something.
I’m not tired of my job. My want to switch is rooted in the fact that I feel like I’m not doing good work. (And if we are being realistic here, I’m not doing my best). I have no confidence in myself. And the reason for that is because I’m depressed. I’m resistant to doing new things and I can’t tell you how many times “I can’t do this anymore” runs through my head. Every time I sit at my desk staring into space, I just don’t care that I’m not working. I hate the parts of my job that I used to love. Public speaking. Working with kids. Teaching. The one thing that I’ve been passionate about for most of my life. I’ve never, ever lost that before, no matter how bad I’ve felt. I just don’t care.
Despite all of this, the one thing that made me realize I am depressed is the sense of tremendous relief I get when I don’t get called for an interview or I make it the whole way through the interview process and don’t get the job.
The depression has robbed my of my confidence, of myself. This has been the longest stretch of depression that I remember. I think it’s been years. Yes, I’ve had small periods of relief, but the overall theme has been soul crushing. I’m even questioning the bipolar diagnosis because it’s been so long since I’ve felt truly hypomanic.
When I thought I was going to have to wait a month to see the new therapist again, I was in tears. I was upset. I felt horrible. Mostly I was scared of what would happen to me if I didn’t have help. My mom talked me into calling back and asking for one of the cancellations he had for next week, even though I’d have to take off work.
So here I am, scraping the bottom of the barrel to keep going, dreading the medication change that is surely in my future. The amount of work that is in front of me feels insurmountable.
But I’ll do it.