Guilt and fear

There are many "ties that bind" in my life but one of the ties that seems to bind tightest is guilt. I seem to be constantly wracked by guilt. At home and at work, guilt seems to constantly dog my every step.

The smartest thing for me to do in my current job is resign. I need to pack up my books, close down my computer and leave school. I need a break, I need a period of rejuvenation, I need to get away, but I can't. Why not? Well my contract lets me give notice, I have a few pounds in the bank and I could survive a sabbatical year, but I suspect I won't and the reason is guilt. I feel guilty about just giving up. I believe that the school would not cope without me. I believe that my family would not cope without my salary. I feel guilty that I have let myself down. I feel guilty that I have let the memory of my deceased father down. If I spend long enough thinking about it I probably believe I'd be letting my dog down.

I suppose that guilt is also coupled to fear. I fear failure. I fear the loss of respect, from others and myself. What I find particularly worrisome is I find that my whole feeling of self-worth is tied up in the job that I do and the acknowledgement I get from others. I fear the prospect of being seen. 

I'd like to think that I don't care what other people think. But I do. I like my position. I like the authority I have. I don't want to be a failure, a broken man, someone whose name is uttered in hushed tones as the loony who jacked it in. It bothers me. It makes me feel guilty. 

I also genuinely don't want to let people down. I like my colleagues. I like the children. I like to think I do a good job and as a result do something to improve outcomes for everyone in the school.

The number of triggers I encounter would be significantly reduced if I just walked away. But what I need is courage. 

Those are my thoughts today. No doubt more to come.

Keep sane!

Here we go...

I'm a bipolar teacher. I keep it very quiet. Very few people will get this at all. It's so lonely as I can't talk to anyone about this.

30 years of suffering without any visible scars but a mind torn to pieces and held together with random threads of hope and the glue of medication. This blog is my therapy, it is my personal counselling, writing about my condition helps me; with any luck there may even be 1 or 2 people out there who will understand how I feel. Really that's all I want, to know I'm not completely on my own. My family don't understand, or don't want to. My colleagues don't know. My doctor looks concerned but probably has no idea how I feel.

If I had a physical illness I'm sure I would be viewed differently; maybe I could attract sympathy. Other people know what physical pain feels like but you have to have led a bipolar life to have any understanding of the looming misery of my existence.

This illness is inside of my skull and that the only true cure is death. Suicidal? Not for many years but I do suffer from such a deep and destructive misery that I wouldn't put up a fight if death came knocking.

My bipolar life at the moment is mostly low, a deep depression that I can't remember entering. When I get miserable I get more depressed, filled with even more despair. I'm content these days if I'm simply miserable. Once in a blue moon I experience highs, the pleasure of mania when the world resolves into sharp focus and ideas flow like water. I used to have lots of these when I was younger, periods of intense pleasure and creativity. These periods got me a degree and a doctorate, periods of extreme energy when the whole Universe mad sense and the its structure and workings opened up before me. In those days highs and lows came and went, swinging like a pendulum. As I got older and experienced the pains of existence the pendulum seemed to violate the laws of physics and spend a far greater time in the depressive phase. But more of that later.

I'll tell anyone who ever reads this everything. I'll talk about teaching through the eyes of a manic depressive, I'll talk about my career and my life, I'll ruminate on life and death, I'll get stuff off my chest. Some days I hope I bring solace though I suspect that most of this will be simply maudlin and miserable. Who knows. Please come back.