[ 04-08-03 ] [ 12:47 p.m.]
[ Depression? ]

I've been at my grandma's house for over two hours now. Even though it's Tuesday, and I'm presently supposed to be in Astronomy, there's a very good reason as to why I'm not.

I had a huge breakdown of emotions today. It didn't even wait until school started to kick in.

Already when I woke up I was feeling as though today was going to be Melodrama Central. I was sleepy, I was cranky, it was snowing, and bed would have been very, very nice. Instead, I got up like a good little girl to help Gimpy across the street. My friend Katie, nicknamed Gimpy at the moment, is big into horses, and her newest horse just kicked her in the foot on Saturday. At Neenah, we have homeroom only once a week, on Tuesdays in between second and third hours, and it�s tradition to bring donuts. Seeing as how it was Gimpy�s week to bring donuts, and seeing how she�s on crutches and can�t carry her donuts, she asked me to pick them up for her. No big deal, right?

Absolutely. That�s not even what set me off. I just felt it pertinent to note that I had to run around the school looking for Gimpy�s homeroom. By the time I got back to the cafeteria, which is where my friends meet in the morning, I wanted to listen to �Sweetness� so bad I could cry. �Sweetness�, by the way, is a Jimmy Eat World song that sort of works as my cool-down. Whenever I hear it, I just relax.

But, guess what? I couldn�t listen to �Sweetness� because Caitlin still had my CD player. So when I went up to her to ask her if she had it, and she told me no, I just got this horrible feeling.

Caitlin has a chronic stealing problem. Actually, I wouldn�t quite call it �stealing�. It�s more along the lines of �borrowing and not remembering to bring it back until the person forgets you have something of theirs.� She swiped another of my CD players using this process.

Well, as soon as I was outside the cafeteria, I just let loose. I got so mad that all my friends had to back up at least five feet to get from getting smacked. When Carol, God bless her, suggested that we go to the Information desk and report the theft, I agreed, hoping that it would get resolved without further incident, and let me get to class.

It didn�t quite go so well. The lady at the Information desk, Mrs. Hudak, I think, said we ought to go to Officer Pederson.

To quote the 1990�s preppies: AS IF!

Pederson, besides being the school�s police liaison, is a lazy bastard. He does nothing for anyone but himself. When someone reports a problem to him, he promises he�ll �get right on it�, but somehow, you never see the fruits of his labor. How he still has a job is a wonder to me.

Anyway, this suggestion totally made me let loose. I was holding a disposable camera that I had once left at Carol�s, and that exact moment I chose to re-define the meaning of the word �disposable.� I chucked the camera at Mrs. Hudak, and it bounced off of her desk and skidded into the hallway.

I didn�t say a damned thing to either Carol or Mrs. Hudak. I just took off down the Link towards Geometry. By the time I got there, my hands were bloody from me digging my fingernails into my hands trying to control my rage.

Tim saw me walk into class, red-faced and steamy, and immediately got up. I walked toward him, knowing that Tim would be my last hope of containing my temper. We met right in front of Alex, who, as Tim told me later after I�d calmed down, looked totally shocked and upset. Tim told Alex to �stay. She�ll be alright� when I suggested we go to the guidance office, because Alex had made a move to get up and go with us. Anyway, Tim took me down there where I chucked erasers at a blackboard and waited for Mrs. Johnston.

Once in her office, the first thing she did was call my mother. I had a nice argument with Mommy dearest over the phone, because she refuses to accept that something might be wrong with me. Then she came INTO SCHOOL and talked with me and Mrs. Johnston. I told her I was in no mood to deal with anybody else�s shit today, and that I wanted to go to Grandma�s. And here I am.

My grandmother is the best at making me feel better. She gives the best advice, and has the best heartwarming stories to tell. She sat with me on my bed until 11:30, when we played a quick game of cribbage before she went to her computer learning class.

I would feel so much better right now if I weren�t about to lose my job.

My job, by the way, is teaching basic piano to elementary school kids. I normally love the job, because the kids are great, the pay is good, and it�s something I like doing. But lately I�m just not able to put my heart and soul into it like I have been able to. It�s this whole chemical-imbalance b-s. I know exactly why I�m about to get fired � last week, Tuesday, was another of those horrible, don�t-wanna-deal days, and I was tired and super-cranky come class at 4:00. My assistant, Cory, was deliberately trying to piss me off, after all, it WAS April Fool�s Day, but I had had enough. I just went off on him, losing my head in front of those kids.

Although I�m sort of confused, because the first class of two are all sixth graders who have all seen and heard vulgar language. And there are no parents who stay to watch that class.

And although what I said to Cory wasn�t exactly pretty, it wasn�t my usual �fuck you, you fucking asshole!� It was more along the lines of �shut up and knock it off, Cory, before you make me do something we�re both going to regret!�

I�m not saying I was in the right. But I wasn�t in the wrong either.

Right now, though, I don�t really want this job. It�s an emotional strain on me just as much as school is, and if I get fired, I can say I quit. Like I�ve said, I love the job, but I just can�t successfully do it in this state of mind.

I have a physical on Monday, the first day of Spring Break. I hope my doctor will be able to tell me what�s wrong with me. I have so many things going wrong right now � not only my temper and emotional roller-coaster-ism, but the fact that I�ve been losing my eyebrows and eyelashes, the fact that I can�t stop eating, the fact that my periods are eerily irregular, the fact that I don�t care about anything at all right now.

Mrs. Johnston thinks it�s depression. So does my grandmother.

Please tell me it�s not.

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