Did I do enough? Did I make things worse? Are they ready?

I thought they were, but today they were second guessing themselves. They are exhausted. They have been taking AP tests for two solid weeks, and the very last one, the one this Friday afternoon, is physics. The. Very. Last. One. And today, they didn’t know how to make a graph. They need sleep. I need sleep. God, let them shake this off.

Did you know that last year my students out-scored the entire district? The state? The nation? The effin’ world? They did. And this year, these kids can out-do last year. But today they were so tired that they couldn’t make a graph.

You know that thing I said once, the piece of wisdom that isn’t really wisdom but a harsh reality?

Today’s accomplishments are tomorrow’s expectations.

It is now tomorrow.

One of the things I dislike about my condition (and there are many things to dislike about my condition) is the certainty of judgment cast by those in the know, as innocent of intention they may be. Call it stigma, call it preconceptions or even experience that causes disenchantment. The mystery that could cast a spell is tainted with doubt of senility. But it’s all quite silly. Everyone has some level of genius and madness. For that, no one is free from judgement.

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The last couple of days have teased my mind with a thought that came together this evening as I lay here staving off anxiety.

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Many things have come to a head recently with many people in my life. Their situations are beyond my scope of understanding outside of the empathy I feel. Three people have admitted to thoughts of suicide. And I keep just enough distance to be present while guarding myself from spiraling with them. I am standoffish at times because I have to be. Because in the midst of their troubles my own surface, though some faintly. I thought to myself tonight that I have a lot to work on. But then that thing that has been tapping on the door to my mind entered and made itself clear as day. I don’t have to work on anything because I gave it up to God a long time ago. What I mean is that I spoke the words, only I didn’t really do it. I don’t have to work on anything while I keep my eyes on him. I understand that now, and I’m practicing. Sounds like avoidance to me. Sounds like a lot of things I learned while getting that counseling degree I never used. Sounds like a lot of things it isn’t.

Regarding my mental state, I’m in good company. Many people I admire are or were as afflicted as I am. Madness has its benefits.

I cannot in anyway put in a good light the physiological effects that my current situations have caused, however. Anxiety, for one. I’m tense and restless. My heart races. I can pinpoint several catalysts, all of which will pass. I’m grateful they are temporary.

I sure could use a Vicodin, though.

Teachers all over America are running on fumes. Aside from being tired all the time, I’m not clawing my way to the finish as usual. I’m actually quite sad. I can remember one other year I felt this level of sadness. That was the year my most difficult students graduated. They were the ones I had four years straight, the ones that made me get a masters degree to get out of teaching, and for them my tears started flowing in February of that last year. I never did get out of teaching. All the anguish they caused me was met with an unexpected feeling of loss when they left. This year has been by far the easiest of my career. I enjoyed this year more than the rest. I saw brains blossom in the last few weeks in a way I didn’t expect, and I recently witnessed the kids’ realizations that they understand what most people don’t and never will know. Today I watched them engage in random conversations as close friends, and I knew these friendships would last. I knew they made them in AP Physics. And my heart broke. In less than two weeks, they will be gone. One of the things they don’t tell people who are just starting their teaching careers is that at the end of every year you have to let go. You have to send your children off into the world. Over and over. Most years I am a little sad, but I welcome the summer breaks. This year is different. Letting go is extra hard.

Maybe it would’ve been easier if we hadn’t made the music videos. I’m compiling them for us to watch the last day. And I am adding a video of me playing a ukelele (badly) and singing them a song I wrote. It’s a funny video, and they aren’t expecting it. My original hope was to entertain them. My hope now is to hold it together.

So tomorrow I will mingle with them. Laugh. Gather memories to hold onto while I still can. Pretend my heart isn’t breaking.