...but I can still get help from the States (as well as down here)

While I won't say my decision is completely made by this point, something inside of me is telling me I ought to be here for longer than one semester. I don't believe that God would call me down here to try to lead my students for four months and then leave them to other, untested teaching for the remainder of the year. I believe that God wants me to teach these students for a reason, but I don't believe I'm capable of teaching them what and how He's calling me to teach them in the state I am right now.

I am depressed; there is no denying that. I can barely control my use of the computer for relatively frivolous things. People I haven't known before coming down here can tell there is some sort of pall over me; despite my best efforts to be the wacky and punny guy I've been since high school (and relative success, for a depressed version of that guy), it's apparent to people that there's more where that came from, but I'm just not in a position to let that out these days. How much more effective of a teacher could I be if I were able to let go of this incomprehensible weight of depression on me, my mind, and my personality! How much more creative and authentically dynamic could I be in the classroom if the chemicals in my brain were at the proper levels! How much might I actually want to be here if I didn't have extenuating psychological circumstances at work in my head!

I had an extremely meaningful conversation on Tuesday with a fellow English teacher who actually has struggled with depression herself for many years. She assured me of the difference therapy and medicine can make, and assured me of the difference I could make in my students' English experience if I could get myself healed. She opened up the possibility of communicating with a therapist and physician over the internet, an idea I had never before entertained. (As tech savvy and internet-oriented as I may be, I very much prefer and value face-to-face contact.) So this weekend, I am pursuing a couple of leads I got from other friends back in the states, hoping I might be able to get recommendations on how I might wisely foray into the world of depression medication, which I can obtain down here without a prescription.

Don't worry, fair readers. I will be prudent. I won't rashly embark on this psychological renovation. I do, however want to expedite it as much as possible. I want assurance that I can positively change while down here and embrace my situation before I have to return home for Christmas. If I don't see promise of improvement, I may have to remain home and seek more intense help. But if I can get the help I need from a distance, then that is certainly the way to go.

At any rate, life this past week has been a vast improvement over the week previous, which led to my most recent blog post.

It all started on Tuesday, when I tied my bow tie as perfectly as I ever have on my first try and my hair fell in an acceptable manner without the use of product (yes, my vanity has a great effect on my outlook on life). I taught a great lesson on voice in writing that included sharing with my students an ancient blog post some of my readers from Xanga days may recall (though I will not share here - suffice it to say it was girl-angsty and left my students with sundry questions about my past). I had the aforementioned conversation with my fellow English teacher.

Wednesday's school day concluded with a "pep rally" for the school's basketball teams, who competed in a tournament this weekend. I was filled with disturbing (for my students, at least) amounts of pep.

Thursday I talked to my stepmom on the phone and enjoyed the night's television offerings as well as the radio offerings of Super100 (100.1 FM, your source for music from the 70s, 80s, 90s, and 00s in surprisingly apt playlistings, not to mention commercials no more than every half hour), which consisted of a solid 3 hours of Billy Joel music. When they say Three for Thursday (they don't say Three for Thursday, they speak Spanish down here), they don't mean three songs by an artist, but three hours of an artist, apparently. I've said before how much I appreciate hearing a song I like on the radio; well, imagine this appreciation multiplied by who-knows-how-many times.

Friday evening, five of us embarked on a food-and-basketball excursion. I had food plans all lined up and they were a surprise to almost all of my compatriots - I'd learned of a restaurant called The Wing Factory, and my friend Kristin had had an unfortunate turn of wing events the previous weekend, so I was hoping this would make up for it. It did. The Wing Factory is now my favorite restaurant in Tegus, with its triple play of food, ambiance, and musical choices. I shall return shortly. It is also relatively close to the American School, where the basketball tournament was held. We forewent the possibly-prudent taxi ride and walked the perhaps one mile to the school, balancing on the curb along a busy boulevard, racing across a deceptively not-busy intersection right in front of the one car turning onto it, hike up a ridiculous hill, and then pass through the beautiful-even-in-the-night campus of the American School. Our varsity team was playing a team from San Pedro Sula, and getting creamed even in the 2nd quarter. It was 2-22 when we walked in.

Honduran basketball is something to behold. Every pass is lofted with the strength of a half-court shot, simple breakaway layups are missed, and ball-handling is so clumsy I truly believe the players wouldn't do much worse if they were trying to do everything with their feet. The cultural preference of soccer is painfully apparent when watching this U.S.-created game. However, I had a blast cheering on my students, one of whom scored half of his team's total 8 points by the end of the game. (The other team ended up with 50-some points.) Despite the blowout, Nelson told me after the game it was the proudest day of his life, and though I suspect he was honestly proud of himself, I feel he may have been exaggerating a little bit. At any rate, it was a fabulous evening topped off with a half-hour ride home with 8 people in the back of a pickup.

The rest of the weekend has been fairly lazy, but I am feeling confident of my work ethic for the rest of the day. I'm loving the Scarlet Letter, and many of my students are surprisingly into it, too. Thanksgiving's 5-day weekend is a mere 8 school days away, and I'm eager to get help for the future. I know depression still has a hold on me, but it has loosened its grip for several days and given me breathing room enough to hopefully make a significant change in my life.

I appreciate the prayers you all have been sending up for me; I believe that this bright point in my time down here is a direct result of them. Please keep them going, and I will do my part to hopefully continue improving.