...but you wouldn't know based on my blogging lately

I've been sidetracked. I've been very apathetic. A lot of stuff has been going on, but at the points I have had some free time, I haven't felt like sitting down and writing on here, because that takes, you know, mental effort. My mind is still not where I think it should be.

I have been seeing a psychiatrist. His name is Dr. Vittetoe, and his late wife used to work at International School. He speaks English quite well, and he's quite easy to talk to. I have met with him three times at this point (it would have been 4, but I got in touch with him just before his vacation). I don't really know what to expect from something like this, but I know plenty of my friends who have been in therapy and such who warned me, "Now I've talked to a lot of these folks, and it took me a while to find one that I liked. So just know that." I have no complaints so far. We've pretty much just talked and I've done very much of the talking (whereas I'm very good at letting others do the talking in many contexts). It's therapeutic and cathartic just to talk about whatever, and I can tell him pretty much anything because our sessions are the only point where he figures into my life, and he's a doctor to boot. So that's helpful.

I am on a prescription of a drug called Dogmatil, a name for the chemical sulpiride, which apparently isn't for sale in the US (something about not being approved by the FDA...oops), and it's hard to tell if it's been helping or not...

...because I'm still subject to furious bouts of discouragement and the aforementioned apathy, and my school work is greatly struggling. I only have 4 days of class left before exams, and I'm really stumbling to the finish, a strategy that worked admirably for my largely passive existence as a student, but incurs my students' greater apathy and resistance when I try to pull that as a teacher. In short, that's not the way to go, because stuff hits the fan quite readily.

I've been dealing with more and more disrespect issues in class, and today I came to a disconcerting conclusion: I can't command respect because I have a hard time believing I deserve respect myself. Since I know I haven't been trying as hard as I could, and since I've historically had a rather low self-image, I don't exactly respect myself as a teacher, and I think my students can sense this on some level. I take pride in certain abilities of mine, like my wit and extensive vocabulary, but I don't really respect myself. I don't know how I can grow to respect myself, either, which might perpetuate these problems.

I had another chilling moment of clarity today as I was looking at a piteously late exam from the first quarter (about 6 weeks late) and I didn't feel like grading it, and I caught myself saying aloud, "Eduardo, I don't care ab-" and the remainder of that quote was obviously going to be "-out you." I realized this flippant remark is likely very telling: I don't care about many of my students. And that is something inexcusable in my book. If I cared about my students and their well-being and their learning, I would have intrinsic motivation to be a good teacher, to give my all as I prepare and grade, so that they can learn from their mistakes and I can guide them in fixing them. But I don't. I know it helps to see motivation on their part as well, and given that many of them really don't care (and aren't really pushed by their parents either) I have a hard time giving a rat's ass if they improve in their English skills at all. I know some of my students are very capable, and very motivated, but I'm letting them down too. And that is what I think is most inexcusable. Not to mention frightening.

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One thing you expect if you live in a new culture is that it's going to be an adjustment, sure. But over time, you also expect that the culture will grow on you, and you can see the benefits of it, the advantages, the things you can see that the new culture just might have over your own. At this point, despite having lived in Honduras for nearly 4 months (one week shy), I think my opinion of Honduras is lower than it was before. I've grown accustomed to many of the differences, but I haven't started to look on any of them fondly. In fact, many of them I've grown to resent quite heavily. There are plenty of things about Honduras and its culture that quite simply piss me off. I can't fathom being a few months out of the country and looking back and thinking, "Oh, remember when every taxi driver would try to rip us off? That was great," or, "I always think about how our neighborhood watchman would ask us for food when we already pay him and then laugh derisively at our Spanish. Good times." Honduras has been a dark time in my life, and I foresee it always being a smudge on my timeline. I don't appreciate the culture. I don't want to be friends with Hondurans. I don't really care if my Spanish improves (I'm having a hard time these days seeing the benefit of knowing two languages, but that's another issue altogether).

To be frank, I still hate it here. And I've been operating under the assumption that I'll feel better once I go home for Christmas and be able to return with vigor and enthusiasm and all that jazz. But what if I don't? What if it's just 5 more months of hating existence, 5 more months of smudge on my life's timeline, 5 more months of feeling depressed and apathetic towards life while still putting half my pay towards a psychiatrist and drugs? Somewhere inside of me I still believe God's called me here. But did he call me here to spend my afternoons and evenings on the internet or sleeping when I should be writing the exam for my class that was due last Thursday and I've yet to complete? And if not, how the hell am I supposed to get back on track?

Looks like I'm going to need a positive, cleansing post about my trip to Nicaragua to follow this one up. Later. I have an exam to finish.