Metamorphosis

My heavy eyelids are determined to remain shut as my soaring head tugs its seams with every sounding of the alarm. Another day. How long has it been? It must have been years, or so it seemed, since I had woken without the immediate whistling in my ears and the lists of things to do filling up all my headspace with the first thought I allow to form; the end of a stunted night.

In autopilot modus I somehow find myself in the bathroom applying the mask for the day. How did I get here? I am not quite sure and somehow I stopped asking myself where these moments are lost. The newly acquired skill of sleepwalking is now a familiar start into the day. I trust everything I need is packed. Although I cannot be certain because my old ally – my clear mind – has vacated my body. Instead I hop from one moment to another, zooming in and out of situations, crucial points of information are filtered from the flood of well meant input that drives my system to near-crashes by the minute; the filter is not successful yet and needs improving – point number 876 on my list.

It must have been a few months ago when I had given up taking it all in. Ever since, the world has become a haze. Days must have been shrunk to bits of their former elaborate cycle and conversations have been reduced to bite-size instructions. It is all about the shortest way to accomplish the goal: survival. The sacrifice is an isolated, fleeting, yet, work-brimmed shadow of a life.

On the wall of the stuffy staff-room I read “13 days”; the number left to D-Day. People around counting how many more lessons of the most dreaded classes are left – 10 times left with the stupid Yr7’s; only 6 more with the unappreciative Yr11’s; in-between I notice a “but I will miss Yr9, they are so lovely”. I zoom out and switch off – self-preservation mode.

Tears tremble down my face as I am handed a “Certificate of Appreciation”.

A tender breath of life tickles my face and I feel a weak pulse back in my dry arteries; the deed is done. Collapsed, I sob on the shoulder of a friend. I strip off the suit of armour I grew, stepping back into an altered reality. As I tip my toes into the new now I not only stretch my days back to their natural length but my sight becomes clear and the ever-present haze eases slowly.

The realisation comes: I made it. 

Have I been transformed into a teacher?

Almost.