I decided over the weekend that I felt capable enough to stick it out another four weeks. I couldn't face the thought of my co-workers hating me for disappearing, for dropping the ball on them. (I think I have an over-inflated sense of my own importance.) And I haven't told my boss yet, either ... feeling guilty for potentially gaming the system, convincing my doctor that I'm having a harder time than I really am. I mean, I manage just fine most of the time, right? No crying over the weekend, or today, for example. Or is my judgment impaired, clouded by the chemical imbalances of depression?
Tomorrow afternoon I go see my therapist, someone who helped me through an emotionally rough pregnancy, postpartum depression, and T's death. Clearly, she knows me very well and will help me sort this all out. I feel very fortunate to have such supportive professional help.