Memories From School
I haven't really been coping at school and that means two sets of problems. The first one is the fact that I'm not coping and the second set are to do with the fact that I need to cover that up to give myself the space to solve the first set. The school working environment isn't the best place to have serious emotional issues.
Having serious emotional issues in a school environment takes a lot of adjusting to. I think I'm just about starting to get adjusted, learning to be me without actually going too far. I'm told that learning to be yourself while engaging in teacher mode is one of the main things every teacher has to learn to stay sane. I'm not sure I've grasped it, but I'm starting to feel that I'm understanding the shape of what I'm doing and that I could grasp it in the future, if I wanted to.
It's important to me because I'm tired of taking out all my issues on staff and on students. I try not to, but it usually serves to make it worse. I've relaxed a bit, having escorted a school trip on Friday, and that seems to have helped a lot.
Anyway, I don't really know what's bothering me. It all just comes under the heading of my childhood catching up with me. So I thought I'd just try to express and write things out and hope some kind of sense assembles from the component parts. Since I've managed to make myself a little space.
So, I guess one of the things that's present, like in every flashback I've ever had, is the sense of going backwards. There's this sense that I'm returning to the past and, since the part of the past I'm returning to early killed me, I'm going to die again. I'm in imminent danger or risk of death. I've got to run and get out of there. Or fight my way out. Fight or flight. In the meantime, I'm still forcing myself to go into school because I'm damned if I#m going to allow some stupid problem to screw my life up.
The thing with going back into the past is that, at least initially, you do become the person you were back then. It's inevitable. Memory is associative and if the dominant associations are to do with lots of negative things, then those negative things come out.
I'm finding myself feeling male and looking down and feeling surprised that I'm in a dress or have breasts. It's a weird feeling. It's like the last few years have been a pleasant dream. They're very not real. Not a pleasant feeling, but also further exacerbated by the fact that I wanted to go into teaching because of of the things in the dream part of my life.
It's not just the gender stuff. It's everything else too. The Aspergers is pretty horrible. To go from someone alive and open to someone so closed in that I can't even express myself or understand another person is horrible. But, equally, Aspergers is not good for someone in the teaching profession.
That leads to the overwhelming sense of loneliness and isolation. The sense that it didn't matter what I did, it would be taken in the worst possible light, so there was never any point looking for understanding or forgiveness from other people.
Anyway, I've been fighting as much as I could to preserve the bits that I regards as me, but I've been feeling that everything is more and more of a caricature of the person I was. In the end, I've given up. I'm not strong enough to do that.
Having serious emotional issues in a school environment takes a lot of adjusting to. I think I'm just about starting to get adjusted, learning to be me without actually going too far. I'm told that learning to be yourself while engaging in teacher mode is one of the main things every teacher has to learn to stay sane. I'm not sure I've grasped it, but I'm starting to feel that I'm understanding the shape of what I'm doing and that I could grasp it in the future, if I wanted to.
It's important to me because I'm tired of taking out all my issues on staff and on students. I try not to, but it usually serves to make it worse. I've relaxed a bit, having escorted a school trip on Friday, and that seems to have helped a lot.
Anyway, I don't really know what's bothering me. It all just comes under the heading of my childhood catching up with me. So I thought I'd just try to express and write things out and hope some kind of sense assembles from the component parts. Since I've managed to make myself a little space.
So, I guess one of the things that's present, like in every flashback I've ever had, is the sense of going backwards. There's this sense that I'm returning to the past and, since the part of the past I'm returning to early killed me, I'm going to die again. I'm in imminent danger or risk of death. I've got to run and get out of there. Or fight my way out. Fight or flight. In the meantime, I'm still forcing myself to go into school because I'm damned if I#m going to allow some stupid problem to screw my life up.
The thing with going back into the past is that, at least initially, you do become the person you were back then. It's inevitable. Memory is associative and if the dominant associations are to do with lots of negative things, then those negative things come out.
I'm finding myself feeling male and looking down and feeling surprised that I'm in a dress or have breasts. It's a weird feeling. It's like the last few years have been a pleasant dream. They're very not real. Not a pleasant feeling, but also further exacerbated by the fact that I wanted to go into teaching because of of the things in the dream part of my life.
It's not just the gender stuff. It's everything else too. The Aspergers is pretty horrible. To go from someone alive and open to someone so closed in that I can't even express myself or understand another person is horrible. But, equally, Aspergers is not good for someone in the teaching profession.
That leads to the overwhelming sense of loneliness and isolation. The sense that it didn't matter what I did, it would be taken in the worst possible light, so there was never any point looking for understanding or forgiveness from other people.
Anyway, I've been fighting as much as I could to preserve the bits that I regards as me, but I've been feeling that everything is more and more of a caricature of the person I was. In the end, I've given up. I'm not strong enough to do that.