I am so depressed already and it is only the end of the first week. Real teaching hasn’t started yet, even. It is the basic language classes that do it. I barely began to recover from these over the summer and it is all starting again. I the angel of death appeared I would say take me, I leave no one, I have seen everything, I have nothing to live for, my pain is too great to bear. I do not feel I should post about it but I have to say something. Mon Dieu, qu’est-ce que je souffre.
Why is it that I was lectured so severely throughout graduate school about how I would not “get” to do this when I became a professor and that if I did do it, I would not advance professionally — and that then, when I became a professor, I was lectured so severely about how people who do not like best to teach “the first course in their field” — which has to be whatever the institution considers the first course and considers that the field is — are “not serious” (“lack of seriousness” being the most capital sin)?
I can hear all these voices now and I wish I were underground or in another country far away. The classes themselves are painful enough — ask any instructor. But the problem are these flashbacks, and the pain of them, and how I fear that pain.