A Painful Stage
I feel better now. I do. Really.
So…Aside from buying 30+ second-hand paperbacks and mall hopping the past couple of days with my brother, I’ve also been “taking care” of my brother. He’s now in an informal home study program, and I’m his, well, “teacher.” SAAQC is playing safe with the decision; they never issued a written recommendation for Robby’s case. It’s taking a toll on this family that both my brother and I are unable to attend classes because of numerous factors I can’t even begin to deal with. I’m sick, he’s sick, and my parents are getting sick because of all these problems following us like a plague. It’s really funny, in a morbid way.
My brother has missed so many classes the past few months after his tantrum episodes that he can’t possibly catch up in just a blink of an eye. He can’t be talked with about his issues as he clams up every time the topics are brought up. The school admin is well over the edge because as much as they like to go help Robby, they can’t jeopardize the majority of the students. His classmates are afraid of him. We really don’t know what we can do to help him, but we’ve remained supportive of everything we think can make things better.
It practically broke my heart when my brother told us that he wants to go back to school. He misses having his classmates around. He misses his teachers. He misses going to school. I’m afraid that nodding the recommendation to separate him from his classmates is a big mistake. He’s more isolated now from his school friends and teachers. I think it would greatly affect how he deals with kids his own age.
Anyway, I’m having a hard time teaching my brother so he’d be ready for his exams later this week. I’m not trained for this. I have absolutely no idea how to deal with this. Sure, I’ve taught street kids before, but that was minor stuff — ABC, 123. But this is my brother. If his trained teachers can’t handle him, what gives anyone the idea that I can?
It also adds to the stress. I’m off the meds right now, and the relapse is strong. I get more stressed whenever I don’t do something that relieves me of the urge to pluck every strand of my hair. I can’t wait for my Saturday appointment. I need to unload. And fast.