So, today I made it through health psych, went to lunch with some girls from the dorm, took an urban politics quiz I think I did really well on, went to dinner with the same girls from the dorm, and spent the evening doing shots of bacardi limon before we went out to the local club (where I got in using my student ID). I didn't drink any at the club, but I had a great time anyway. Okay, so my april fools day entries aren't as elaborate as some and no where near as believable. The above is what I wanted to do today, and probably what I should've done. The real story? I cried myself to sleep last night for no reason other than I was miserable. I even gave myself a pep talk before I fell asleep, thinking maybe it would help in the morning. It didn't. I woke up crying. ("One doesn't talk about the dreams. That is the way to be out there in the world that is a jungle.") I got up, even though I had no intention of going to the first class. I got dressed, and then went to lunch with Karen, Sarah, and Tracy (the R.A.). And I had fun, eating with them. But I still felt bad. And that's weird, because usually it seems that doing something social keeps my mind off it at least until I'm alone again... but it didn't. And later, when we got back to the dorm, Sarah was using my computer and playing me clips of Selena songs and I sat on my bed talking to her and I still felt terrible. She left, and I attempted to study for a quiz that was in two hours that I hadn't studied for at all yet. I opened the book, I think, but I didn't get any further than that. I started crying. I rarely cry. For as miserable as I get sometimes... I still almost never cry. Two nights in a row is extremely rare... but crying during the day? I cried for over an hour, I kept moving from my bed to sitting on the floor by the door under the phone. I wanted to call my mom but everytime I thought I was ready I'd imagine her saying, "oh, I wish I was there. I'm kinda too far away to help from here." And that always makes me feel worse. I know she's far away, I know she's busy. It makes it worse to hear her say it. I used to think there was something wrong with me, that I could never admit I was having a problem. But the more I think about it, the more I know my whole family is like that. It's much more important to pretend everything's okay that to admit it's actually not okay. Last time, I never admitted I was having a problem. I forced them into admitting it and doing something about it, and it was over a year after the first time I admitted to myself I had a problem. I can't do that this time. I can't just stop functioning and hope someone will notice and make me get help, because no one will notice until it's too late. It's different this time, these feelings. Last time, it was self destructive to an enormous degree and I never fought it. I just kept going down and never once did I even think, "This is too scary, I'm ruining my life, I need it to stop." Last time, when it started, it was romantic. I didn't know where it could lead. But it started just like this. I stopped being able to function in the normal world and I started crying. I wasn't scared, and this time I'm terrified. I know where this can lead and I don't want to go there. And ultimately, I decided I'm not going there, at any cost. I sat down at my computer and looked up the number to make an appointment at the counseling center. Their first available appointment was a week from tomorrow. That didn't make me feel better, since I had no idea how I was going to make it through this week, let alone all of next week. I took deep breaths, and I dialed my mom's work number. It rang... and it rang... and it rang. And she didn't answer. It was one of the hardest things I've ever done, dialing her number when I knew she'd still be able to hear that I'd been crying. And she wasn't in her office. The receptionist picked up, and I surprised myself and left a message. I think maybe, just maybe, I'm getting a little bit braver. It was 2:30 by then, and I decided not to go to my 3:00 class. The quiz doesn't really matter, he only counts the best of two and I did okay on the first one. I hate that class, so I've never missed it, which is the way things go in my head. If I hate it, I'm not interested in it, which means I'm not doing very well in it, so I feel obligated to go to all the classes. Yes, the girl has a backwards sense of guilt. And yes, guilt is a sense. ugh. So I sat down and watched "It's like, you know..." which I had on tape. (diagnosis: A.J. Langer needs a bigger part and all the others need to stop reading their scripts and start acting. The line "A Wit's End catalog- for people who are sick and tired of everything" should be funny, not monotone.) ....and I waited. When my mom finally called, I managed to say, in an almost-even voice, "I'm thinking about not coming back here next year." She did so well. I think I sometimes underestimate her... I know I do. She babbled, "this is kind of a surprise, I thought you were doing pretty well there." and then she asked yes or no questions until I finally was able to say, "I'm just so tired." and she knew what I meant. My mom and I frequently speak different languages. I'll say something that seems completely self-explanatory and she just doesn't get it. (for example- she asked what the spiritual reader told me, and I said she said, "You don't have many space-cadet days, do you?" ...my mom had no clue what that meant.) And it frustrates me to no end to have to explain it to her. But she understood. And she babbled some more. And she said, "You're kinda weepy, aren't you?" and that of course made me start sobbing and she still didn't say, "Ohh... honey..." and make me feel worse. Over and over, she told me it's totally up to me. Of course, at least five times she mentioned how much of a waste it would be to stop now... but it's still totally up to me. And she told me not to decide today. She asked me when I'd have to decide and I thought about it and I told her if we pay the $100 housing deposit I wouldn't actually have to decide until August. She liked that idea. And she kept coming up with ideas for how I could spend my summer and she said maybe I shouldn't take any classes and just get a part-time job so I could do something different. I told her how bored I am, and that I hate all the classes because they're easy and I don't want them to be. She's heard that before and she asked if I thought I wanted to change majors. And she said what I've known for a long time but never actually said, "I guess we knew that a lot of your interest in political science came from (my last poli sci professor)" ...it's true. I loved every class I ever took with him and I've hated every politics class I've taken since. He is the most incredible teacher, and he really loves it. I haven't met a teacher here yet, they're all professors. They don't teach they lecture. And he lectured... but really, I just don't understand how you can teach a political science class and not mention current events. We had 55 minute classes at that college, and even if the class was Law and Civil Rights he'd spend the first 20 minutes talking and debating current events with us. That's another thing, he talked with us, not at us. And I learned so much. I learned more in that American Politics class than I have in any other class I've ever taken, before or since. He's the only teacher I've ever had who excited me. And now, here I am, in this major because I'd already taken most of the classes, and because it was exciting there. And I wondered if politics could possibly be interesting without him, but I figured I'd be fine either way... but I'm not. I just don't care whether Chicago's better off without a party machine. I would've cared. I would care if he was teaching it. He really didn't lecture as much as he told stories. He'd tell you about the presidents who did terrible jobs and all the other things that happened in history that no one ever tells you about. And then he'd tell you about how it was possible, and the politics behind it. The professors here all try to keep their own opinions out of it. He never did that, he would tell you his position and why it was his position and somebody always argued and he always argued back and maybe I only like him because I was always on his side. But that, in my opinion, is the way to learn politics. Through current events and spontaneous debates and mistakes in history. </tangent> (Does that mean you're an official geek, when you start thinking in html code?) Anyway, back to conversation: ...my mom even managed to wait 20 minutes before asking me if I thought I was feeling depressed. I didn't say yes, but I didn't exactly say no. I said that this is different, because it is. But I think she got that too, and she started talking about the therapist I used to go to, and the doctor, and how their association kind of broke up and she didn't know where they were anymore... and she asked if there was a counseling center on campus, and I think we both felt better when I told her I'd already made an appointment. She babbled some more, and then told me, "You know, if you said the word we'd be on our way up there this minute." and that made me feel a million times better. I'm not quite sure why. I guess just knowing that I have the option. I sometimes (okay, a lot of times.) feel like my mom is too busy for me. I have reasons, but I'm feeling better now, so I'm not about to go into them. Anyway, she babbled on some more, and we talked about "It's like, you know..." and hummus, until I said, "okay." and she knew I meant "Okay, I feel better now, thank you." And it wasn't until then she asked me "you're okay, right? No thoughts of hurting yourself or others?" ...that's exactly what she said. My mom talks like a textbook when things get emotional. It used to drive me crazy until I realized I do the same thing. I was so happy. I know she was thinking that question the whole time, wondering if I've been cutting myself. That was my mom's biggest fear, the cutting. It bothered her even more than the not eating, which really bothered her. (She'd asked me earlier in the conversation if I was eating.) I was beyond happy that she'd waited. I think we're both getting better. A couple years ago she would've asked me that at the beginning and I would've gotten offended and hung up and we both would've felt a million times worse. Maybe we're getting there. I've been talking to Sarah a lot lately (can you keep them straight? I'm curious, really. This one is the one that lives down the hall, not the one who described me as a mouse and is completely opposite of me. That's Sara. Yes, I should write a cast list.) ...anyway, I've been talking to Sarah about our families a lot lately. I think we are both completely fascinated by how different our families are. Her parents both grew up in Italy, and are very traditional. She has two sisters and her mom stayed home to raise all of them. She says if she had to pick a perfect mom it would be her mom, and she wants to be just like her. It's fairly obvious that this fascinates me. I can't even imagine the way it must've been to grow up with a mom who was always there let alone one you can get along with. She seems just as fascinated by my life, because she always asks about it. She's a city girl, and everytime I talk about how far it is to the nearest mall or how I can't wait to get home and walk around barefoot, she goes nuts. I commented once about how it must've been weird growing up so Italian, and she asked me what I am... and I just stared at her. I thought and I thought and I thought and finally I said my grandma's grandparents on my mom's side came from Germany. I don't know about my grandpa's family on that side. And my dad's family is mostly trailer trash- they have no roots. And she looked at me and laughed and said, "Now, do you say that with love or do you..." and I tried to explain to her, how there's a certain amount of pride knowing that your grandmother had five kids under 6 and another one on the way when her husband died... and she managed to raise them all just fine with no money. I can't really explain it. I've heard a lot of stories about how my dad grew up... and the only mental picture I can get (because there are no actual pictures) is of one of the houses you see on tv when they're attempting to show a rural area during the depression... kids every where, all dressed in rags, living in a shack in the middle of the woods. I've actually seen some of the houses they lived in, that part is accurate anyway. Only this wasn't during the depression. And there is a certain amount of pride in knowing that they got out of that. And that your dad is the only one of his grandmother's grandchildren to get a college degree... and that's saying a lot, because your dad has more cousins than he can count. The more I think about it, the more I can see how that would seem very strange to someone raised by old-world Italians. Her stories fascinate me, though. She told be about how when she was little she slept in the room across the hall from her sister, and sometimes they'd be scared at night so their mom would sleep in the hall between their rooms, "Okay, kidsies, I sleep in the hall for you" (Her mom does have a great Italian accent.) I can't picture my mom ever doing that. I had nightmares when I was little, almost every night. But I only remember getting up and sleeping in her bed once. And I wasn't comfortable there, I think because she wasn't comfortable. She bought a book, called "Sweet Dreams" and we read it before I went to sleep and then I slept with the book under my pillow. That helped. But my mom never once slept in my room. Is it possible to be both overprotective and distant? Because I think my mom kind of was. Don't get me wrong, I really think my mom did the best she could and that wasn't terrible. But it wasn't great either. And even when she was maxed out on sick time and vacation days, and I was sick and crying because I didn't want to go to the baby-sitters I wanted to stay home, she still went to work. My dad stayed home sick with me a lot more than she ever did, even though she had more personal days. ...on that note... I decided to wait and see about next year. I'm going to find out how many credits I can transfer into the college at home, and look into going there next year. (If I can only transfer in two years worth I won't, but if I can transfer in as a senior I might) ...and if I do that, I'm going to see if my cousin wants to room with me. She's going there too, but she's been living off campus because she's scared of on campus. I think we would have a ball, and I don't know why I didn't think of it before. I'll probably call her over break. I can't guarantee that the classes would be any better... but I wouldn't get homesick and if it got as bad as it sometimes gets here, I could go home. And it's possible that the classes would be better. The downside is that there's a good chance "j.a" will be going there next year, along with half the people who made my life miserable in high school. But really, I think I'm ready to face that too. I know that a lot of this was brought on by homesicknesses. I was more homesick this week than I've ever been before, and it's the weather. I have no problem living in a dorm when it's snowing outside... but when it's the first nice day of the year and I can't go outside barefoot and climb my favorite tree and look for crocuses and wake wet leaves so I can see the grass... It was hard. And I mentioned that yesterday, when everyone was hanging out in Karen and Erin's room, and no one got it. They all said, "but there's trees over by the canal!" and they didn't understand when I said it had to be my tree... and they really didn't understand the barefoot part. There is nothing better than going barefoot in summer, and I was amazed that most of them have never tried it. My mom called back tonight, and when I said I was doing nothing she asked what everyone else was doing... I told her they all went out (the truth) and she why I wasn't going. I reminded her again for the umpteenth time that I can't and she said, "You might be happier there when you're 18. You're kind of like a fish out of water, you don't really fit anywhere." Exactly. ~me previous index next