Well, I've finally made it through my second week of term, and I felt like I should probably post something. First, I should probably explain how classes work here (since I'm posting this on a Friday at noon and American classes happen every day). I'm taking three classes this term: Victorian Extremes (Mondays, 11a-1p), On Location in the Lakes (Tuesday, 4-6p), and Research Methodology (every other Wednesday, 1-3p or 1:30-3:30p, depending on the week). I adore my Victorian Extremes seminar. I honestly wish that all of my sems could be that engaging and interesting! And my professor is really cool. Her research interests are in biblical literature as literature and in literature. I won't have her for anything next term, but I'm seriously hoping that I can still stay in contact with her and maybe possibly work together on something because that would just be amazing! Seriously, I wish that all of my professors ever had been as amazing as Jo is. I also have her for Research Methodology, so that's exciting.
AND I've finally made some British friends! I was afraid that I would only hang out with Americans again, like last time, but the nice thing about having more than just one person in your class is that you get to meet other people - and meet them, I have done! These guys are great, and they've been so welcoming to me. They make me want to stay. Despite how miserable I sometimes feel and how intimidated I am by the other students in my class (seriously, how is everyone so much smarter?!) and how shit I feel about walking to class in the rain, I can honestly say that I would stay here just for them. Here's to hoping that we become good friends, because I could see this being a start to something amazing.
Also, I don't know why, but when it rains here, I tend to slip for no reason. I've got great treads on my shoes, but that doesn't seem to matter. If there's even a hint of rain? Nope, nope, nope. And since it's England... there's rain. It's not bad right now (actually, it's supposed to rain every day this week, but we've had two clear days in a row - of course, on days when I don't need to leave the house), but as it starts to get colder, it gets more windy (about 30mph walking back from class the other day). And my feet just don't want to stay on the ground! It's quite frustrating, as I've got eight weeks to go of class. So we'll see how this pans out. It would totally suck to fail out of my Masters because I fell so much that I just decided not to go to class. I know that that sounds super lame, but my anxiety gets overwhelming to the point that it paralyses me, and that is a distinct possibility. I know that if I can make it through this term and the first part of next, I'll be totally fine. But it just means that I might need to do my PhD elsewhere.
Anyway, last weekend was really rough for me because I had to read a book for my Extremes course (Chesterton's The Club of Queer Trades - delightful, witty, and short!), a 454-page novel for a book review, and then I had to actually write the book review, after which, I had to read and prepare a presentation for my On Location course. I didn't finish the reading for it because I was so fucking tired of reading at that point. This weekend, I have to read and prepare a presentation on the 499-page Villette (which I'm actually really excited about!), but then I have more On Location chapter readings to do (not so exciting). But since I had Research this week, I won't have it next week, which means a five-day weekend! (Read: 5 days to prepare for the next set of readings.)
Last Friday, I went into Lancaster and saw the castle and such, which was a lot of fun. My flatmates and I just went around and explored and then we came back for curry night! I got to try Strongbow with blackcurrant, which was AMAZING and made me question why bars in the US couldn't just have Strongbow on tap because it was so good. Curry night was also awesome. For £5.99 (a little under $10), you get a heaping plate of curry and some rice. There were three options for curry, so we asked to have a bit of each. It was very, very good! I love our college bar - it's nice and comfy, and it's a great place to relax and maybe watch a World Cup football match... which I did on Tuesday (GO ENGLAND!).
Anyway, I'd better get back to reading. Tomorrow night, I'm going to some industrial techno thing with a friend, and then I have my presentation on Monday, class on Tuesday, and then I'm going to the Blackpool Zoo on Wednesday (weather permitting). SO PSYCHED.
By the way, feel free to send me mail. I'm definitely feeling lonely and I miss home so much, but I'm convincing myself every single day that once I really get into my coursework, I'll feel better. Here's to hoping.
To send me mail, address the envelope:
Bethany Dahlstrom
Graduate College
Alexandra Park
Lancaster University
Lancaster LA2 0PF
United Kingdom
It should cost about $1.20, and I should get the letter in about a week :)
Love to everyone back home and please, please stay in touch. Miss you all.
I've been struggling so much with loss these past two weeks. I miss my friends and my family and my puppy and my home and my bed and my familiarity with things and my car. I miss having a little bit more freedom. I miss having a boyfriend (but mostly, I miss the man that I had the honour of dating for a little over seven months). I miss random coffee dates and reading literary magazines and watching hours upon hours of TV shows (even the shitty ones that I made fun of). I miss singing. I feel like I've lost my voice coming here, in some ways.
Adele makes me cry. Sob, really. I want so much for people to realise how loved they are. Not a single person in this world doesn't matter somehow, to someone or something. And yet we treat each other like shit sometimes. Our own desires get in the way of common courtesy. We slam the door when we get home from a hard day at work. We shoot dirty looks at someone on the bus whose music is playing "too loudly". We play our music too loudly because we want to block out the memories of that fight we got in last night. We make fun of someone for dressing in skimpy clothes or sleeping around. We sit alone in the dark at night and wonder if we'll ever become something more. We wonder if it's true that everyone dies alone, in the end. If maybe, no matter how many surround you as you leave this world, the journey is ultimately yours. If maybe, in that last moment, as you draw your last breath, you'll be struck with the consciousness that you have either achieved everything that you ever wanted or nothing that ever mattered.
Life doesn't work like that. It's full of ups and downs, and "the good things don't always soften the bad things, but vice-versa, the bad things don't necessarily spoil the good things and make them unimportant." We're stuck in this paradox where everything we say and do is simultaneously important and worthless. In the end, it may not matter. But it matters to us. It matters to the people with whom we come into contact. And despite what we say, we care so much. Even people who say that they don't care, for one reason or another, have some reason, some drive, that negates their claim. Even someone who claims that he or she can't care has something keeping him or her alive. It could be a conviction. It could be a desire. It could be a principle. It still stands that something keeps them alive. Even people who commit suicide (even if "nothing matters anymore") have made a choice, however hopeless they felt beforehand.
How we interact with people can impact our dreams and goals and desires. If we walk around feeling worthless, chances are, we're going to treat ourselves as such. But you can't just rely on one person to make you feel loved. What happens when that person goes away? What happens when they can't operate in the same capacity and you're stuck in a dark place, where you feel like you're locked in a small room with a stiff bed and too few pillows, wondering if you're ever going to feel whole again? How do you move forward? How do you move on? How do you wake up every morning and convince yourself that you're important enough to get out of bed and do something with your life?
It's frustrating when you look back at a relationship and you see all of the flaws. I wish that I had been less petty when you told me that you needed to hang out with other people because I know now that I fucked you over in that regard. I left you with a huge hole in your life. And although I'm sure that you'll find other people to hang out with, you're right - I can't let go. I can't let go because I force myself to remember the good times. The times when I wasn't crying, yelling, screaming, putting my foot down for what I thought I "deserved". The truth it, I didn't deserve any of it. I wasn't worth your time. But I accept that you gave it to me because that's the only way I can get you to accept that you were, you are, so worth mine.
But it's not just romantic (or... whatever) relationships that I struggle with. It's all of them. Every relationship I have ever had, I am so afraid of failing at, mainly because I have tried and failed before. I give so much of myself away to other people because I don't know what else to do. I don't know how to get people to stay. And I can't be alone. Being alone is like a death sentence for me. So I give. I give until I have nothing left, and then I keep giving. My emotional and mental energy will be depleted, and I will still find a way to give. Because for me, not giving feels like letting everyone down. Not giving means that if something bad happens to someone I love, it's my fault because I wasn't there. I expect myself to anticipate every bad thing that will ever happen and try to protect people or be there for them in spades when things go poorly.
Admittedly, being in another country is probably good for me in that regard. It forces me to see that people are just fine without me. It forces me to be less available to listen to everyone else bitch about how horrible life has been to them, how they don't deserve the pain and suffering.
At what point do you stop and ask yourself if maybe no one is really out to get you, that pain and suffering happens to everyone, and that even though someone else's life seems perfect, they may be struggling all the same. People are equipped with different strengths and weaknesses in life, and it's so unfair to compare yourself to other people... and vice versa. I'm not saying that occasionally venting is a bad thing. In fact, it is for that reason that I keep a journal (which I'm shit at updating). But perception isn't everything.
Sometimes I hate Facebook because people tend to post their absolute best on there. My newsfeed is flooded with best days, best opportunities, best smiles, best successes, best pairs, best companions. Rarely do we see the pain. Rarely do we see the stories of the work that it took to get to those successes. We want people to think that we're naturally talented in everything that we set our minds to. We want people to envy us.
Which brings me back to this idea about death. At 2am, I probably shouldn't dwell too much on these thoughts, as I have so much work to do tomorrow, but I've been left to my own devices, and I've relied on someone for far too long to get me through the nights. At what point do you take your life back into your own hands and just say that you're going to get through this? How long before you realise that sometimes you just have to walk around with an open wound and be reminded that you're only human? We're so caught up in this idea that everything has to be perfect that we're too afraid of failure.
I live in self-doubt. I live in the fear that I will never be good enough. That I will never be smart enough. That I will never be... enough. For anything. For anyone. Certainly not good enough to survive this year in grad school. Certainly not motivated enough or ambitious enough to not only do my work but go above and beyond to ensure my future success.
Why is it that when someone dies, we like to gather around and remember only the good bits? People don't really talk about substance abuse or depression or little things like being messy (unless it feeds into a funny anecdote). When someone dies, people post these eloquent eulogies on Facebook and blogs and Tumblr and announce to the whole world that this person lived. They did things new and noteworthy and perfect. They took the world by storm and conquered it. Why don't we ever talk about the struggle, the fights, the pain? Is it because loss is already painful enough? Is that why we grab onto the best bits and try desperately to hold out hope that we'll feel that way again some time?
I tend not to pick fights. If I were to die tomorrow, people could say a lot of bad things about me, but I don't think a single one would. Because we look at the life of someone else and struggle to find meaning for our own. Someone who's taken away "young" can impact us especially, as we say that they "haven't really lived." What defines that?
Who sat down one day and wrote down a list of things to do in life to fully experience all it has to offer?
For my part, I want to live my own life. I want to make my own mistakes and learn from them. And if my biggest triumph was simply getting out of bed every day, then I think that I have still really lived, even if I die tomorrow. Sure, there would be a lot that I hadn't gotten to do, but just because we have expectations for someone else's life doesn't make that life any more mediocre or void if they don't meet our vision for them. It just means that they've gone down a different path. And there's nothing wrong with that.
People don't need to do something that's notable in human history in order to be notable in someone's history.
For now, maybe just let it suffice that no matter what you decide to do, there will be someone here who will still love you. You could decide that you really just want to stay at home and watch TV and read books and work to live. So be it. That's your life. That's not mine. And I will still love you. Embrace your regrets and keep moving forward. That's all we can do. Keep pressing on. Because if you don't, what's the point of trying at all?
When you die, no matter how you go, if you even got a split second to ask yourself if you're doing what you really want to do, what would your answer be?
I came to England. If that's all that I get out of this... Okay. And if I fail out of my Masters programme because I become overwhelmed by my depression... Okay. So I'm not the person that I'd like to be. But maybe that's just because I don't know what kind of person I am yet. I'm so wrapped up in what I think everyone expects me to be that I've never aimed for self-discovery. My path has been one shadowed by perceived expectations. Every time I sit down to figure out who I am and who I want to be, I am overcome by fear that I will disappoint someone.
Truth is, you can't make everyone happy. That's just impossible. Hell, you might not even be able to find happiness yourself. But isn't it worth a damn to just try it? Just to see what happens?
//The storms are raging on the rolling sea and on the highway of regret.//
As I write this post, I am listening to "Concerning Hobbits" (Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring - scroll to the end to listen to "Steward of Gondor", which is what inspired this post title and headings) on high (with my headphones in, so as not to disturb my flatmates). THIS POST IS BEST READ WITH THE SONG ON REPEAT AND A CUP OF TEA FROM WHICH TO SIP. There is something so entirely soothing about a good soundtrack, and although I haven't listened to anything else by him, except Gangs of New York, I adore these scores so completely that if I had to pick just one soundtrack to listen to for the rest of my life... well, scratch that - I'm in love with Hans Zimmer's work as well... but you get the point. When I listen to this and close my eyes, as I'm doing right now, I can almost picture the rolling hills and greenery and villages, things which I no longer need to close my eyes to see. As most (if not everyone) reading this knows, I am now in England. Tolkien had stated in a letter once that the Shire was based on rural England, and although I've not read the letter myself, it's not hard to imagine, especially with this soundtrack running through my head and a cup of tea in my hands as I look out my window and see the British architecture (albeit townhouses) with the hillside in the background. It probably helps that I'm finally unpacked and have placed an array of scones beneath the window through which I now glance at the beautiful scenery before me.
Today is my fifth day in England, and I simultaneously feel like I just arrived and that I've been here forever. Mum always told me that I settle in quickly and make friends even faster, but I doubted her on that one (I shouldn't have). Even on my second day here, I was already explaining the bus system to freshers and telling them which bus they wanted to be on. I already knew where most of the stores that I wanted to visit were and could navigate around the city centre without an issue. That's not to say anything about campus. While I've mastered one route to my courses, I feel like it's going to take me a bit to get the hang of things around here.
Arrival was easy enough - although there was a bit of turbulence, landing was easy enough, and then I found my uni's table quite easily. The journey getting to my uni's table, on the other hand, was a bit of an ordeal. I managed to get through Border Control in record time (no more than two minutes, but why is it that my mind always blanks when the BA asks me things like, "What's your name?" and "Why are you studying literature?") but once I collected my bags, I had to then find something called The Station. I made the mistake of not grabbing a trolley, assuming that The Station had to be close. I was wrong. I walked about fifteen minutes down long passageways (at a fairly brisk pace, so I feel like I walked about a mile) before I found where I needed to go. My arm was so sore after that that I couldn't lift things for about two days after. Anyway, got all checked in and thankfully I only had to wait about fifteen minutes for the shuttle, which dropped me right off at my college, where reps were waiting to show us where to go. Grabbed my luggage and followed my rep, who took us to the Porter's Lodge. Here, every college (within the uni) has a Porter's Lodge, which is like a security office. This is where you pick up your keys, report issues, etc. I never really had to deal with them in Oxford because I wasn't living in halls, but in Oxford, they stop tourists and non-college students from getting in. Showed them my passport, and they gave me the keys to my very own townhouse. One of the reps looked at the housing tag on my keys and began to lead me off. We had a bit of an issue when my key didn't work in the flat... until he realised that he had taken me to building 16, room 9, instead of flat 169. He got someone else to take me to the right flat, and here I am!
The picture to the left is a shot of the courtyard behind my townhouse, which is basically the view I have every day, as my window faces this way. I'm a little disappointed that I don't have a room that faces the hills, but our bathroom window does, so at least you can feel like you're in the middle of the English countryside while you take a shower. Under that is a picture of the houses that surround mine. We're basically in a quad, where the other houses that make up the square are all townhouses (and seem to be occupied by mostly families with children.) My other flatmates seem really nice. They're all women (even nicer). One's from PA, one's from Costa Rica, and one's from China. We should have an interesting year, and everyone seems to be interested in actually having a family dinner type of thing, so that could be fun! We're all from different fields, so I'm looking forward to hearing about what everyone else is studying. It took me a few days, and I'll skip the boring details, but I'm finally completely unpacked, and today was registration, so I'm all set to begin classes next week. I don't have any more orientation to attend.
There are many paths to tread.
One of the things that I've been facing most in my time here thus far has been my anxiety. From trying to navigate the airport by myself to worrying about silly things like icy walkways to hearing from a (mis-informed) cashier at the uni that my loan money wasn't going to come to me at all because "money laundering is illegal", my anxiety has been through the roof. Yesterday, I went out and bought some Twinings Pure Peppermint tea, and that has really made all the difference today as I write this post. It feels excellent to just sit back and sip on tea, especially with this cold that I can't seem to kick. Despite having taken Airborne since I left the States, I managed to catch a cold on my first day here, and it's been progressively getting worse. Today, I started coughing, which I actually think is a good sign, because once the coughing subsides, I should be fine. It's just a tad bit annoying to meet your tutors with a cold (which I did yesterday, and they all seem lovely!), so that's been driving my stress levels up as well. I don't want to miss any courses, although I've just discovered that they're run a bit differently here (which I kind of already knew). While you won't be punished for not attending a tutorial because your grade in each one is based off a 5,000 word essay at the end of term, I don't want to miss anything at all. I won't have to have my dissertation (thesis) topic finalised until the end of Lenten Term (some time in April, I think), but my dissertation is worth half of my final marks for the MA. Classes are once a week, and I'm a bit nervous about the trek over to them - it takes about 20 minutes on a sunny, non-windy day, so I can only imagine how the journey will look once the rain picks up again.
Through shadow, to the edge of night, until the stars are all alight.
It's so easy to sit in my room and worry. What will happen if I miss class? What if I don't get all of my books in time? What if I don't read all of the books that I need to? What if my tutors hate me? What if my fellow students hate me? What if the path ices and I can't get to class? (We should all remember last year's fiasco when I went to Bath and it snowed and I couldn't go anywhere because whenever I tried to step anywhere, I fell - and that was just slushy snow!) What if I don't finish my essays in time? What if I don't complete the book review and conference proposals by the 15th? What if the conference proposal gets rejected? For that matter, what if the book review gets rejected? What if I can't complete my MA in time? What if my loan money doesn't come through? What if...? I hate that question sometimes. I hate that I focus on that instead of the good things.
Mist and shadow cloud and shade.
Sometimes, it's hard to see the end result or to dream of what I'd like the future to look like because I'm so paralysed by all of these questions that plague me to the point that I'm clearly not getting enough sleep. As I've mentioned before, for me, the bad so often overshadows the good. I forget that I've actually made it to England, and even if I got kicked out of my programme and had to go back to the States, I can at least say that I tried and that I did make it here for a bit. I forget that even though I can't get an iPhone because I'd have to sign a two-year contract (which is not what the website originally said), I do have a phone. And even though it's not one that I particularly like, as I had to pay cash to get it since T-Mobile wouldn't accept my US debit card since it's not chip and PIN, I do have a phone with which I can communicate with people (and I'm just going to try to exchange it for something with a larger screen this week). Even though my room can get a bit hot at night, I forget that it's only £2.40 return into town and I can pick up a fan there. Even though the cashier told me that I wouldn't be getting any loan money, I now know that she was mis-informed, and I will be getting details about it tomorrow.
All shall fade.
For every problem that I've had, there is a solution - if not one I've already found, then one that will pop up soon in the future. The fact that I'm sick is not a huge deal because in a week or two, it'll be over and done with, and I can resume life as usual.
These problems that I freak out about?
All shall fade.
The view from our first-floor bathroom.
The British "first floor" is what we would typically call our "second floor". They, however, refer to our "first floor" as a "ground floor", which can take some getting used to.
This is the view to the left of our townhouse from inside. Apparently, we get some really awesome sunsets after the rain.
Here's a better shot of the courtyard - and it's sunny today!
Sometimes I get sick and tired of people telling me that my feelings aren't valid because "you're going to England!" As if somehow, the fact that I'm leaving this place makes everything better. As if somehow, the fact that I'm going off to a place they've only dreamed of negates all of the emotions that threaten to overwhelm me and send me toppling over the edge.
Last night, my boyfriend said that he would kill to be in my position. He would give anything to be able to have this opportunity. But he went on to say that if he could, he would be angry that I let fear overwhelm me to the point that I become paralysed. Nine months of being told this, and I finally exploded. Throughout my whole life, starting back in elementary school, my teachers always marked on my report cards that I had "great potential", if only I would "apply myself". I could never figure out what that meant. I always gave all of my academic work my all. I threw all of my emotional energy into friendships. So what more could I do? It wasn't until late middle school that I was diagnosed with depression and it wasn't until I moved to a new high school that I was diagnosed with anxiety, ADHD, and a learning disability. It was revealed that I have a processing disorder, which makes doing math problems and (often) communicating difficult. It takes me a lot longer than the average person to process what's being said and to respond. Basically, when I speak with someone, I need time to think about what they've said before I can respond, which results in a delay when in conversation. Most people would never know, as I've learned to live with it. Much like writing papers, there's a little bit of wiggle room called "fluff" when responding, but sometimes, I still end up going off on tangents quite a bit due to the ADHD and the fact that I skip around in conversation a lot or else I lose my thoughts.
Ultimately, what this results in, is that I take a very, very long time to process my emotions. Things like grief, I push aside until they erupt and I no longer have a choice. In a way, leaving for England brings along a form of grief. I'm leaving all of my friends, my family, my puppy, and a place where I am comfortable. Here, I know where I'm going and where everything is, I know I can just drive 10 minutes and be surrounded by good friends, and I don't really have to worry about finances. I have excellent food prepared for me by my lovely parents, and they always make sure that I don't go wanting. And I am choosing to leave all of this and go off to a country where the only strong similarity is that we speak the same basic language (but still, some of that slang trips me up, and I'm headed up north where the accents can be a lot thicker). I've been to England once and I fell in love, or I wouldn't be headed back. I'm getting a degree that will look epic on my CV. I'm about to meet some amazing people. But the emotions and feelings that I should have dealt with when I first received an acceptance letter, I pushed aside to be dealt with at a later date. And as Friday looms in the near future, I find that it's harder and harder to put on the front that I've so carefully constructed, and I need to be able to process these emotions. I need to be able to trust my friends to let me have moments where I bitch and complain and say that I don't want to go. It's not that I don't want to go, it's that I don't want to leave you. So if you tell me that I have no right to complain because I'm going places and England is awesome, fair point on the latter, but I'm going to feel like you probably aren't worth staying in contact with if you can't see me through the hard times.
So don't try to tell me how to feel. Don't tell me that going to England makes everything better. It doesn't. Because deep down, I'm going to feel what I feel when I feel it, and these emotions are mine. Maybe I'm the only cat who knows where it's at because I'm the cat that's going to England. I'm the cat that's leaving everyone that I love behind in order to chase after my dreams like a cat chases its tail. Someday, I'll get there and I'll catch that dream and I'll be so damn proud of myself. But until then, let me process things on my own. Let me come to my own conclusions. Don't just jump right to some idea you might have that England's some cute little fairy dream land, where everything is perfect and all of my problems will go away. Everybody wants to be the cat that knows where it's at. Everybody wants to be the cat that goes to England or chases a dream or catches a break or wins at life.
What an appropriate title from such an appropriate song. I was looking for the video "Hard to Say Goodbye" from the Dreamgirls, when I stumbled upon "It's so Hard to Say Goodbye" from Boyz II Men. The song was originally written for a 1975 film called Cooley High. However, in 1991, Boyz II Men released a cover of the song. If you watch the video for either the film or the release, you'll see that the song revolves around the devastating death of a young person, who was too soon taken from the world. Even so, I found the lyrics so fitting and the music so soothing, and so it is my song for the day.
Last night, I had a bunch of wonderful friends from college over to say goodbye before I head off to England. It was such a great night - better than I've had in a while. There was food and laughter and friendship and happiness. And through it all, I struggled to keep it together. It's not like I'm never coming back, but a lot can change in a year. People move forward and move on, just like I am, and things will never be the same as they were in that moment of pure bliss. One of my friends took a bunch of pictures for me to put up on my wall in my room at uni. Browsing through the pictures this morning, I realised how hard it's going to hit me when I leave, how much I'm going to miss these wonderful people, how hard it really is to say goodbye to yesterday's memories and feelings.
I have some amazing people in my life, who have come alongside me and supported me through everything that I've been through these past years. I'd really say that it goes back to my time in high school. We've changed a lot since then (for the better, I think). Megan's back in Illinois, job searching and just generally being the strong, gorgeous woman that she is. Christa landed a job working for her university (and just got engaged!). Krista is out in California, too far away from me but ever the most beautiful woman - and still just as patient as well. Christina is working and applying to grad schools, after taking a ridiculous amount of exams, for going into the medical field. Reb's kicking ass at grad school, conquering math and living in her very first apartment (so proud!). Stephanie's just gotten married at the beginning of summer, and gosh, did she just glow with happiness! Kristy's been working far too many hours for my mind to keep track of. These fantastic ladies are all going places in life, and I am so excited to have known them. And I think that in some ways, we're so rare - we've stayed in contact, and without them, I don't think I would have made it through college. Even though we were all in different places around the country, we still talked and encouraged each other. I knew that I could go to any one of them to seek comfort and advice, to vent, to listen, to love and be loved. I appreciate each and every one of them with every part of my being.
And although I found good friends in college, I had a rough time. Roommates are hit-or-miss. You can have a really shitty roommate one semester, but if you hang in there and persevere, you end up with an excellent, exuberant roommate like Emily. To see her glow when she talks about dance and to see her get so fired up about God was such a blessing. Then there's Kaitlyn. We lived together for three years (counting that semester when I went away to Oxford because we still talked so much while I was gone). I still remember that incredibly awkward moment when I just blurted out in the Sparrowk elevator, "Hey, wanna be roommates?" And I am so, so glad that she said yes. I'll always remember popping in National Treasure to fall asleep to at night and geeking out about history and all things Disney, bitching about EDU200... and subsequently dropping the Education major, and singing along to Broadway and Glee soundtracks together. And we briefly lived with Angel, who will always hold a special place in my heart. The three of us had great late-night conversations, which usually ended in someone going, "... We should probably go to bed before this gets any weirder." She was the first person that I told about my crush on a woman, and she embraced it with such grace that I felt so comfortable with myself. On a campus where LGBT issues are hushed (although possibly getting better?), I was so afraid that admitting one of my quietest secrets would bring down the hatred of the community upon me. Angel showed me that there were people on campus that I could talk to and completely be myself with. Which is how she and Kaitlyn watched me fall apart, surrounded by brownies, Diet Coke, and queso, as I rushed to finish my Critical Theory paper. My final year kind of sucked, living-wise, but again, I had Kaitlyn to keep me sane, and the guys welcomed me over to their apartment. Ben, Steve, Timmel, Shorty, and Pennington - we've had some amazing times, and without these guys, I likely would have punched someone in the face and burned down my building during my last year. They got me through everything and let me bitch when I needed to.
I have found that it is incredibly true that you end up finding some of your best friends in college once you declare a major because from then on, you're taking classes with some of the same groups of people. I did meet Katie and Kayla in INST150, and though I didn't get to hang out with them as much as I would have liked, it was so great to see them and establish a lunch family my first year - and to see them stand up and read their thesis work last semester was just amazing (because damn, we've come so far). And then there are people like Samantha, who you meet in the middle of a coffee shop one day when one of your friends yells across the room that you both like Hitler. Awkward for others, but perfect for us.
English classes and activities were how I met Isaac (sarcastic and verbally abusive at times, but overall, a great guy), Elyse (charming and adorable, and far more intelligent than I - she was a total academic beast and killed it at Oxford!), Steve (who wasn't afraid to tell me when to shut up because "No one cares, Beth!" but would still give me a hug when I needed one), Imani (who was not only an excellent replacement for me when I gave up my position as Features' Editor, but was my bitch buddy after power-walking), Meg (who I will always be able to geek out about Joyce with and who is too beautiful for words), and the most amazing woman in the world - Rivkah. Without Rivkah, I wouldn't have made it through my last year of college. I don't say this lightly. This past year, in particular, I have been faced with the demons of my past. Rivkah was there to hold my hand, knock back a drink or two, obsess with over David Tennant and Catherine Tate's Much Ado About Nothing, and empathise with about thesis work. She is charming and witty and perfect, and I love her. We had so many late-night trips to the Breezeway, full of food and relaxing conversations. I knew that if I ever had a bad day, I could text Rivkah, and just talking with her for five minutes would immediately calm me down and put a smile on my face. I can't even fully describe how much this girl has changed my life. Without her encouragement, I might not have applied for grad schools (or accepted an offer!) and I wouldn't have the courage to get on that plane come Friday.
Then there are mentors, who are there to guide you through life, but who also equip you for what may be ahead. Dr. Marshall is possibly the most amazing man that I have ever met. I am so, so glad that I had him for classes in my first semester and that he took me on as his TA. He became so much more than a professor that I worked for - he became someone to whom I could turn in times of need, who would offer advice and counsel, and for that, I am ever so grateful. He talked me through awful course assignments, frustrations with teachers, and grief, and he was there to celebrate my two years without cutting. Without his efforts, I wouldn't have made it through the sophomore verbal fire I set on campus, most of my classes, or thesis. I probably wouldn't have even entertained the notion of grad school. But he told me that I had the potential, if only I would choose to rise to it.
And I can't forget my English professors, who were willing to accommodate any needs that I had, as well as talk to me outside of class about special interests that I had in my fields. I will never forget the time when I came back from England and asked Dr. Bittenbender if I could choose my own paper topic (I was so spoiled in England) and I ended up writing the most fun piece I have ever written. Who knew that Wilfred Owen was so amazing?! (Besides Dr. Bittenbender, that is.) And of course, there was Dr. Cherry, who has known me since before I can remember. I have vague memories of trying to usurp her computer, but I have more vivid memories from classes like Victorian Age, which sparked an interest within Rivkah and me to get into Gilbert & Sullivan. And when Colleen came along, I finally had someone with whom I could discuss the Victorian period quite extensively! She is such a joy, and she was willing to work with me in my final year at Eastern to do the best work that I could possible do (and without her class, I wouldn't have graduated on time). Then there's Dr. Blue, who pushed me to my limits academically, but who is ultimately my role model. If I could even be half the innovative teacher that Dr. Blue is, I would be so ecstatic. I learned so much from her, and her passion for teaching and literature was inspirational.
And then, of course, there are the people you get close to right before you leave, and it's even harder to say goodbye because you wonder what your friendship would have been like if you could stay longer. So this one goes out to Oksana, the Nates, and Andy, for being awesome and letting me come over to the apartment and drink and watch horrible movies (seriously, why was Birdemic even MADE?!) and for just generally being the chill people that they are. These guys were exactly what I needed this summer, and they made last night that much more epic. And of course, there's Sarah, who has talked me through some of the most emotional shit I've ever had to deal with this past year, and who is always great for boosting my self-esteem when I start to get down on myself. And whenever I need a hug, I turn to Sevag, who gives bone-crushing hugs and makes you feel so wanted. I wish so much that I had more time with them, to see where things go, but they give me hope that I will meet amazing people in the future who will be as kind and as welcoming as they have been.
Finally, I must say thank you to my amazing, boyfriend, Benjamin, whom I will be so sad to leave in just a few days. Ben saw me through the roughest part of my time at Eastern, this past year. He made himself available for me when I needed him most, when I felt like the weight of the world was crushing me, when I wanted to die, when I actually wanted to take my own life and resumed cutting. So few people know this, but Ben once held me until I passed out at three in the morning after I tried to cut myself extensively. I will never be able to repay him for all of the good that he has done for me in these past nine months. What a guy. Then there is the unexpected friendship that I found with Ben's mother, Pattie (the only time I will ever call her that, even though she insists, because to me, she is Momma H - and that's in Ben's notes!). This amazing woman has seen so many trials in these past few years, but seeing how God has equipped her with strength and the gift of passing on His words with such wisdom has been incredible for me. In the times when I was struggling, I knew that she would always be there with the words I needed to hear (although not necessarily the words that I wanted to hear, and that has made all the difference and has let me grow).
There are so many more people who have shaped my life, encouraged me, pulled me up from rock bottom and cheered me on throughout my life. I wish that I could mention each and every person, but that would take another lifetime to complete. For now, I hope that each and every person in my life knows that leaving you is hard. But I know that we will each live such amazing lives and become even better people. We will conquer what we put our minds to. Hold on to those good times. Write them down. Take a picture and post it on your wall. When times get rough, remember. There are people who love you and want you to succeed more than anything in the world. As the song below says, "The good times that made us laugh outweigh the bad."
I have been struggling with this overwhelming sense of depression for far too long this summer. First, I was sinking into depression because even with the excitement of a new, full-time job (and the pride over having been hired on the spot, not twelve hours after I had emailed them my résumé), England felt so far away. Then, I sank even further because I was trying to cram so much social time in because I knew I was leaving, and that ended up causing more stress because I was trying to work 40 hours a week and maintain social time, which usually happened in the middle of my work day. And now, as I sit here typing this, I am at a low (though thankfully not an all-time low) because now England is within my grasp, and everything else is fading away.
I guess it's grand to have a big dream and kind of terrifying when it actually comes true. Edmund Burke, in A Philosophical Enquiry, talks about the sublime. In the book, he says that anything vast and unmeasurable (like the universe, for instance) and unknown is terrifying, and in that terror, we get a glimpse of the sublime. Things that are measurable are simply beautiful, because we know how they function. We can take them apart and dissect them, and the mystery disappears. But those things that are full of mystery and take our breath away are sublime. I love that word. This trip is something I have wanted for a long time. But there is so much uncertainty, so much unknown, that the good is often overshadowed by the terrifying, and it's hard to reconcile in my head.
I struggle with silence. Silence is one of those things that is part of the sublime. In silence, my brain begins to wander and process, begins to truly think about what's about to happen. In silence, you unlock the secrets of your mind. But speak, and you've shattered the silence. Speak, and the spell is broken. People often say that life isn't measured by the number of breaths we take but by the moments that take our breath away. While I don't always agree with that sentiment, I have found that when my breath is taken away, either because I'm stunned with happiness or paralysed with fear, I have seen a tiny glimpse of the sublime. I believe that stress occurs when we reach for the sublime and settle for the mediocre, when we yearn for the unknown and fall back to the known, and when we dream of the impossible and are struck down to the realm of the real. But silence is so key to understanding. Scientific studies show that the brain needs down time to de-stress, to process, to discard old memories and create new ones. Without this valuable down time, humans are unable to distinguish between good decisions and poor decisions based on prior experience. We are unable to process experiences we have had, in order to move forward with our lives. We become stuck in a situation where we become overwhelmed and overloaded.
And while I hate silence for making me process things like grief and stress and heartache, I realise that silence is the best (maybe only?) way to really recover. Silence is solitude but it can also be solace, which is hard to keep in mind when I'm so terrified of being alone.
I've been stuck for so long looking forward that it's hard to focus on the present. Simultaneously, I've spent too much time looking back, never learning, never reflecting, never moving on. Just glancing, yearning, hoping that I could just have one chance to go back and re-live the moments that passed me by far too fast, that left me feeling like the world moved on without me.
I tend to measure my years by my triumphs and my days by my failures. It's hard for me to focus on my day-to-day successes, as they just seem to be overshadowed by the day-to-day failures. Yesterday, for example, the list of things I did not do is far, far longer than the list of things I had to accomplish. I did not read any of the eight novels that I need to read some time in the next 18 days, nor did I pick up and put away any of the hundreds of items scattered quite dangerously around my floor (I swear, one of these days, I'm going to trip over those things and put myself in a coma - Dad used to joke that if a burglar ever tried to steal something from my room, he'd sue us for the injuries he incurred by simply trying to cross the room... at least, I think he was joking). I didn't fill out any of my pre-registration email (but I did print some of it off!) and I certainly didn't pack anything. Instead, I put in a few work hours, watched a few episodes of Psych, and went to hang out with some friends.
I'm not saying that that wasn't a satisfying day because, to be honest, it was kind of exactly what I needed. All of this stress has been so overwhelming, to the point that I've developed so many problems. TMJ, for example, has started making its presence known. I used to have just a slight clicking in my jaw. It started a while back, when I went to Oxford, but I didn't really think much of it because it only happened once in a while. Now, however, as I get closer to leaving, it keeps getting worse, to the point that the other day, I couldn't even open my mouth (not a horrible problem for those close to me, but it meant that I couldn't even eat). It's caused by stress, where you grind your teeth in your sleep. So it makes sense that it gets worse as time goes on because the closer I get to leaving and the less I've accomplished, the more stressed I get.
Over the past few weeks, I've found myself consistently plagued by stress and anxiety. My biggest fear right now is failure, and I find it absolutely paralysing. It feels so weird to see everyone going back to college and to acknowledge the fact that I've graduated already. It feels like just a few months ago that I was saying goodbye to all of my high school friends and wishing that I had gone somewhere far away for college so that I seemed just as accomplished as everyone around me. And now, I'm headed off to England to do a Masters degree, and I can't acknowledge just how big this really is. It feels like just another time in my life where I'm setting myself up for failure. I can't look past my daily faults to see the bigger picture - going to England, setting my sights on a PhD, published already (and perhaps more before I even start my Masters, if I can get my act together). All of those things, which should feel like major successes, seem small and insignificant in the face of the short-term tasks I have before me.
And none of these small things are really going to matter once I leave. I'll be in seminars and making new friends and thriving in the academic environment once more.
If someone had told me in my senior year of high school that I'd be going off to England to do my Masters degree, I would have laughed uproariously and walked away. Me, in England? Me, attempting a shot at higher education? Laughable at best. And so, so horribly depressing.
I leave in 24 days. 23 if you factor in that it's already past midnight as I write this. Midnight is when the ghosts of memories past come out to play, haunting my vision, filling my mind with fanciful tales of days when things were "better", when I was "whole", when life was "fulfilling". Dreams of England tease my very soul, as I recall how my house, once a home, has become so empty for me. No safe place. No haven. And I thought that I had found that.
Lesson learned. Never put your hope in a man. Now, I'm not some feminazi who thinks that all men are evil. God, no. But when you put your hope in man in general, in humankind, things are bound to end disastrously. Emotional turmoil and a life story that fast became a roller coaster from hell is perhaps the best way that I can describe the past few months. Don't get me wrong, I am SO excited to go to England. But before I go, I've got a lot of thinking to do. I thought that I had finally found a place to call home. But I was so, so wrong.
A few years ago, my therapist asked me to close my eyes and picture my safe place. I closed my eyes and saw the darkness and was overwhelmed with fear. I relayed that I couldn't find anything - not my house, not my college, nothing. She suggested that some people find solace and safety in picturing a beach with the waves lapping at the shore. I closed my eyes and called to mind an quiet coastline, littered with dead seaweed, picked my way through lifeless jellyfish, weaved through the abandoned bay, until I finally sat down in the cold sand, pulled my sweatshirt on, and wrapped my arms around my knees, trying to shield myself from the cutting winds. Death. So much death.
I've never felt at home since I returned from England. I can't put my finger on why I feel that way, but something clicked with me over there and I thrived. I sought simplicity. I craved companionship. I borrowed bravery and summoned a modicum of contentedness in solitude. I commanded the storms and felt the passion flow through me as I threw myself into academics and enjoyed the world. And now I can't even look at a simple text message without over-analysing, without wondering if anyone really cares. Without telling myself that I'm not worth it, turn back now, you'll never succeed.
Tears and Trazodone. Scotch and sadness. The beauty of the world fading, overshadowed by the uncertainty of the future. I don't want to see myself in five years. I don't want to picture myself in ten. What if I'm a disappointment? What if I never make it that far?
Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I left and never came back. What would happen if I disappeared entirely, if I ran away and never looked back. Would anyone notice? Would anyone care?
The darkness haunts me. I remember another time, quite vividly, when I was laying on the floor, body wracked with pain over and over and over again, as I saw myself die. But it was more than seeing; I felt the semi hit me full-force as I stepped in front of it as it barrelled down the highway; saw the ground coming closer and closer and felt the adrenaline mix with a sense of utter peace before the darkness consumed me; tasted the tart tang of salt in my blood as I cocked a gun and pulled the trigger; heard the panicked whispers of my parents in the room next door as I came back into the present with a mix of horrified cries and gut-wrenched sobs and manic laughter. That moment has never really left me. It has shaped me, it has overwhelmed me, it has torn me down and crushed me, but by god, it has let me grow. I can look back at that moment and whisper, "Never again."
