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."
