Hey. I know. I keep disappearing for weeks at a time. I apologize…sort of.
I need someone to talk to and Jennifer is catching up on reading assignments. So, I’m just going to ramble for awhile. All right? Cool.
So. I…started a new semester. I have four incompletes that have yet to be finished, and I cannot bring myself to buckle down and finish the stuff. I have a massive panic attack every time I sit down to write a paper.
I’m not very good at taking my meds, which is probably part of my problem. But my body is being funky and I can’t decipher if it is tied to the meds or the anxiety or something completely separate and, of course, unknowable–because all medical issues in my life are fated to remain enigmatic until they result in my death. Super cool.
Chuck left for Guatemala on Tuesday. We said goodbyes at the airport and I’m all sorts of falling apart inside. I am trying to figure out how to be a good big sister. Do I be ultra supportive and fake my way through the next two years? Do I be me, and risk my brother’s refusal to acknowledge my existence? Do I just do what I’ve been doing and sit quietly on the sidelines, extending words of encouragement and trying my best to not stir up confrontation? Ugh. I just want him home. This is going to be a long two years.
I kicked ass in my ethics class (round trois, because I am the world’s worst student and stop showing up to class after three weeks) today, and think that I would have made a good philosophy major. My adolescent lit professor thinks the same thing, and probably would have preferred me having taken that path instead of this one. Instead, I approached Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics from a literary criticism perspective, today, and spent half an hour in adolescent lit, yesterday, arguing that xenocide is wrong and Ender’s Game is advocating a world in which no one should want to live.
Today, I read a book. A whole one, cover to cover. I cannot tell you how long it has been since I’ve done that. It felt…feels…good. I know that I am an English major and I should be reading many books cover to cover, but that doesn’t happen. I am the world’s worst English major, I guess.
I bought GRE flashcards and a prep book, both of which have made me panic about my decision to grow up, graduate, and go to grad school.
Why didn’t I go to BYU, find a nice RM, and get married? I could have had two or three kids by now. And I was skinny when I started college. Well. Skinny-er. I am all curves and contours, and that has been the case for the past twelve years.
In other news, I am learning to love myself. I wore shorts today. You can still see the purple marks on my thighs from the trauma-induced cycle of growing up too quickly. I don’t really care.
I’ve been avoiding my place of residence, because being there puts me back inside my head, amongst the toxic thoughts of panic and self-hatred. I’ve been staying at Jennifer’s. I like it here. I feel guilty for that.
I’ve stopped eating so much, which has turned into not eating enough, which is a constant reminder that I have an unhealthy relationship with food. But, I just don’t feel like eating.
I took Jennifer to meet my dad, on Sunday. It was Chuck’s farewell, and so he got to meet most of my extended family. I thought it only fitting that he meet my father, as well. So, we took a drive up to the cemetery. I think it freaked Jennifer out a little bit. I apologized. My dad’s not much of a talker.
Grotesque dead-dad humor, I know. It’s either laughter or crying.
These days, it is both.