I've Come to Talk WIth You Again
It's been a long time since I last posted here. I've thought about doing it before now, but my last post was... so happy. So cheerful. I kept coming to post, and I'd see the last time I wrote and realize just how perfect a moment had been preserved. This just made me less and less willing to post anything, but maybe that means that I'll put a new post up quickly after this because... I don't think anything happy is going to come out of it.
My anxiety is acting up again, even with me taking my meds. I think many factors attribute to this. My sister's baby's due date is in 4 days (more on that later), the weather here is gray without any sort of fun, and as much as I love the color gray and cool air, it feels heavy and sad here, my first graduate school professor meeting went horribly (more on that later), I feel like a burden to my friends, I feel like all I do is complain to people instead of helping them through their problems like I used to do, and I feel... I feel alone, even with all the kind people I've met here. Did everyone get all that? (And by "everyone" I, of course, mean myself because no one else even knows I have this journal, I'm pretty sure. And even if they did, I doubt they'd ever read it. Which is for the best, really. Because if they did then I'd really feel like all I did was complain.)
First up to bat- the coming of the baby. I'm certain that's got my anxiety in overdrive just because of how different everything is going to be afterwards. I'll become one of those people. You know the kind I mean. The ones who talk about their nieces/nephews, who has the obligatory picture, who bores people to tears. I don't want to be that person. I don't want to feel old. I don't want to forever have my perceptions of my sister changed; I don't want perceptions of me to change. I'm too young to be an aunt. I don't know HOW to be an aunt. And I know, I KNOW that my heart is going to be taken by that kid in a way that no other kid has ever done, and suddenly I'll go from someone who knows nothing about kids and DOESN'T WANT TO KNOW about kids to someone who can't stop talking about them. It'll be like my sister's dog all over again; people probably get sick enough hearing how I hate all pugs but Bandit, but it's true. In a horrible, selfish way, I wish the baby would just come now, even if it is a little early. At least then the moment of change would be over. At least then I wouldn't have to think about the thing living in my sister's womb or worry that she's going to die somehow in childbirth. That's my biggest fear, the fear I haven't told anyone. I fear it even more than the miscarriage tradition that plagues my family. Or... I don't know. I fear both equally, maybe. Because both mean losing my older sister, my only sister, who is by far one of the kindest, best people I know. I have never really been jealous of her, but at times I wish I were worthy of her. She's so much better than me, better than almost anyone I know, and... and if anything happened to her I don't know what I'd do. I really don't.
I've pretty much given my spiel on the weather, so I guess I'll talk about the meeting I had yesterday instead. As though I haven't already talked everyone's ear off about it. My god, I'm pathetic. I'm so pathetic. I got out of the office, I talked to one of my colleagues about it. I talked to another colleague/friend. I texted with a friend in Alaska. I later talked on the phone with another friend who is the husband of my friend in Alaska. I called Gina, poor suffering Gina, who I have been meaning to call to check up on but I'm too damn selfish to do, but I can call in my depression to check on her AND complain about my teacher. I said the same thing to... what is that now? Five people? But you know who I didn't talk with? My parents, my siblings, my best friends... as though, somehow, they are shielded. But I'm not nearly that good a person. In honesty, with the exception of my best friends, I speak with the 5 other people mentioned do my own family. Because I'm a horrible person. I am. I know it, in the depths of my heart, and yes, if I ever said this out loud it would BE a pity plea. It would be a "please, please tell me that I'm wrong." Because I can't convince myself.
But none of that actually talks about the meeting. In honesty... I really don't want to drag it up again. I'm over it. I've cycled beyond my depression, my anger, and am now in my determined phase. I don't want to drag up all the same complaints that I've already expressed to too many people. The short version is that my professor, who didn't even read my paper so I don't know why I thought this would go any better, basically told me that while my ideas are interesting I have to do something to make them relevant to the profession and took the side of a critic I disagreed with throughout my paper. Fun. I started these damn projects in late August, right after school started; I know that because I have all my notes dated, all the copies of sources I've printed, and that means I've been working hard for almost two months. This was all part of my master plan, you see; I'll get up a rough draft of both my big papers that pretty much determine what grade I get in my classes, by the end of October, and then I have all of November to add/subtract/fix anything that's wrong. So the fact that I have to work more, make changes, is not the problem. The problem is the utter frustration of having to sit in front of a man reading parts of a paper I never wanted to write, on a book I never wanted to read, and then have him blatanly ignore my argument. Yes, I know the lady I go up against is a Marxist literary person, yes I know my teacher is as well, but does that somehoe invalidate my criticisms of her? It's not like I said "oh, she's a Marxist, therefore she is wrong." I have text evidence, alternate explanations, but to hell with them, apparently! (Yes, this IS me over it. You wouldn't have wanted me to post yesterday, when I wasn't over it.) But you know what? As I said at the beginning of the semester, he better prepare for me to be a damn thorn in his side. Because I will do whatever it takes to better myself. I am also resolved to focus on my second paper, which is due later than this one, in order to go have a talk with my other, more approachable professor as well. Hopefully it goes better.
Now we get to my emo moment of pure emo. I feel like I'm doing nothing but complaining to people around me instead of listening and helping with problems as I usually do. Which eats me up inside and makes my anxiety triple. And I can't talk to anyone about it. I already know that even my best friends think I'm full of shit when it comes to anxiety. I know I don't have it as bad as others. I can function. I can. I can bottle it inside and push onwards, burying myself in work in order to make myself feel better about myself, to establish some kind of control. I just wish I could have someone understand, that I could talk about it without feeling like I'm imposing on someone or they think I'm just crying out for attention. I guess, in a way, I am. I feel all alone. All alone, even right now when I'm joking around with a friend on the phone. I'm so pathetic. So pathetic.