(no subject)
I miss Sr. Gerald so much. I almost used the F word as an adjective, but its not right to use that when you're talking about a nun. I think about her almost every day and I wish she was still alive to just see...or hear her voice just one more time. I remember the card she gave me and Ill never forget the words inside and how much they carried me through the time of my life when my mother was very ill wiht breast cancer. The strange thing is, with Sr. Gerald, its not so much that I talked about my personal life or like about issues I was dealing with in terms of guys or sex or normal teenage stuff-- I could never have, but yet she was the best person to talk to. In some ways its because I think she made me realize what was important and what SHOULD have been my concerns at my age-- and those things weren't as important as I let them be.
I used to cry going to her class becaues I was so afraid of her. And as it turns out, she's one of the few educators who ever dared me to suprise myself and who dared themselves to believe in me. I never would be where I am now if those kinds of people hadn't existed and hadn't spent their time on me. I only wish I could have returned to her and shown her she was right-- despite everyone else's beliefs about me academically and Im sure as a person, I turned out alright. And sometimes, in certain lighting, I guess I turned out maybe even good. I just wish I could have had one more talk. I cried harder when I found out she died than I did when my grandfather passed-- not over time, because Ive cried more about missing him, but intially...I suppose I was younger when Grampie passed away and I didnt realize how much it would impact me and how many things would remind me he was gone-- like his bathrobe losing his scent over time or the mail no longer coming to him...or when a random letter would come to him and make us think about the "place where dead letters go" or the place where dead loved ones end up. With Sr. Gerald, I knew that my heart was going to ache. I knew it was never going to get easier over time. It was one of the lonliest nights at college. One of the saddest days of my life so far...
I guess when you're like me, and you don't have many people believing in you, losing one of the more influential ones is such a blow that you just can't take.
I've recovered from surgery for the most part. I mean I haven't dared to test it out because Im still just terrified. I hope someday I feel like a whole person again and not just body parts that are broken. I think feeling connected would be wonderful. Reading "First Person Plural" talks about that at the end. The man who wrote it has Disociative Identity Disorder. It's not the same as schizophrenia where you see apparitions and hear voices-- or better known as auditory and visual hallucinations. With DID your brain has different identities that have completely unique manuerisms and personalities. Typically the people affected are those abused or sexually molested at a young age who create this "new body" in their mind or a "safe place" they escape to while the physical abuse is occuring. Sometimes these identities are of the opposite gender of the person with DID and are of all ages. The author's struggle with unifying them into one identity and trying to function as a "normal" person is so so so admirable. But, my point is, at the end he speaks at a conference about how living with DID has a lot to do with connections. Between himself and between his wife and his doctors and everything around him. Although I dont have DID, I do feel at times that Im so disconnected from myself or the reality around me that it DOES make life harder. I cant imagine how hard it would be to actually HAVE that disorder.
Lately it seems like Im distancing from those around me. I dont think there's one person who hasn't felt a cold shoulder from me lately or who hasn't deserved one. Well, besides my mother. Her and I have become even closer than before throughout this whole experience and I cannot imagine how I would have survived this summer and surgery without her. I truly believe that Jess R. was right in her journal entry about how lame it is when kids hate their parents because they have rules. Although my mother didn't have alot of rules for me, sometimes I wish she had. I might not get along wtih my dad, but its not that I dont appreciate everything hes done for me and I DO think he is a good person. But to hate your parents...it just seems so selfish. I guess its different if you've been abused or neglected and TRUST ME i dont pretend to know what thats like and Im not criticising anyone in that situaiton because youre right-- i have no idea what thats like. But in most cases...teenage rebellion against the people who gave you life...its in vain. Love your parents. I know from first hand that they won't always be around and how lonely that situation would be.
College again on Monday. Mom said if I dont like it I dont have to stay this year. She knows Ive been applying to transfer schools and that my life was turned upside down this summer with my health problem. But, I think deep down she knows I am not, have not ever been, and never will be a quitter. . But, Im glad the option is there. Ive vascillated on the decision of whether or not to return back and a large amount of it depended on my health. Now that I have the clear for first semester-- and whether or not my tests will go well in February...second semester is up in the air and it seems like a waste to not at least do first semester. Or try to. I just hope my mind isnt too preoccupied with other stuff and that I am able to concentrate and perform well. I want so badly to end up being able to help people...I want to be able to take this experience of my life and turn it into something positive and make it worth it for me . I just hope I live long AND STRONG enough to do it....