pigeon at lincoln center

Monday November 5. 2001


And then, after all this, the past 7 or 8 years have snapped into crystal clarity, and the crying spells between periods in ninth and tenth grade suddenly make sense, the screaming and the fleeting suicidal thoughts, the desperate clinging and hanging of relationships I knew I shouldn't trust, just looking, looking for something, some salvation, something to just make it all right, and when the thing I was sure was going to make it all right didn't, I would kick and scream and burn my bridges and look for the next thing.

It makes me want to slap myself for not realizing what was happening sooner. But how can you know at 15 that what you're feeling is not just angst but real, honest to goodness depression, depression that you didn't outgrow even when your adolescence was long gone.

I've spent the last week or so glued to the phone, recieving counsel. Not looking for reassurance, I don't think. The last week has been the most unburdened I've felt in a long time, I no longer feel the stress and the cold fear of packing myself up, going overseas and leaving everything and everyone I love. Rather than mourning my lost opportunities, I've suddenly realized all the things I've gained - the cold dark winter, the snow, more long nights at the studio with dear friends, our 2nd anniversary, Lauren having the lead in the school musical, NCECA, continuity in my work, my parents, my family, my friends. No, I'm not looking for reassurance that I made the right decision. Because I know I did. I just want to know if being this inexplicably miserable is normal.

When I talked to Olive on the phone last week, she said that the first thing she felt when she heard I wasn't going to Rome was relief. And that's the first thing I felt, too. I don't fear flying or the current world climate. I fear leaving. I have the opportunity, now, to just be. To just let things flow, and let things in my mind slow down.

I also talked to Kate, my Mom's friend, yesterday morning. Well, not just my Mom's friend, mine too. She went through some similar things in college like I am now, and though the phone call consisted almost entirely of her one-sided monologue, I didn't mind. It was incredibly helpful to hear her story. She says don't discount the usefulness of medicine. Little JW burbled and giggled in the background as she talked. I am almost convinced to try it. I feel like I'm being nibbled to death by minnows.

I should go downtown soon to main campus and look into some counseling. My mom says her therapist highly recommends Temple's services. I would have a therapist, then. An analyst. I don't know if I can sit down and tell my life story to a stranger. I have very bad vibes about therapy. We went to family therapy for a while, I think I was 10 or 11. I sat sullenly, my nose stuck in a Life magazine. What I remember best is the indignation I felt towards this otherwise pleasant, bearded, fatherly-type man. How dare you presume to know what's going on in my head.

One Year Ago:
"I rode the 1 train all the way down to the other end, at South Ferry, right next to Battery Park and the Staten Island Ferry."

Two Years Ago:
"Last reuben I had was in NYC, openfaced...a travesty, I tell you. I was glad to finally get one made the right way."