My semester ended two days ago, but somehow I am still procrastinating. At the beginning of the semester, I had a goal to finish my critical paper by summer vacation. I failed to meet that goal, and when I expressed my disappointment about this to Paul, he was surprised, and said:
"You shouldn't finish anything Senior 1 -- you need to keep learning. You don't finish ever, really. At some point you'll have a deadline and you'll take everything you've learned until that point and package it in a paper. But you won't be done learning. It will just keep going."
So Antony and Cleopatra and I are going to spend a lot more time together this summer. I should be spending time with it now, but I've been feeling the itch to write something sentimental. Time to scratch (I am disgusted with myself for so readily using the metaphor of an itch. But ah well, welcome to the life of an allergic person).
This semester almost didn't happen. It was so very close to not happening. About a week before RAs were due to return in January, my parents asked me to think about whether I could handle being back at school. They were concerned -- my health was a mess, and it was wreaking havoc on my physical and mental stability. But I was stubborn, and told them I wanted needed to be back at school. They told me I could have a few trial weeks to see how I did.
Then Jon and I broke up, almost immediately after I got to campus. I called my mom, and this time she told me she thought I needed to stay. I was scared of being at Marlboro all by myself, but eventually I agreed with her -- I figured it was better to have things to do than to go home. So it was with poor health, a lot of sadness, and a good amount of Plan terror that this semester started.
And I'd like to say I ended up in a great place, with great health, a mended heart, and complete control of Plan. None of that is true though. But what is true is this:
I'm actually starting to get better. My health problems and symptoms are still there, but they're slowly healing and going away. I no longer freak out when I have an allergic reaction. Sometimes, when I have small ones, I don't even take benadryl, and just calmly wait for it to go away. And I know now that I have OCD and anxiety, and knowledge is power.
Like my health problems, my sadness about that relationship ending is slowly healing too. It's still there. Sometimes it still hurts a lot. But I know so much more now than before, and I try not to dwell on regret.
Plan is CRAZY and I have nightmares about my orals. But I also love it. I love it so much. I love it more than I ever thought I would.
Most importantly, this semester I realized I am not alone at all. I am surrounded by people at Marlboro, people back home, and people all over. I'm packing now, and I just took down cards and letters of support that wonderful people sent me that I tacked on my wall. My family, friends, Plan sponsors, support people, bosses, and doctor stepped in and saved me. They helped me find strength. Thank you all so much for your help. I know now that I'm going to be OK. I can tell myself that and believe it. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
And thank you Harriet, for living in a tiny room with me this semester and staring at me with that look of hatred, and licking my face when I cried (even though we both know you did that because you like salt). You are the best little friend I could ask for, even if you are so very evil.
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