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04.14.03 - 1:53 a.m.
Commencement
I have to move beyond the haunting evidence of lost lives, and commence again with my own, life. I'm still waiting for the local news to positively identify the male in his early twenties who died last week. Of course, every word of that last sentence feels mockingly ironic[they can never positively identify him; and even if they did, every positive detail they publish about his 'happy' 'happy' life denies the sadness that drove him to this alternative. Or how about the ridiculous euphemisms that circulate about committing suicide by jumping over a bridge. the campus college newspaper says he 'fell over a bridge'. the town news sensationalizes his 'jumped to his death'...all of these pettty-but-not-so-petty details are enough to irritate me into sticking around so that I will always be the author of my life story]... the weekend has been dreary though, i *am* trying to fight it. thursday's event was this guy jumping to his death. earlier in the week, a memorial service for some graduate chemistry student they found collapsed and dead in the lab. again, the mystification over the circumstances of his death. don't mean to be morose. graduate school does not mean early death. it does however mean an awareness of a helluva uncertainty over the future, that goes unacknowledged. you see we're supposed to be older than undergrads and 'know better', that an unfinished paper or writer's block isn't the end of the world. we want undergrad students to break down and cry in their advisor's office. in fact, there's a booklet on helping 'distressed' student, the does and don'ts, and directing them to the counseling center on campus. well this afternoon, i expressed my distress over the phone to my advisor. it's the first telephone conversation we've had, although it's not the first time she's called me. i'm fortunate that i can email her my thoughts, any thoughts, and i've been downright honest and forthright (while saying upfront that talking about depression or suicidal sadness is a professional risk...because who's going to hire a professor who'll proceed to die and traumatize all her students...) back to mumbling but not whining, speaking as if i'm strong and believe in myself as much as she believes in me. in the background, her kids are yelling up a storm but their rambunctious noise is comforting to me at least. makes me wonder, when's the last time i had an out and out fight like i used to have with my brother... i'm on the phone with her, and desperately want to tell her why two deaths of twentysomethings in one week unnerves me...i want to remind her of my story...and yet in this environment, there's no use repeating these stories unless they are developmental narratives, sadness yes but then phoenix arises and all that jazz towards getting better and better. that's the image i project about my story for her, because i so don't want her to jump off this ride saying, you're obviously going no where. so the question becomes how much can i admit to just to let her know, let someone in that unfeeling ivory tower know each day is painful, each step yes a step forward but such tremendous energy. or that steps don't always build one on top of the other...just don't you step aside please don't... so i asked her if the 'what ifs': what if i take a leave, what if i postpone this til next year, what if, what if... and i'm listening to the answers i kind of already know. and the truth really is each of these what ifs masks a darker what if i want to ask, but don't dare...all i know is that i was already in tears (which thankfully the noise of screaming children muffled), when i explained awful i feel even having advisors, even asking of their time to read my essays or take two hours out of their day to conduct an oral defense... [btw APRIL 30TH AT 4:30PM - 4/30 AT 4:30 PM, let the countdown begin] i believe it helped to cry over this worthless feeling, even if she doesn't understand the hell why. at the moment, my dilemma is as much valorizing my story as figuring out who i can tell it to, and or dare even relate its sequel or development. a most nourishing entry on claiming rights definitely helps me take a first step. its negotiating how to diffuse the pain of this story, especially since so of my friends just refuse to believe it. i want them to believe, but not so that i can remain at this point forever... like i want them to understand that another tooth bit the dust last week, but i don't want them to think, oh circling can't eat anything harder than mush, so better cross her off my invitation list. Well, this week, i am determined to write new life stories. like get this: tomorrow, i'm going to order a cap and gown for commencement. a whopping $12.80 buys me the accoutrements for a masters degree, my reward for getting through the next 21 days in one peace. even though even as i write this, i have NO FRIGGIN IDEA, how i'll complete the remaining essays to get the durn degree. wishful thinking begins with thinking wishes into action. life has to get better and brighter. commencing with the first step...
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