Bruce

So finals are this week, and I came back up here early yesterday to study. Leaving home hasn't really bothered me this semester, I think because Ta's up here and I have Misha and the weeks have really seemed to fly by. I have a house to stay in instead of a 12x13' shoebox. I can cook my own food and watch Netflix on our very own living room couch instead of a hard plastic rolly-chair. I also have stuff to clean, which sounds like a weird thing to get excited over I know, but it's nice to have to do laundry and wash dishes because those are normal things.

Anyway, I came back early and it didn't really bother me. Until I went into my closet and for some reason I just hit a wall. This wave of loneliness just sort of crashed over me and I had to pause for a second to catch my breath. I don't know what caused it. I don't really think the sight of my shoes scattered everywhere would trigger such a violent reaction; although I guess you could say that the image of so many pairs laying scattered - separated from their mates, only together when they are deemed worthy of going with an outfit, forced to spend their days longing for their partner but lacking the capability to neatly stack themselves and an owner who would do it for them - could have prompted a second of soul-crushing clarity that I will soon be alone up here again to face the scrutiny of other people and to combat the many obstacles of everyday by myself. Perhaps a moment of self-doubt: am I like the shoe? Incapable of moving myself any closer to what I desire, unable to attach myself to another shoe but forever forced on the stinky foot of lonely turmoil?

Ah who am I kidding... My Freudian slip is showing. It had been building the entire car ride up here and just showed itself then because I was alone in the house and went into the closet by myself and felt cut off from other people. Sometimes a shoe is just a shoe.

Still, for a moment I teetered on the verge of a panic attack. I really am a type A personality; I don't like being told I can't do something. If I set myself a goal, I WILL accomplish it. And right then I felt completely out of control because there is absolutely nothing I can do to alleviate the coming situation. And by situation I mean Ta not coming back up here next semester. He decided he wants to start teaching as soon as he can, and that means not being thirty minutes away and seeing each other three times a week. It scares me because I remember what it was like before he was up here.

When I start getting overwhelmed, I tend to either suppress or explode depending on the situation. If I let it out all at once, I'm done. That's it. It simmers down to a more manageable level. I do a lot of suppressing though. (Ha, Freud and I would have just shared a moment.) And that's harder because I retreat inward and it gets hard to do anything. Even talk. It becomes almost physically impossible for me to verbalize anything. And when that wave of lonely hit me full force in the chest with a sledge hammer, I felt the pressure seal vacuum shut and heard that inhaled pffffffp.

Then I walked out of my closet and noticed the cutest little pink sticky note stuck to my mirror. (A note here: my bedroom and bathroom typically stay closed. People, meaning my roommate and her parents when they come up, don't usually go in there. And there really wasn't any evidence that anyone had been in there - thank goodness because I didn't make my bed before I left Friday. I never asked where the note came from because really, I don't want to know.)

The seal broke in that satisfying way that the button on the top of a jelly jar pops up when you open it for the first time. I may have cried. Just a little. Ok maybe a more middling amount than a little. Time and again I get the opportunity to sit back and grin and laugh at myself, and I don't think I'll ever stop being amazed and appreciative of these little moments. They're my favorite things.

Here I would like to put a little side note about my favorite Bro Adam. When things like this happen, my first reaction is to tell him about it. He has been a good shepherd, patiently guiding me when I wander off into unhappiness. And this time he didn't disappoint: "Your God loves you, Sage. He does." I think I'm going to frame that somewhere. You da best, B.




Needless to say, I no longer feel alone. I want to hold onto this feeling forever because it's so wonderful. It's warm hugs and cozy blankets and fresh cookies and sunlight and bubbles and feathers and just pure love. I keep repeating it like it's a song stuck in my head, "Your God loves you, Sage. He does."