Is love a phenomenon?
This semester has started differently from any other semester on record. I arrived full of ambition, but with all things that change, my vigor -- no, my active participation in -- school has been partially eclipsed by something else.
Mind my disclaimer: due to my infested sinus cavities, my ability to cohere thoughts together in a nice, progressive, linear format is, uh, not there. Sorry if it takes more effort to connect my dots. It'll all make sense, I promise.
When two people give each other that hidden thing, that essential fragment of the self that binds the rest together, a big change occurs. Not in the birds singing, love-bubbles popping, hippie-dippy sort of feel-good crap that romantic novels portray, but in the "ah, so this is love" sort of way (the other stuff happens sometimes, too). It's a good thing, and this entry will not try to destabilize that blanket opinion that most of us as warm-blooded humans share.
However, I AM going to try to illustrate what happens when that union disintegrates. If you're happily coupled, stop reading; I don't want to be responsible for any stressful revelations.
Worlds unite when two people "fall in love." Bear with my cliches, please- they're cliche for a reason, and in this instance, "worlds uniting" is a very appropriate (albeit nauseating) metaphor. Worlds really do unite. Two people become so intrinsically connected, socially, economically, mentally, physically, etc, that their entire worlds are, essentially, combined whether one of the worlds cares to admit it or not.
People are social creatures. Thus, our significant others will likely bring more people into the general mix of things. Though math isn't my strongest suit, I'm fairly comfortable in using the broad generalization that when two nations are combined, the population rises exponentially. The same is true of two people coming together in a relationship. Yes, relationships come and go, and no, the end of a relationship isn't the end of all things, but if you consider my math, it could be mean a minor period of readjustment. Or a full-on civil war. Either way, something will happen when the status quo is jeopardized.
And jeopardized it was.
It's been a few months. Ok, it's been half a year. I've struggled, I've mourned, I've gone through my annoying depression, and I think I've made it out unscathed. Except for this weird... eclipse. This inky darkness that lurks around every SUNY Potsdam corner.
I'm not afraid of running into people (that's just an irritating fact of life). It's just the lingering... solitude that feels weird. After becoming used to having a strong network of supporting friends, not really having that backbone every day is strange. It isn't unmanageable (I'm strong, independent and intelligent... I'm strong, independent and intelligent... blah blah blah mantra), but it's there. I don't really know how else to describe it.
I guess it'd be logical to equate it to that subtraction. One big world minus half (or some may even say 75%) equals a smaller world. Remember the other part of that list of potential connections? It isn't just new friends (or, strangely enough, old friends!) that become part of the separation.
I suppose the moral of my story is:
When walking arm-in-arm with your partner across campus, take care to remember that he or she isn't really the other half of you. Your world doesn't have to be halved if that arm isn't a support system someday.
My favorite professor says, over and over again, that everything we do is a "teaching/learning experience."
I learned that loneliness isn't the biggest stressor that comes with the aftermath. It's the unfamiliar stoicism that creeps into everything when you have to relearn how to walk around without that arm.
Hopefully reading this taught you something. As an aside, writing it helped dust away some of the mucous-born fog. Another helpful tip: when you're sick, keep writing anyway. When you finally aren't coughing away your mental clarity, having hacked through it will keep your wits whet-stone sharp (oh hey, alliteration!).
Friday, February 26, 2010
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Who needs light?
"The light had gone out of her eyes. I looked and looked, but I couldn't find her."
- Janie Spar
There's something to this. Janie was referencing her friend who, because of society's negative grasp on her life, had been reduced to an apathetic husk of the proud-and-out lesbian she used to be. Every time they were together, the light, so to speak, that had burned so brightly behind her retinas, wasn't there at all when Janie looked for it.
Isn't that what happens when we're hurt? Of course, there's no true light blinking -- most of us aren't cyborgs -- but there's a real sense of self in our expression, in our body language... in our eyes.
They speak mor ethan we do sometimes. A wink can mean so many illicit things, but it can also mean 'It's alright. I know this hurts.' Eyes can narrow with anger or widen with surprise, they can glare angrily or gaze knowingly. They can offer comfort to an entire audience, and they can fill with tears to show that we're unhappy.
It's when they stop moving, though, that raises an alarm for our friends and family. It's when you smile with your mouth, but the smile never reaches your full expression of self. It's when your once-powerful, gentle and understanding way of seeing the world, brightly and without cynicism, becomes a stoic stare; when eyes become tools for seeing, and that's it.
I'm 22 today, and I hope that my eyes aren't just for seeing anymore.
- Janie Spar
There's something to this. Janie was referencing her friend who, because of society's negative grasp on her life, had been reduced to an apathetic husk of the proud-and-out lesbian she used to be. Every time they were together, the light, so to speak, that had burned so brightly behind her retinas, wasn't there at all when Janie looked for it.
Isn't that what happens when we're hurt? Of course, there's no true light blinking -- most of us aren't cyborgs -- but there's a real sense of self in our expression, in our body language... in our eyes.
They speak mor ethan we do sometimes. A wink can mean so many illicit things, but it can also mean 'It's alright. I know this hurts.' Eyes can narrow with anger or widen with surprise, they can glare angrily or gaze knowingly. They can offer comfort to an entire audience, and they can fill with tears to show that we're unhappy.
It's when they stop moving, though, that raises an alarm for our friends and family. It's when you smile with your mouth, but the smile never reaches your full expression of self. It's when your once-powerful, gentle and understanding way of seeing the world, brightly and without cynicism, becomes a stoic stare; when eyes become tools for seeing, and that's it.
I'm 22 today, and I hope that my eyes aren't just for seeing anymore.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Sickness is...
My friend is a nurse.
Well, she will be. She attends a relatively prestigious nursing school in Syracuse, NY, and I get to hear about all of the different interesting things they teach her about the care of the human body. For instance, did you know that there are classes (or at least class periods) in which the medical staff of America (and probably other countries [probably]) is taught how to cope with the deaths of its patients?
The body is a fragile paradox. We live to care for others, but caretakers die. We strive to selflessly better the world for future generations (most of us do, anyway), yet we're one of the only species that can work selfishly toward goals that help us. In the short amount of time that we get to breathe air, we spend an enormous percentage of it battling one another for such petty, insignificant reasons (I've already negated what I said about future generations... hello, paradox).
When we aren't attacking one another, we're malfunctioning. One cell will multiply too quickly, or the soft tissues in our brains will deteriorate, or our blood will stop clotting correctly, or the substances that should be helping us -- like peanuts, for example -- will trigger a deadly allergic reaction.
So which aspect of humanity defines us?
Are we creatures that struggle endlessly with one another for the betterment of mankind? Or are we really just broken computers, blinking and beeping until our own programs betray us?
Either way, I believe sickness is the real enemy and our doctors, nurses and various other medical attendants are the more precious to our world than we give them credit for. When the world stops screaming and the bombs are done falling, the real heroes are the people who, after having learned how to cope with the inevitable deaths of their charges, are sitting by someone's bedside, guiding them through the final shutdown procedure.
How come more of us don't know how to do what they do? Paradox.
Well, she will be. She attends a relatively prestigious nursing school in Syracuse, NY, and I get to hear about all of the different interesting things they teach her about the care of the human body. For instance, did you know that there are classes (or at least class periods) in which the medical staff of America (and probably other countries [probably]) is taught how to cope with the deaths of its patients?
The body is a fragile paradox. We live to care for others, but caretakers die. We strive to selflessly better the world for future generations (most of us do, anyway), yet we're one of the only species that can work selfishly toward goals that help us. In the short amount of time that we get to breathe air, we spend an enormous percentage of it battling one another for such petty, insignificant reasons (I've already negated what I said about future generations... hello, paradox).
When we aren't attacking one another, we're malfunctioning. One cell will multiply too quickly, or the soft tissues in our brains will deteriorate, or our blood will stop clotting correctly, or the substances that should be helping us -- like peanuts, for example -- will trigger a deadly allergic reaction.
So which aspect of humanity defines us?
Are we creatures that struggle endlessly with one another for the betterment of mankind? Or are we really just broken computers, blinking and beeping until our own programs betray us?
Either way, I believe sickness is the real enemy and our doctors, nurses and various other medical attendants are the more precious to our world than we give them credit for. When the world stops screaming and the bombs are done falling, the real heroes are the people who, after having learned how to cope with the inevitable deaths of their charges, are sitting by someone's bedside, guiding them through the final shutdown procedure.
How come more of us don't know how to do what they do? Paradox.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Shower after thoughts
To avoid looking like a petulant child, let me clarify a few points-
- Smoking was stupid, and that was my fault. Peer pressure is lame, and I learned another very important life lesson-- about myself and about my friends who knowingly handed me the bowl.
- Being editor-in-chief is a choice, sure, but it's something I've locked myself into until I graduate. Yea, I can quit anytime. I can toss aside my three semesters of struggle, but that will also kiss my future goodbye. I don't crank out the paper every week because it's a fun hobby. I do it so I can build my resume into the biggest, brightest beacon for my someday-successful career. Therefore, when other staffers slack off, I don't have a choice but to pick up the pieces. My name, after all, is what people hear when I talk about my paper... and my name is what will follow me after the paper is just a distant memory.
- I am grumpy because I haven't had coffee yet and decided to think about this crap.
- Smoking was stupid, and that was my fault. Peer pressure is lame, and I learned another very important life lesson-- about myself and about my friends who knowingly handed me the bowl.
- Being editor-in-chief is a choice, sure, but it's something I've locked myself into until I graduate. Yea, I can quit anytime. I can toss aside my three semesters of struggle, but that will also kiss my future goodbye. I don't crank out the paper every week because it's a fun hobby. I do it so I can build my resume into the biggest, brightest beacon for my someday-successful career. Therefore, when other staffers slack off, I don't have a choice but to pick up the pieces. My name, after all, is what people hear when I talk about my paper... and my name is what will follow me after the paper is just a distant memory.
- I am grumpy because I haven't had coffee yet and decided to think about this crap.
A hollow sense of being
The semester's off to a rocky start.
For those of you who don't know me, I have a quasi-severe allergic reaction to marijuana. Gasps, shock, disbelief and various other expressions of gaping wonder are not uncommon after I share that little secret, so I'll imagine a room full of people doing it at once. And scene.
So anyway, I smoked a week before school started. I started out fine. Then about two minutes into it, I was hallucinating, seeing time slow down and speed up, and started choking. The effects lasted all night long until my friend, graciously, scooped me up and took me back to her apartment (thanks, Renee!). For about two weeks later, I was suffering from anxiety attacks and the not-too-distant fear that my mind would never again be the same. Now we're week three into the semester-- simple math supposes that I've only just started feeling better, for those of you (like me) who would rather ANY kind of math be spelled out.
Status of Health: check
I'm the editor-in-chief of our school newspaper (I receive far fewer reactions from this bit of news than from the marijuana allergen...). My job requires that I work closely with people. Not as an editor should -- editing, revising, fixing general writing errors -- but as a philanthropist. Why? Because students are soft. In the year and a half that I've had to lead an organization that amasses 40+ people at its general staff meetings, I've come to the conclusion that, unless you've had to face some kind of serious hardship in your life (and I'm being very, very sarcastic), you aren't equipped to face the day head on.
Sure, I complain. I bitch. I threaten to quit. I get so overwhelmed with all of my various responsibilities that I sit alone sometimes and just cry it out until I feel better. And then I suck it up and move on. I don't have the option of not finishing my section. I don't get to shrug my shoulders and quit when the going gets tough. If people hate me on my staff, I just have to smile more and either convince them I'm still a good editor or ignore their behind-my-back comments.
Anyway, all of this is a precursor to: I've replaced 2 editor positions already and STILL have one more surprise section to layout, on top of running the paper. Rupert Murdoch is insane.
Status of Mental Health: check
I think it's deplorable that I'm even writing this here. I try to reserve my blog space for deep, insightful opinions (read: somewhere I can practice writing). However, I've also come up against my worst fear--
I have to do all of this alone. My friends are all filled with their own responsibilities and dramas, and my schedule just doesn't mesh anymore. It's an empty feeling I've never really experienced before, knowing that, though I'd love to sit down and hash it all out with someone, all I have is this blog and myself to tell me that I'm doing the right things.
And you, loyal readers. I don't suspect this post will stay public for very long.
For those of you who don't know me, I have a quasi-severe allergic reaction to marijuana. Gasps, shock, disbelief and various other expressions of gaping wonder are not uncommon after I share that little secret, so I'll imagine a room full of people doing it at once. And scene.
So anyway, I smoked a week before school started. I started out fine. Then about two minutes into it, I was hallucinating, seeing time slow down and speed up, and started choking. The effects lasted all night long until my friend, graciously, scooped me up and took me back to her apartment (thanks, Renee!). For about two weeks later, I was suffering from anxiety attacks and the not-too-distant fear that my mind would never again be the same. Now we're week three into the semester-- simple math supposes that I've only just started feeling better, for those of you (like me) who would rather ANY kind of math be spelled out.
Status of Health: check
I'm the editor-in-chief of our school newspaper (I receive far fewer reactions from this bit of news than from the marijuana allergen...). My job requires that I work closely with people. Not as an editor should -- editing, revising, fixing general writing errors -- but as a philanthropist. Why? Because students are soft. In the year and a half that I've had to lead an organization that amasses 40+ people at its general staff meetings, I've come to the conclusion that, unless you've had to face some kind of serious hardship in your life (and I'm being very, very sarcastic), you aren't equipped to face the day head on.
Sure, I complain. I bitch. I threaten to quit. I get so overwhelmed with all of my various responsibilities that I sit alone sometimes and just cry it out until I feel better. And then I suck it up and move on. I don't have the option of not finishing my section. I don't get to shrug my shoulders and quit when the going gets tough. If people hate me on my staff, I just have to smile more and either convince them I'm still a good editor or ignore their behind-my-back comments.
Anyway, all of this is a precursor to: I've replaced 2 editor positions already and STILL have one more surprise section to layout, on top of running the paper. Rupert Murdoch is insane.
Status of Mental Health: check
I think it's deplorable that I'm even writing this here. I try to reserve my blog space for deep, insightful opinions (read: somewhere I can practice writing). However, I've also come up against my worst fear--
I have to do all of this alone. My friends are all filled with their own responsibilities and dramas, and my schedule just doesn't mesh anymore. It's an empty feeling I've never really experienced before, knowing that, though I'd love to sit down and hash it all out with someone, all I have is this blog and myself to tell me that I'm doing the right things.
And you, loyal readers. I don't suspect this post will stay public for very long.
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