So I graduated from high school on May 23rd. The ceremony was fairly boring; the choir sang a beautiful song; Mr. Sullivan chugged a can of La Croix right before we walked out; the robes were hot and pretty itchy. But it's done.
Then my college freakout took a turn for the more severe. I wasn't doing well. I started doubting whether I could handle college; whether or not I'd have a breakdown halfway through the first semester and have to leave, wasting a lot of money.
I was questioning whether I should take a year/semester off, or take some classes at the local community college, or do volunteer work instead... I was freaking out.
Then I went to Tulsa for the first week in June to give some help to my aunt who is getting treatment for rectal cancer. (She's doing great, just more tired and in some pain).
I sorted and started clearing out her hellscape of a basement, took care of her 17 year old cat, and went to stuff like an all-female cast of Richard III with her and her boyfriend.
While I was there, I also got a tattoo of my left eye on my ankle, as recognition of the cataract I was born with.
After telling my aunt about my doubts about college, she planned a lunch party with five ladies who are friends of hers, ranging in age from 30 - 80. They all approached me either on their own or in a pair to talk to me about college and depression and personal drive. (I cried a little).
Then later, at the dining table, they all went around and gave me advice and shared personal stories and struggles they've had. It was extremely touching. (I cried then too).
I started working at the Southern Pine Company. I make minimum wage and do literally anything that's needed.
I sometimes answer phones, design possible furniture for manufacture, go through several dozen CDs full of photos (looking for relevant things for clients to see), sorting through pictures (including all the severely corroded ones) and scanning the good ones into the computer, planning some larger projects, and researching and writing letters to potential clients.
Among other things.
I also started TMS therapy for treatment-resistant major depression. I go every weekday for six weeks.
I went to the Embark Orientation for UNCA at the end of June. It actually went alright; I met some really nice people, found out that there's a large population of LGBT people, and got my schedule, which has classes I actually look forward to. Of course, the dorms we stayed in were incredibly uncomfortable (very loud, squeaky beds, etc) and it felt like a lot of the people were determined to be more politically correct than the next person, like everyone was trying to out-liberal each other. But I felt better about it.
On the way back from Asheville, I was driving while we were on the interstate, when I lost control of the car; it spun out and crashed into a pole on the median. It was weird; just before, the music suddenly got very loud, right before I lost control. It was like watching a movie of someone on a roller coaster.
I was in shock for a while; I started having a panic attack on the side of the highway while my dad made some calls. I had to call Bambi to talk to me in order to calm me down.
Then the state trooper showed up to make the report; he decided that no one was at fault, before he had to leave to chase down a truck whose back wheel had caught fire and was spewing smoke without the driver noticing.
I was really in shock for a while. My dad and I went to Shoney's; I lost any filter and started saying any thought I had, including my depression and the last time I self-harmed, among other things. Around midnight, I really stopped making sense, and started saying disconnected sentences as they half-formed in my mind.
The car is drivable, but has been declared totaled. It'll be collected this Monday. Dad got a nice used pickup truck, but I have a lot of weird feelings about it all.
Everything feels so out of control.
I was walking through this more suburban neighborhood with my friend, and I saw a tiny edge of something shiny buried in the dirt. I dug it up, and it turned out to be a U.S. Naval Academy ring from the class of 1965.
It was gold with an aquamarine gemstone and a name engraved on the inside. I couldn’t find any notices about lost class rings with any of those characteristics, so I posted a ‘found’ notice on the Savannah craigslist page.
A few days later, I got an email from the USNA Administration, letting me know that they had notified the likely owner and he should be contacting me soon. Sure enough, I almost immediately got an email from the person whose name was inscribed on the inside, telling me about little details on the ring and his phone number.
We set up a place and time, (the parking lot of a local seafood restaurant), and were able to meet each other.
His name is Leland and he’s at least 75 years old. The ring was stolen from his home in 1974, just about two streets away from where I found it. He thinks it’s been there the entire time.
His name is Leland and he’s at least 75 years old. The ring was stolen from his home in 1974, just about two streets away from where I found it. He thinks it’s been there the entire time.
We talked for about an hour and a half about tons of stuff; what was stolen from his house, his time in the Navy, the trial and error of choosing his career, his kids and grandkids, book recommendations, places he’d lived, and a lot more; I found out that my homeroom teacher that I’d had for four years is one of his next door neighbors.
He was almost in tears when I gave the ring to him; it was incredibly touching. I guess it was just a moment of serendipity.
We stayed at friend’s houses in Albuquerque and Santa Fe for two nights, and at an Air BnB for two nights.
The ceremony was fairly short, only about 30 minutes. Twenty of so of their old friends attended. I read a short speech that I’d written. (the chaplain said it was the first time she’d heard someone say the word ‘asshole’ in a wedding ceremony in a church).
Afterwards, everyone went to our Air BnB for the after party. There was a LOT of champagne drunk by everyone. I made the playlist of music, and it was a big hit. A few people came up to me to tell me that they hadn’t heard the song playing in decades, and got a bit emotional.
The ceremony was fairly short, only about 30 minutes. Twenty of so of their old friends attended. I read a short speech that I’d written. (the chaplain said it was the first time she’d heard someone say the word ‘asshole’ in a wedding ceremony in a church).
Afterwards, everyone went to our Air BnB for the after party. There was a LOT of champagne drunk by everyone. I made the playlist of music, and it was a big hit. A few people came up to me to tell me that they hadn’t heard the song playing in decades, and got a bit emotional.
(I also got decently drunk, but my genes that give me a predisposition for alcoholism made it so I just get rather dizzy and uncoordinated rather than lowered inhibition).
While we were in Albuquerque, I went to an archery shop. for my 18th birthday/graduation gift, I found a beautiful recurve bow that fits me perfectly, with an excellent draw weight and length. It's 62 inches unstrung, with a 20 pound minimum draw weight. (stringing it is the hardest part, since its the most you'll ever physically bend it back; it has to pulled from bending forwards and straight to bending back with a pretty good curve. It's a lot of force).
I got everything I needed; the bow, six arrows, an arm guard, a finger guard, and a stringer. It all got shipped to my house last week. I also later bought a quiver and a decently large target.
I'm excited.
I also got to go to the House of Eternal Return exhibit at the Meow Wolf museum in Santa Fe. It was INCREDIBLE. It was all inside the building, which is an old bowling alley, so it doesn’t seem very big.
You walk through the doors past the entrance desk, and somehow you’re in front of the porch of an old Victorian house at twilight.
You walk inside, and you’re in a normal old-fashioned house with a normal kitchen and bedrooms and a living room and bathroom and everything. But there’s subtle clues about an odd circumstance found everywhere; in the mailbox, the code to the safe in the datebook on the coffee table; photographs on the walls; letters left pinned in closets.
But then you realize that if you duck through the fireplace or climb into the refrigerator or into the washing machine, you will end up in a surreal dream world.
There's an enormous tree, a huge yeti that moves, a futuristic teleportation depot, where you select which world you want to go to, and a different door will open and lead you somewhere different. There's an odd chinatown, a kitchen that's painted to look like the inside of an old cartoon, a room that makes you feel like you're in an aquarium, a cave with a giant dinosaur skeleton upon which you can play music on the ribs, an entire working antique arcade, a room with tiny houses on the cliffs on the walls, creepy half-broken animatronic hands that you can control, a room where every wall and ceiling are mirrors, lit only by tiny lights that look like stars, and an actual space capsule.
It was amazing.
It's been roughly three and a half months since I've had any REAL physical human contact. All I've had is quick, uncomfortable hugs with people older than me and handshakes.
I'm a tactile person. It's an important thing to me. Without contact, especially for a long time, everything feels separated and lonely and like my skin doesn't fit right.
Apparently the clinical term is 'touch-starved.'
It wasn't until this weekend, when I went to Bambi's house and explained things to her. She immediately agreed to hold me and run her fingers through my hair while I cried.
Words can't describe how much I needed that. She's such an amazing person and I love her so much.
So there you go.
