19 was a bad year for me, and 20 has been better, but hasn't been spectacular, to be honest. My last semester away at school, happening when I first started this blog, was brutal. I spent sixteen weeks anxiety-ridden and desperately lonely, fearful to leave my room, refusing to eat for days at a time. Most of the time I lay in bed, deriving a sad, singular sense of power from the hunger that spread through my limbs and settled there. I spent hours in front of the mirror, analyzing every inch of my body, determining what needed to be smaller and calculated the exact caloric content of everything I put in my mouth. I felt instantly rejected by every person I encountered, despite the fact that I almost never made any attempt to interact with anyone. The happiness I had was in Bobby and Mr. Fantasy. Bobby, being 3 months younger and, due to the times of our birthdays, a school year behind me, was away at his first semester in college. He was the first person I talked to when I woke up in the morning, and we maintained contact until one or both of us went to bed, he amusing and sustaining me with anecdotes and questions, giving me a sense of purpose and security at a time when I was totally without either. Mr. Fantasy kept me occupied in the evenings, his attention supplying me with scraps of confidence that I absorbed like a sponge. Every time I left my dorm room, panic swelled so powerfully inside of me that I could barely stop myself from shaking. I felt disconnected from everything, like I could drift away into nothingness, and no one would notice. When my sister, hearing my complaints about being bored and lonely, suggested I transfer home, it was like suddenly there was possibility again. I did the paperwork, packed and fled in a manic state of grief and fear and relief and regret.
If school was floating, home was drowning. I sank into myself, feeling the bitter weight of my failures. Mr. Fantasy disappeared, unsurprisingly breaking the promises he'd spent the past four months making. When Bobby introduced me to his friends from school, I spent the afternoon paralyzed, begrudging his freedom and happiness, resentful of these strangers he had built a life with. I felt like I didn't belong anywhere. I was nervous, uncomfortable and frenziedly defensive. His life was just beginning, and mine was ending. I was angry with myself. I wasn't able to recognize or understand this, so I instead began searching for things to hold against him. I found them, and spent the next several weeks repeatedly thrusting them at him urgently, forcing him to apologize for innocuous statements and behaviors. He did so confusedly at first, and then with resistance, and then he finally pushed back. I withdrew completely, telling myself over and over and over again that he had committed some terrible wrong, though not bothering to invent what it had been. I was afraid at how much I had depended on him the semester before, terrified at the feeling that I needed him to get through the day.
I spent the next nine months in miserable excess. I traded my dorm room's bed for the couch in front of the television, and ate until I felt sick, trying to consume my own grief or fill the sheer emptiness inside of me, take your pick. I hid from the mirror, catching glimpses of myself only in pictures, and being overwhelmed with disgust. I felt totally powerless. Mr. Fantasy started dating someone new. I tried not to think about it. I reconnected with Bobby, and there was awkwardness as we struggled to rebuild the relationship I had decimated. Spring ended. Mr. Fantasy proposed to his girlfriend. Summer ended.
School and work started and I was too busy to think. I replaced meals with coffee and started hating the mirror less. Fall semester wasn't fun. I went to school all day and worked long shifts. I requested a Saturday off and Bobby came home. We went out to lunch and exploring in a park. I remembered what it felt like to be happy. That was a good day. I got the nerve to demand a day off per week. I felt like I could breathe again. Fall ended.
Winter. Two new nieces were born. Another baby is expected in May. I'm not sure where I am now. Putting the pieces together. This semester is better. I've accumulated enough credits to graduate on time, which will be a year from now, and then I can go anywhere for my Master's. I like my classes. They're challenging and interesting. They're giving me answers to questions I've had about the world for my whole life. I've been forcing myself to look ahead when I walk, rather than at the floor. I'm searching for ways to validate myself that don't involve male attention, though I'm not sure yet what they'll be. I'm dancing as I get dressed in the morning. It's the little things, right?
