Talking it out?

So hooray, i turned in both of my papers this morning, took my test and wrote the most feminist essay of my life (I had to question why so many female authors killed themselves..i'm sure my teacher loved my passion and conviction) But although I may not be a feminist, i prefer to think of myself as an equalist if that terminology even exists. Think about it

This section in my writing I studied Alice James, daughter of the great Henry James and the only girl in the family--she was sickly and was always inferior to her brothers, Emily Dickinson who refused to leave her home for more than short sojourns, Gilman who wrote the most disturbing short story i've read in my life about a woman trapped in the yellow wallpaper that ends up being her, Virginia Woolf who discussed the tribulations of being a female author and how there could never have been a female shakespeare because of society's restrictions--she later ended up drowning herself. Then there was Sylvia Plath, perhaps the most intriguing writer i've ever come across, her character situations are poignant and sarcastic. I wish I was half as clever as Plath; however her character Esther ends up falling into madness and spending her life in a mental institution receiving shock therapy. And of course Plath later committed suicide herself. So why is it that all these brilliant early female writers had lives of desititution? you would think with their talent and intelligence anything would be possible. But as Emily Dickinson wrote best, they put me in the closet expecting me to be still. The irony of that is that Virginia Woolf's essay "A Room of One's Own" discusses how women need space, time to think, and room to be left alone in--Dickinson gives her speaker a Closet and ruminates that if they could only see inside her mind then they would see her her brain -go round-. I think it's a very clever poem. Haha obviously, my head is still in the test.

Last night and the night before I was up ridiculously late for different reasons. My anti-anxiety pills are an amazing little thing, they pack a lot of punch for being a half dose. I can sleep, i can relax..i can not think for five seconds at a time. I had a much needed talk with Kristin the other night at our apartment, and of course I ended up crying even though I try so hard to do my tough, calm, collected facade. Sometimes when you are with people who know you, it's time to just let it out. But it scares me to be honest, I'm afraid if I really let myself cry and feel the hurt from what happened that I won't stop crying. I know that sounds insane and stupid, but it's true. The mention of Lenna in a quiet situation and my emotions go through the roof. I had an awful conversation with My grandma the other day and she was so disoriented and confused asking me about my mom and if she had missed my birthday and it was..awful. I wish she never would have had the stroke, and I wish she would have been with us so I could have protected her. I felt helpless being so far away. I still feel helpless, because I get so upset everytime i hear her sound so disgruntled and out of it on the phone--but i want to talk to HER. I want her to come back. Even now, i get upset and i don't to write about it. and my chest hurts. typical. but anyways, back to my point. I felt when i left that I had a pharmacy in my bag. I have anti-anxiety medicine, anti-depressants, heartburn medicine, pencillin for the strep and some other thing. I felt like an unstable person, only because of how much it takes to mellow me out. why is this happening? really? I don't know what I did to my dad to make him lash out at me and stop loving me if he ever did at all and I don't know why I can't overcome this and put it in the past. I want to talk to people about it, but i don't know how to reach out. I don't know how to admit "i'm having a bad day" and "I'm upset about.." I feel that nobody wants to listen. And people say that you should call them to talk to them but it's like..i will never be the person to pick up the phone to call someone to talk about something really bothering me, idk why. Brian was really intuitive the other day when he told me that my dad was projecting his shortcomings onto me and that it wasn't my fault. I think i really needed to hear that. I understand that my dad has to be a huge..asshole i guess..for abandoning me. All i wanted to do was fall apart after it happened. I think it's difficult because I really expected a magic wand to be waved over me when I got to school and when I found myself hiding out in my room and feeling isolated even more than when I was in Santa Fe something clicked. I'm glad that i went to the therapist, but i dont think i want to go back. I think my journal is more effective. I'd rather talk with one of my friends and have heart to hearts once a week then talk to a stranger who I put on a facade with anyway. Well, my journal definitely took a more intraspective look than I was in the mood for, but i guess it was necessary to put out there.