So here I am. In the library. Abusing my brain for ten pages on DH Lawrence's Sons and Lovers and coal miner class relationships in early 20th century England. I cannot think properly. I keep getting distracted which completely negates the point of coming to the library at 11:00 in the morning to work on a paper. I find I have nothing to say about class in the work of DH Lawrence. Unfortunately, I have nothing to say about anything else in his works. My brain feels like it's on total shut down mode and I'm just trying to decide if it would make more sense for me to take a break from all the work I'm not doing and grab lunch with my friends in the hopes that a brilliant idea will strike while I'm consuming my disgustingly oily and incredibly fatty egg and cheese sandwich. Welcome to a major in English Literature. The good news: my professor isn't a terribly hard grader so if I produce something I'll be able to make it by in his class. The bad news: I can't seem to produce a single sentence.
Time for total disclosure I suppose. My dad is sick. Really sick. Dying sick. And I'm 6,000 miles away from him and home trying to write a meaningless paper on DH Lawrence. This is so fucked up. I spend most of my nights awake crying until I can't cry anymore instead of doing my homework. It all seems so very pathetic. I feel so completely alone. I need someone to hold me so all the tiny pieces of me don't go flying to a million different places. I don't need to talk to anyone, I just need someone to touch me and to remind me that I am still human.
I feel lost. I don't know how to say to someone, "I don't need to tell you what's wrong, I don't need to tell you anything, I just need you to hold me and to stroke my hair and touch my skin until I don't feel like I'm about to break apart." I guess there's no other way to say it but saying just that. But I don't know if I'm ready to let another person in like that. I should just tell my boyfriend what's wrong, instead of confiding in another person who probably has no interest in what's going so wrong in my life. My dearest and sweetest friend in whom I have confided all of my problems in the last few months is undoubtedly sick of hearing about them. I would be if I were him. He has a life, other friends, and much more to be happy about. I don't know why I insist on bringing him down. It's just that when he holds me I feel completely safe, the way I did when I was a kid and my mother would sing all the bad dreams away at bed time. I just don't know if he'd understand what I need of him if I asked it. Things are becoming too heated, too passionate, too out of bounds with him. Asking what I need of him could push us too far over an edge we're both afraid to plummet off of. Who knew college could be so difficult? I thought growing up would get easier. Apparently it doesn't. It just becomes increasingly more like a bad emo song. Maybe all there is left to do is turn on the Bright Eyes and shut down. Or maybe, just maybe, things get better in the future. Maybe there's a time when I can stop crying and my dad will get better and I'll have a plan for the rest of my life. It's pretty to think so anyway.
-The Dormouse