Toastie ‘97

It’s probably stupid that I have to do this, but I really don’t want to take up your time by talking to you, when I know that you won’t know what to say to me, and then you’ll just feel bad. All week, I’ve been in one of those moods where if I tried to explain to you what’s wrong or how I’m feeling, I’d say nothing, and I know you don’t want to deal with that. I’m writing you now because I do feel very alone, and I hope that maybe you care, even if you don’t have anything to say to me. Last night, I didn’t call to tell you any of this, because, as I said, I don’t want to mire you down in any more difficult conversations. I just called to see how you were doing, and you told me you weren’t feeling so great, which upset me, but I’m glad that I knew that. It’s not like there was much I could do, though, except to tell you that I hoped you felt better. I know I can’t get you a bouquet of get-well balloons or buy you matzah-ball soup. But I’m glad you were feeling better today, and that you got some sleep. I guess it was probably a good thing for you that you missed me on the phone last night. I would have had nothing productive to say.

Anyway, for the past week and a half, what’s made me completely messed up has been my whole roommate situation. As of right now, the issue of whether I can and will move to West still isn’t settled, and I wish it was already. I’ve felt so incredibly dead every day, and I need sleep so badly. I talked to my roommates, and they said they’ll try to cooperate, but even with this cooperation, I’m still not getting the rest and the peace I need. I can’t expect them to inconvience themselves for my sake, and I won’t ask them to do anymore than they’re doing now. You should know how against my nature it is to ask things of other people, to ask anything of others that I know will inconvience them, make them uncomfortable, etc.

I keep going through a cycle of thinking I can deal with things here, and that I should stay. But then something happens, and I realize that I can’t stay, and that I must get out of here. I’ve now talked to each of my parents, a CAPS counselor, my academic dean, the housing coordinator, my roommates, and my R.A. about this situation, and there is no resolution yet. Basically, everything will, I hope, be clearer tomorrow, when I hope to talk to the financial aid director. Everything comes down to whether or not my financial aid can be increased if I move to a room that is $1800 more expensive. This is a lot of money for my mom if you consider that she’s only paying about $8000 for me for everything for the year. If I can get financial aid, I then know that I can definitely move to West if I want to, and I probably will. If I can’t get financial help, then I’m stuck here for good, and I’ll live with it.

For the past week, it’s been impossible to get my work done. It’s been difficult talking to anyone in Trent, not just you, because I don’t want to make things harder for myself if I do pick up and move across campus. I can’t say I’m not a little worried about the thought of truly being alone if I move, but it’s not my foremost concern, which is my overall physical and mental well-being.

I went to the hosptial for a centralized psychiatric evalutation, or something like that. It wasn’t very helpful, because the person I talked to didn’t really offer much encouragment. The outcome of the session is that I’ll be referred to someone to see for extended therapy. I’ll probably get some group therapy. And I’ll definitely wind up on some kind of medication.

God, I can’t help thinking as I write this that you’ll tell me that you’re glad I’m getting help, but I just wish that you were able to deal with me having all these problems, but I know that you can’t.

How are you? You’re always doing work when I see you. I really do admire you for working so hard, but I worry that you work too hard. I don’t want you to be really sick again. I know that me saying this doesn’t matter very much. What’s my point? I should probably end this letter. Once again, I’ve done the selfish deed of attempting to clear my mind a little by dumping my problems on you. Feel free to brush them off and forget about them, though. Don’t worry about me. Just take care of yourself.