"Well, I'm too blissed out from yoga to figure out what time you wrote this email. It's nice to hear you are happy. Sorry about the panic attack. At least you knew what it was and had folks there to be with you. Congrat's on the snow. We got rain. And wind.
A Brittish ta-ta to you!
My stomach fell out my feet. I couldn't wave to my friends. I tried to get toast but knew I couldn't eat it and just put it back. It just kept replaying in my mind. I sent her such a beautiful email. I put myself into it. I even mentioned my songs and if I should email them or if we should listen to them together some time in the future. It was such a short reply. It covered what she would have covered in two or three paragraphs in short and choppy sentences, so formal. Choppy. I wish I could see her face as she reads my emails and types her replies (the times she gives them - namely just today).
I could feel her so very, very little. Mainly in the sign-out line. At the goodbye. Of course. Everyone looked at me strangely at breakfast. I almost started crying on the spot. Instead of admiring the snow on my way to Exploiters, I cried and mouthed a few words to myself.
I cried through Contented Little Pussy Cat. Cried through waiting for lecture to start. Cheered up through lecture just by learning. Hung around with Kit. Batgirl and Laura decided to ditch the writing discussion and I agreed to give them the notes I took last week.
Hung out in the foyer waiting for practical. Bought crisps and soda because I felt so sick. I felt less hungry, but still sick. Rented a labcoat for lab. I did alright. I was nervous and my slide was too thick but I drew everything right and paid attention. Knew all the answers to the questions from the instructor, but whispered them so she couldn't hear. Reminded me of Watsonii's class.
Back to dorm. Lunch quickly and it was gross. Batgirl's room on her bed. Drew a journal entry and tried to write but nothing worked. Accidentally let two tears fall while on her bed and she gave me a big hug. She thought there was some Simple Explanation for Cavinator not writing more - most people do. It isn't. I know it isn't. Sarah was confused but I didn't care.
I came in my room alone and cried. Went online and had to go through a few old emails just to remember they existed - added a few to the Kivanagh email project novel. I hit one of her most beautiful responses to me. I was so filled with love and hurt it was pathetic. Cried a bit more and started working on Exploiters notes. Ate dinner really quickly, Mike was weird with Batgirl, left dinner. Went down to check post and I have to parcels to pick up later. Checked in with the pals again and came up with them.
Kept my door open the second time around. Finished my Exploiters notes. Talked with people online. Spoke with Sonja from FUSF - she's really amazing. She's a teacher at KPN (my old junior high) and was Dweeb's 8th grade Spanish teacher. She knows I would have been a very different student from him. She's friends with one of the teachers I bonded with in 7th grade, my Spanish teacher. She sent me a message in response to what I spilled in my comments on my status update. Apparently my story about Mrs. Cavanagh and I had her bawling. She shared the story she had with a boy she had grown close with, who had had trouble coming out. I replied once. It was so beautiful to have the story. I was in a good mood again.
I slowly made my way through the rest of the Chiltern's information and continued chatting. My mood plummeted again. By the end I was barely concentrating and mainly crying. It's sometimes hard speaking with people who are naturally concise, and not hypersensitive. It only proved to remind me of the one time Mrs. Cavanagh and I had the closest thing to an argument - over a miss communication before the NHS Induction. We spoke quietly and paused frequently, very in tune with when the other was about to start speaking and wording our speech so carefully. She pointed out, "Look how careful we're being with each other!" and we laughed about it. The memory was a punch in the gut.
I epic fail at being a Contented Little Pussy Cat. I epic fail at Staying in the Now.
I don't naturally miss people. I don't get homesick. If relationships with people are normal and I can speak with them in SOME medium, I don't miss them.
I feel this time she has made a one-side cut. That there's a funnel to take my emails and presence through, but like with a carnivorous plant, backward spikes to keep replies from her and her presence from coming through. And that she put the spikes there. I just get the remains of what can climb through, injuries and all. I don't feel her anymore. Is this over? I can't stand if it's over, I can't stand the way it is now, I can't stand most of it. How do I let her get to me this much when she's not even trying to?
I need to email her, gently, and get this straightened out. I cannot be afraid to email someone and consider them a part of my life. I cannot email someone pieces of my heart and get two lines in return. I cannot bring up something I'm petrified of but adore - singing, and the songs I wrote myself! - and have it not even acknowledged. I cannot ask someone how she is and enjoy an email in which that is not answered in the least.
It's one-sided and, to me, it isn't right or respectful. But more than that it freakin' HURTS given our previous connections. It's a big slap to me, a screaming, "I don't want to keep contact with you!" And maybe that's what it is. I don't know.
I'm angry, I'm hurt, and I'm still so filled with love that it downright isn't fair. Couldn't that part at least go away?
Couldn't I just not care?
No. Because, heaven knows even she knows it, I'm hyper-sensitive and I care. I always care.
I miss my Mrs. Cavanagh. I don't know if she exists anymore. I don't want to think about it. I don't want to think about what this is doing to me. I want to picture her smiling face, her laughingly dumping water on me with her umbrella after she tries to cover me and I hop out to enjoy the rain, her being slightly vulnerable but so caring, her cracking punny jokes, her laughter in general, her hugs when we're upset, her relaxed seating in small high school chairs with her legs out akimbo and her posture without tension.
Have I changed too much for her? Has she changed too far away? Maybe she can't handle me or who I am or how I am or what I am or where I am or how I'm doing it or just what I have to offer in general.
It isn't fair to me that I'm really going after my dream, that I'm here and doing what I've dreamed of, and I've lost what got me through the hard times.
Does anyone have an ice pack for my life?
I'm going to finish crying myself to sleep, not be able to sleep for a long while, get to some fitful sleep, wake up and shower tomorrow because I've scratched my scalp to bleeding, try to get some work done but feel stupid, and go to class.
I keep hurting.