I’ve been avoiding this. I’ve actively thought about writing for weeks. Almost every day. And somehow I always manage to crawl into bed or go through my haphazard mornings without writing. I’ve started scrolling through Facebook again.
I give myself points for waking up. And really, I give myself a lot of points every day because for the past week I’ve being going to classes.
Yep. That’s right. I’m back in school. Oh… and I’m staying in Orlando…
If I wrote everyday it wouldn’t seem like such an overwhelming task to recount all the crap that’s happened to me for the past… three week? Almost a month?
Let’s see… I’m still on the lease with Zane. I’m pretty sure I wrote about that fight.
*Looks at past posts…*
Oh cool… I wrote about resigning. So that happened. I spent a week not really doing much, and it sucked as much as I thought it would. I’m not cut out for “doing nothing”. I got closure with a lot of people and aspects of my life. I woke up on Friday at the end of the first week feeling pretty energized. I mean… I had a week of sleeping and resting, and felt ready to tackle the task of figuring out my life. I was going to save it until I got to Vegas. Save all of the heavy lifting until after the move essentially, but I didn’t have anything else going on, so why not start now, right?
That began a tumble down a rabbit hole…
I started researching becoming a physical therapist. Without going into 10 pages worth of back and forth-ness on “should I stay or should I go” the story boils down to this… I was talking to Mother Earth on the phone and she inquired about the types of student loans I had. All of the choices I was making at the time revolved around them. I told her parent plus loans. She went online and on the official .gov website it said that if the borrower (mom) or the person being borrowed for (me) dies then the loans are forgiven.
I was silent for a while. When I could think enough to talk I said that I understood what she had read to me, but that I couldn’t process it. I couldn’t accept any of that information. I went to the computer myself, since I had been curled up in bed having a minor freak out over not knowing if I should still move or not, and brought the page up myself.
I read the same paragraph and still couldn’t accept the information. I told Mother Earth that I needed to go for now. And when I got off the phone I cried.
I was so angry at the time. I knew, knew, if I told anyone this information, that my loans were theoretically forgiven, since at the time I didn’t have official confirmation, that the first thing they would say is how lucky I was. Congratulate me maybe. How I was fortunate. And the only thing my brain wanted to scream was no.
No! This is not ok. This sucks.
My brain would hear, “Congratulations for your mom dying,” because that’s the only reason this would be happening to me. Mom died so I don’t have loans. You know… I would totally be ok with being in debt for the rest of my life if it meant I could have mom back. Just like the inheritance check and how I wanted to give it back. Return it because if I returned it I could have mom, right? That’s how returns work. Keep your fucking money and give me my mom back.
I wanted to scream in hurt all over again because it was another stick poking at the hole in my chest, reminding me, “Hey, no really, your mom is dead.”
Fuck you, Universe. I know she’s dead. I don’t need your constant reminders about it, ok?
I spent a lot of time that week being angry. I had to wait almost a week to hear from the loan providers because I emailed them on Saturday at 2am. Since it was the weekend I wouldn’t hear back from them. Monday was the 4th of July, so I wouldn’t get anything that day… the earliest I could hope for was Wednesday. The Wednesday before I was supposed to leave… less than a week to officially figure out what I wanted to do with my life…
And just like I knew it would play out, any time I had to mention the loans during that time period I was congratulated. And it took every fiber of my being not to flip shit on those people. I know they meant well. I explained why it hurt and made me angry, and I know they felt bad about it afterwards. It didn’t mess up any of my friendships but it sucked knowing that I would never have a person react with, “Wow, that really sucks.”
It felt like I would never have that level of understanding because I know people who would nearly kill to get rid of their student debt and here I am crying over not having it. In the scheme of things I know, logically, this is probably the best thing that could happen to me in this situation. I couldn’t be happy about it though. I’m still not happy about it, but I accept it and understand it. In the beginning though, instead of being grateful I was angry and bitter and back to not knowing how to not hate things, life, for magically working out only after mom died. Why couldn’t I have figured my shit out while she was here? Why couldn’t I have been a better adult and handled all of this beforehand where she could have been proud of me? Why did she have to die for me to be “ok”?
That’s what kept going through my head while I waited for the confirmation about the loans, and on Wednesday morning while I was having breakfast, I got the confirmation. They will be forgiven. That was another week of anger and hurt and emotional turmoil. I’m still sort of angry about it, but there’s a lot more acceptance now. Not having my previous student debt means that I’m able to pursue the physical therapist assistant avenue I want to explore.
My anger doesn’t change the fact that mom died. My anger doesn’t change the fact that the loans are forgiven. I can choose to be angry or I can choose to let it go and accept both of these facts in my life. I’m tired of being angry. I have little left to give to the anger. The less anger I have, the more acceptance there is. Maybe that’s my cycle.
I know distracting myself from things doesn’t work. I’ve tried it. I guess I’m one of those people who needs to feel it, experience it, all of it, until there’s nothing left, and then I can move on.
Last week, Monday, the 11th of July, 2015, the day I was supposed to start my move out west I instead began a six-week course to become a certified nursing assistant (CNA). Once the program is done I’ll be able to apply for jobs with the VA or, hopefully, a rehab clinic, or even hospitals. In the fall of next year I will begin classes to become a PTA, which is a 20-month program for an associate’s degree.
The CNA position is a stepping stone. Something to do for the year before my classes start. It will keep me busy, expose me to the field I want to go into, and help bring in income which would be nice.
My first week of classes has been amazing. I’ve learned how to take vital signs. I’ve learned clinical skills, and I’ve surprised myself with how naturally I seem to take to it and how much I already know from my time in the hospital with mom, but also from both mom and Jon being in the medical field already. There are a lot of numbers to remember, but I think I’m doing alright. I have my first exam this Friday so I suppose we’ll see if I’m doing as well as I think I am.
It feels good. It feels like mom is proud of me because I still choose to believe she is looking out for me and is with me. I feel like there was a reason I started looking into things when I did. My staying in Orlando means I get in-state tuition for school. If I get in with a hospital there’s a chance they will help me with tuition as one of the benefits for working with them. There are a lot of ifs and maybes, but there’s the added bonus that Mother Earth and Josh are moving back to Orlando and I’ll have my pseudo family around me again. My younger brother is going to school in Orlando, so we’ll be able to hang out.
I’m worried that I chickened out and that fear is the reason I stayed, but there are a lot of pros to staying here, and I like to think that I am able to adapt as new information presents itself. This was some pretty heavy new information and for a solid week I struggled with trying to figure out what was best for me and what I truly wanted.
I think this is the right path, at least for right now. Maybe I’ll still move. Who knows? For the next 5 weeks though I have these classes to keep my occupied.
I feel written out. There’s so much more to type and I know I really ought to process through more of it, and maybe I will as the days progress. I don’t have a routine for the evening anymore, and I am barely clinging to the one I have for the mornings. I’m trying to change that. I’m trying to get back into my writing because I know it helps me. I know there are times I should have written that I didn’t. Just like I should have drank more water and instead I suffered through the migraine that followed from skipping out on it.
I’m tired of making myself suffer through the sadness and pain and emotional confusion. I know I need to write, so I am. I have a few things I’m going to try to do each evening. Shower, brush teeth, write, drink water, study. Maybe not in that order, but those things in some form. I think if I can do at least those five things before trying to sleep that I can condition myself to wind down better and sleep sounder than what I have been for the past 3 and a half months.
It’s still hard sometimes. I still struggle with the question of why? Why do all of this when mom isn’t here. What’s the point? I don’t want to die. I’m not suicidal, but it feels so pointless sometimes. All I want is for her to answer the phone. I want her to be there after I take my certification test. I wanted to call her so badly after I signed up for my courses because I know she would have been excited for me. Just as excited as I was if not more so.
But she can’t answer the phone. And so I struggle with why. Why do any of it when I can’t share it with her? Nights like tonight are like that. And there’s a part of my brain that tells me she’s still here and that’s why I do it. Because I know she’s still proud of me. There’s a measure of comfort from that and I guess that’s really all I’ll ever be able to get. I’m still transitioning. I most likely will for the rest of my life. I’ll struggle with wanting her to still physically be here.
Her birthday is coming up. July 28th.
I don’t know what else to say. I didn’t mean for this to get so depressing. I’m not going to be sorry for writing though. I’m not going to be sorry for feeling sad or for not knowing what to do for her birthday. I’m not going to be sorry that it’s most likely going to be harder than mother’s day.
I guess really I could just say, “I’m not going to be sorry,” and be done with it. It still sucks sometimes, and right now is one of those times. I feel closer to her for having written though. I’m going to go cherish that closeness.