Writing to Ashley tonight I imagined her in her room, reading my message on her computer, and I began to envision the entire spectrum of Biddle hall, life there. I had such an opportunity, and I wasted it. It would have been easy enough to do well in my classes; then I could be living with Ashley and working toward that all-important college degree. A certain future would have awaited me if I had applied myself to any field, and I could have made time to advance myself in the ways that I wanted, writing, filmmaking, computer science. I have been given creativity, intelligence, and a healthy body, and my will has not lived up to the task of the steward. It is small detail that I just received email notification that my loan disbursements went through—I would have been allowed to attend school this quarter. I am emotionally ripped apart, from my floundering and failure. I am mad at myself for not being appreciative of what opportunities I have, for not acting as though the present contributes to an overlasting life. I have no sense that I am working on a complete, unified whole; I don’t feel that I have anything to look forward to. I am almost totally spiritually dead.
I don’t feel that I’ve developed properly, don’t feel that I’ve grown into being as I should be at this age. I feel sick and wrong, and I don’t know what to do. My parents love me, but their advice more often condescends and pities than moves me forward. I have a twisted view of things, and I realize that if a million dollars and a college degree fell into my lap right now I would be just as sick and twisted. My attitude is all wrong, my pattern of life not life-giving. I am void of peace and satisfaction, void of love, patience, creative excitement, a feeling of safety and security; I am bored and unresourceful, negative, dark, weak, seeing no possibility and feeling no freedom. I hurt tremendously, feel unloved. Julian and I have both grown weary, and I sense that Ashley is weakened by this latest turn. My parents are falling apart, my sisters are falling apart, and I ended up back home, in this house, with dealings interpersonal destructive. This is a place I should not be. I felt out of place at Ohio University; I feel out of place here. My parents’ love, which I thought was constant, has been irrevocably broken. I am incensed at that, and I feel I should be able to turn with my grievance to a higher power…but none is present. I can pray to the invisible mystery of God, but does no close, touchable, immediate love exist? I always found that in my parents; no more. I have grown up, waken from my dreams, to find my parents’ bed empty. The world of my consciousness is desolate; no comfort exists for such sorrow.
I write this solely for myself, because I have no one to talk to. Formerly I would refuge with my parents in such a case; no longer.