Notes

Today I felt not so angry anymore.

At first I was so angry - I was angry at my parents, first and foremost, because they are the first to be blamed for anything. After all, they're the heroes of anyone's world - they are the people who you look to everyday, who you say your last words to for decades everyday, who are the people who have prevailed. I was angry at the lack of support, the lack of understanding, the lack of communication above all. But although now I understand a lot of my habits and a lot of my barriers and outlooks, and, in fact, they were influenced by my parents, they are not to blamed upon my parents. The realization that they won't be able to understand some things, they won't be able to communicate some things, they just won't be able to change - was at first so disappointing, but okay. It's made me stronger more than anything else.
No relationship is perfect, and irritation can of course (often) occur, but in the end, there's still first and foremost the bond of family. And now, now I know for my own future family.


Then I was so angry at Princeton - for being the asshat that institutions sometimes can be, for words are not always gray because by nature they are black and white. For kicking me out and for being rude throughout the process of kicking me out - then taking away so many things that I loved: my dreams of Oxford, my graduating class, my jobs, my dignity. For just believing that throwing money at anything can always fix it and for ignoring many, many problems. For making me the equivalent of someone who has been a sexual assaulter, a vandalizer, a stalker. For embarrassing me beyond the heights of heights - for ultimately reminding me that, whatever I believed, I was not actually a super-human, and for reinforcing that notion that I can't really be the best at anything because well, look at everyone else. For pretending to be the avenue to pursue dreams but actually making the path narrower and dreams a little bit camouflaged, unless you know where to look. For emphasizing numbers instead of names. For, in a sense, being a business and not being my home.


But most of all, I was so angry at myself. There was no self confidence in sight, just climbing my own ladder to try to reach gratification from someone - anyone. After one failure, I internally decided to just make failure my thing, my token of self worth, my defining factor that would get the admiring looks and the words of praise - "at least you tried." There was no self control, in both eat and drink, just taking in my worth in the material comfort that was most accessible.
What did I like? I didn't bother finding out, fearing that it would just be disappointment after disappointment. Instead of focusing on happy times, my mind would automatically steam over things that were regrettable, and ultimately, forgettable. I was trying to reach the perfection that I had somehow carved out from books and shows - but also from teachers, parents, students, friends, peers, my schools, from society. From the image that Princeton had tricked me into believing because I was, as such, so, so gullible (how many articles per year in the newspaper where students are not happy? How many times do the articles have to go viral?). And this insane perfection was not attainable because, obviously, because it does not exist. It absolutely does not exist.

I never actually have ever described myself as a perfectionist - probably one of the signs of being a perfectionist. I tried to pretend that I was actually the opposite - I was the enigma that was surprising and couldn't be explained. I was the girl who couldn't be explained by one or two defining terms, but was anyway. I was not honest with myself, although sometimes too honest with everyone else. I was so wrapped up in doing something all the time.

It's just a passing emotion and it should not, above all, be a defining emotion. Anger often turned into bitterness, into bitchiness, into snobbiness. Most of all, keeping so much anger made me so anxious. There were certainly many times where I felt at peace, where I belonged, but how many times have I pushed those aside for being anxious?
Too many times.

Every step of trying to be at peace was hard, but this last step was hardest of all - it took so much, a huge shock (ie leaving where I am "supposed" to be) to come to terms and finally, finally see that I am not alone. I am, indeed, making my own world, but like all worlds, they must encompass more than just me. I don't need to be so anxious all the time, or sad, or nervous.

I am sure I will still be all of these things but for now, I can say I am not so angry anymore.