I used to sit like this in my room in Tübingen.
24 years old. Queer. Indiana/New York. BA in Gender Studies. Counseling student. Germanophile, writer, reader (see my books here), feminist, runner, writer, lover, nerd. More about me :) In recovery from an eating disorder & PTSD, living with depression. Trigger warnings always apply, please take gentle care. What's up, babycakes?
This photo was taken by my boyfriend, in the fields near where we lived (with Friend J!) while we were in Tübingen. He titled the photo, “a good place,” and he’s absolutely right. So many wonderful conversations and walks happened here.
So, reminder to self: there are beautiful good people and places in my life. There are lots of happy things. The crushing weight (of these men/ories) on top of me is valid and awful and also…over. Crying and screaming and nightmares are all justified, valid, important — and they’re also not all I have. I can take my time and I can express my pain and sorrow and rage…and I can also break up and out of it to a place like this, even if only in my mind and words, as a reminder for why I’m doing all this work.
And I am both ready and not ready all at once!
I arrived on this side of the pond on April 1, and lived in Germany from then until last week, and since then have been in Switzerland and Italy with my family. Being with my family this much has reminded me that I am too old to really live with my family, although just my mom and brother, I can deal with for a summer or so.
I learned a shitton (not just German) in my time over here, and practically 70% of that learning was packed into about a week and a half in Germany. I made two of the best friends ever.
And now it’s back home, for a summer of gearing up/making changes in myself/visiting with old friends, and then bam, fall, and my senior year of college: internship, thesis, and potentially applying to graduate programs (??? - need to make this decision this summer).
Tomorrow morning I will board my flight in France with my German duffel bag containing German books (and Harry Potter…) and re-read the second half of Deathly Hallows and then I’ll get off my plane in the place I started, New York City, and head basically straight to the midnight premiere.
And then my summer will happen, with its decisions and phone calls and early-morning dog walks and letters and tears and laughing and poems and vodka. (“Singing the summer in, summer unending” - Robert Nathan)
Time to charge my iPod up and suck it up and go, I guess. Nothing left to prove.