healing is not linear - A Memoir by Frances Edelstein

Chapter 12: Getting the Hell Out

Trigger warnings: describing anxiety

I told my friends that I was going to be transferring, and although they said they were going to miss me terribly, they understood it was better for my mental health and supported my decision. I still talk to a couple of them.

My one friend transferred before, and she told me what to expect and what to do. She told me it feels stressful but it isn't as bad as it seems and it'll all be worth it. The amazing support from everyone actually made me start to doubt transferring; what if it isn't as bad here as it seems? I did have a nice group of friends, and I would miss them a lot. My one professor was amazing in teaching about art, the environment, and life, and I learned a lot from her; I actually helped her complete a mural about climate change that was years in the making. It felt amazing to be part of something so great, and to see it hanging above us during the art shows throughout the two years. I even met a couple new great people literally a week before leaving.

Thinking all of this over, I still applied to the university I wanted to transfer to. It was only fifteen minutes from my house, it had an amazing art program, a couple of my local friends went there, there were tons of things to do on campus and a couple clubs I wanted to be part of, it was significantly cheaper, and my dad graduated from there. Seemed like a no-brainer to me! The only reason why I didn't look into when I was looking at colleges to go to while I was in high school was because I wanted to live away at college. I don't regret going away at first; without doing that, I never would have learned what I did in classes, made new friends, or even adopted my piggy girls.

Reflecting on all the good experiences, weighing the options, and thinking of the future ahead of me, I decided it was better for me to leave. Yes, I had a great amount of people to support me, but staying would've been a constant struggle mentally, financially, and I missed my tight-knit family, and I was incredibly upset over missing a couple of fun family traditions while I was away.

When I got the acceptance letter, I paid the acceptance fee immediately, and I was in! My family was so happy to hear I would be coming home and being with them again, and supported my decision, and my dad was especially excited that I would be going to his alma mater. The last two weeks of the fall semester in Western PA were the longest two weeks of my life. I had to finish big projects, cram for finals, back my things, fill out a bunch of forms for leaving, and all that good stuff. You'd think that would make the two weeks go faster, but the stress of getting everything done in time and the excitement of leaving made it feel like a month-long wait.

I was keeping my family and friends up-to-date on everything going on, and when I would be coming home, this time for good.

The day before move-out, my mom and grandpop came out to have a final dinner out with me and help me pack my car and my mom's. They came late that night, and that dinner was one of the best there. My grandpop was in such a silly mood, making weird voices and obsessing over how cool his beer can was. I think he was just excited as me to be reunited with the family again. We ate a delicious dinner, said goodnight, and I slept in my dorm for the last time ever. My roommate already left for the semester, so it was just me alone in my packed-up room, the only thing left out was my clothes for tomorrow, my toiletries, and the blankets on my bed. It was lonely, but I was so excited it was hard to be upset about it.

The next morning, my grandpop and mom came over around 9:30am, and they helped me pack up the last few things. We took multiple trips to her car, and I was irritable from hunger and anxiety. I feel really bad for it, and I apologized for it repeatedly afterwards, but packing to leave for things always gets me worked up, especially since this was such a big job. I was moving out of somewhere, never to come back. That was a pretty big deal.

When I went out of my car to put stuff in the trunk, someone pied my car again, this time it was messier. I was pissed as hell, and in reaching to get a towel to wipe it off from a box my mom was holding, I took it too quickly, and my handmade clay incense burner fell and a chunk of it chipped off. My mom felt horrible, but I told her it wasn't her fault, that it wasn't a big deal, that I was more pissed about the pie than anything else. I was incredibly upset; it seems like when one thing goes wrong, the world turns against me. I loved that thing, and it's still on my room's windowsill today. It looks fine, you can't really tell a chunk is gone unless you turn it a certain way, and it's still perfectly functional. At the time though, I was crushed. I worked so hard on it, and it was one of my favorite things I made in ceramics that semester. The good thing was though, I never got the fire it, so it didn't completely shatter like ceramic would; it's basically just hardened clay, giving it a more earthly look, which I like. When I realized part of it broke off, I had to remind myself of the great quote from an artist who's name I can't remember right now (if you know who it is, please feel free to message me and tell me so I can edit this). His work cracked during shipment to an art museum, and instead of getting mad, he simply said "now it is finished," implying what ever happens to it was meant to be. I love this quote, and whether it's a real story or not, it actually helped me refrain from completely freaking out when I broke my incense burner. The chunk missing is a nice, unique touch to me now, and I'm not as upset as I once was.

Wow, that was a long paragraph about an incense burner. I should write a thesis statement about my that, ha-ha.

Anyway, after packing the car and making sure I didn't leave anything behind (I realized I couple days later I left my box of perfumes—damn!), I went down to the CAs office, gave her my room key, and told her that I was ready to have a final room inspection. She checked everything and she said everything looked fine. I told her how my car was being pied, and her face was clouded with guilt instantly. She felt awful, and apologized profusely for not doing anything sooner about it. I said it was fine, and told her how I was 99% sure it was Elissa, who happened to be across the hall from me. She still shot me looks every now and then, and once when I held the door for her because she happened to be behind me, she didn't say thank you so I said out loud, "you are so welcome," just to show her what a bitch she could be.

This little chat with my CA made me realize maybe she isn't so bad after all. Everyone has their flaws. It didn't really matter, anyway, because I was about to leave this place forever! Woo-hoo!