Letter # 2 to Jane - part 1

warning: uncharacteristically downer of a post. I haven't given this to jane yet. on thursday, i will give her some form of this letter. some stuff will be deleted, some stuff will be added on.... I'm embarrassed to post this, but I'll post it anyway. I'm embarrassed because it's not the whole story. This, taken by itself, does not describe me or my daily experience in whole. I am generally a positive person. Just sometimes I'm not and this is me writing while I'm not:

This story - the end of what I want to write - ends a lot more hopeful and "up," but I wore myself out writing this part... so I never got to the more hopeful/optimistic/strong/happy part of the post.



Dear Jane,

I’m sad (maybe, I think) as I write this. I am trying not to cry. I won’t, but I could if I had to speak out loud to someone. Plus, I can’t because I’m in public. I’m sitting amidst several strangers, listening to live classical music – the Palo Alto Chamber Orchestra. The music is so nice that it makes me so cozy inside that I want to cry. I make no sense.

In the last letter, I told you that I feel feelings getting closer to the surface, and, in the quiet moments, I feel them, and it is hard and unusual. If I let myself connect with my thoughts and feelings, I will have a melt down. This is one of those moments. These moments happen at least once a day. I feel like I’m crazy because, when I don’t feel like this, I am smiling, energetic, passionate, excited, joyful. This is why, when I’m with others, it’s easy to disguise the fact that I often feel sad. It’s just the quiet moments that are hard.

The musicians are leaving now; I don’t want them to go. I don’t know why I want them to stay so much. It’s just nice. I guess I was feeling hugged by the music. With no music, I feel very overwhelmingly alone.

Maybe I should relocate because I might not be able to hold myself together while I type this. My throat hurts; my eyes sting; my eyes are watering up, and then I have to stop typing for a second to calm down – because I’m in public. I can’t have a melt down right now. I could change the way I feel by standing up, striking up a conversation with a stranger… but the second the stranger left, and I was by myself again, I’d feel like this. I could redirect my feelings toward my body and pretend that I feel bad because I feel/am fatter than I should be (am I gaining weight? I really want to know!), but I know that’s not really the issue. I feel like this so frequently lately that I want to try to articulate to you what this feeling even is. Yesterday, I might have figured out what it is.

I don’t want you to think that my happiness is fake, though. I do genuinely enjoy lots of moments throughout my day. When I laugh, it’s real laughter. When I smile, it’s natural. When I’m energetic, it’s true hyper, passionate, love-of-the-moment energy.

I also don’t want you to see this as just a letter to complain. First, I am going to articulate what I feel. This is the part that will come across as complaining. But, after that, I’m going to explain what I have come to realize. This second part is the more rational, hopeful, strong part.

I don’t even really know why I’m writing you this letter. I think it’s because I want to tell you how I’ve been feeling, but I know myself well enough to know that I’d never be able to say this to you more naturally. I can only communicate through writing. Plus, I also know that I’m pretty happy when I’m with you; and, in my joyful moments, it is hard to remember that, sometimes, I do actually feel pretty abnormally sad – (abnormally for me at least; I don’t know what other people feel.

Two and a half years ago, I moved from Ohio to California to teach. This looked really good – to my parents, my parents’ friends, to anybody who reads my resume, to friends who were moving home instead of moving on. It looked good to myself too. But it’s been hard out here. I’m sad. And after this break I’ve given myself by quitting teaching, I feel ready to be my old self again; I feel ready to be happy, but I don’t know how, and, ultimately, at the end of the day, I’m sad.

It’s been hard for so many reasons:

1. I was so tired: I don’t need to get into details, but, basically, I just worked so hard. So hard. 7 days a week. I was at school early. I was working hard while in the classroom. I was at school late.

2. I felt undervalued, misunderstood, and like a failure: I worked so hard and cared so much, but felt disrespected pretty much all day long. I know I shouldn’t take students’ words and actions so seriously, but they were the only people I had in my life. They were the people for whom I cared so much, the people for whom I worked so hard, the people I deeply believed in. I know a lot of the students liked me and were nice to me, but a lot weren’t too. I know they’re just kids and I shouldn’t take it all so personally. I guess what was so hard about it was that I cared about the students so, so, so much (more than anyone could ever know), and I worked so hard for them because I felt like they deserved so much – but, sometimes, I think they felt like I didn’t care about them. Well, lots of them did. But they didn’t always express that they knew that. Have you ever loved someone so much and they didn’t know how much you loved them? In fact, sometimes they felt like you could care less about them? Have you ever felt so misunderstood in that way? It’s hurtful. It’s hard. It’s like someone is stabbing you in your heart. So often I feel like running to my students, hugging them, and telling them I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t better for them. I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough for them. Because I wasn’t what the students deserved – yet I so desperately wanted to be and worked to be – I was a failure. I’m just…. I’m just sooooo sorry.

3. I felt bullied by my first principal. I don’t really need to say any more on this subject, but basically I felt hated. In short: she glared at me, she left me mean notes, she told lies about me to people who matter, and she embarrassed me in front of people all the time. And nothing I could do could change that.

4. I felt hated by a particular mother of a particular student. Also no need to go into much detail. Basically, I tried hard. I cared about her child a lot. But it was as if, in her eyes, I wasn’t even a human being. It was like I was wearing a sign that said “I have no feelings and if you roll over me with a tractor that’s okay because I probably deserve it anyway.” To her, I am just some random teacher. She probably hardly ever thinks about me anymore. Either that or she talks about how horrible I am to other people. To her, I am “the bad teacher.” To me, she is cemented into my brain. To me, she walked into my life, pounded me down to the ground, and walked out – never to be seen again.

a. I know that here I need to admit that there were other mothers who did value me and expressed that. I just felt like I was deceiving them though. I felt bad that they assumed I was better than I was.
b. And yes, I do hear myself here. I hear myself disregarding the good and clinging to the bad.

5. I felt bullied by my first roommate. I also compared myself to her and I never measured up. She spoke to me in commands and never in questions. She ordered me around, and I was her doormat. She is one of the most inconsiderate people I know. And, when I lived with her, she lost weight – not really too good for the already horrible body esteem.

All of these things that made the last two years hard have been alleviated. I no longer teach. I no longer am tired or filled with stress. I don’t have any mothers or principals or bosses of any sort who hate me. I no longer have a roommate – or any friends – who bully me. I am grateful for these changes.

But there’s another thing. Something else hard about the last two years that is STILL hard about this year: I feel like I don’t matter. I feel lonely. I feel very undeservingly alone.

The last two years, I felt very, very, very alone. I thought I deserved to be alone. I was too fat to be seen. Being seen meant being social, and being social screwed with my eating schedule. Plus, I was ruining kids lives, so why should I deserve anything but lonliness? But now, now I don’t want to be alone. Now I don’t believe I deserve to be so lonely. And, I am not dependent on a rigid eating schedule or meal plan to feel okay. I’m ready to not be alone, but I’m still alone.

The last two years, I had Nicole. Besides Nicole, I had no one to call, no one to hug, no one to talk to – besides friendly chat with colleagues.

a. When I moved out here, I didn’t know anyone to start with – just other people in my Teach For America program. Some of them did socialize, and I was invited sometimes, but I never accepted because: 1) I thought I was too fat and disgusting to socialize (so why is it okay for me to socialize now? I have the same body), and 2) I didn’t want to be around other Teach For America teachers. I felt different from them. They SHOULD have been accepted into TFA. I shouldn’t have. They WERE good teachers. I WASTN’T.
b. On a daily basis, I went to school, cared so much, tried so hard, felt like my students hated me, worked so hard, became so tired, and then, at night, closed my classroom door to a world of no one. To silence.
c. I felt as if my life was comprised of movement on a little line independent from everything else. I woke up, got in my car, drove in a north-bound line to school, locked myself in a classroom where I did more damage than good all day long, drove home in a south-bound line, and entered a world of silence that lasted the night. Sometimes I’d sleep eat at night, only adding to the badness of the night. Then I’d wake up and do it all again – only, somehow, SOMEHOW, Id’ be positive and hopeful and positively expectant at the beginning of every day. THIS DAY was going to be good, I thought. THIS DAY, I’ll be a good teacher. It rarely was good. I can count the number of times on one hand in the past two years that I felt like a good teacher. It was just me, alone, going north and south, north and south, doing nothing but damage. If I had died, no one would have known besides my students. And it wouldn’t have mattered.
d. There was one good thing in my day: running. I woke up at the crack of dawn to get a run in before school. When I ran, I could literally feel all bad feelings sweating out of me. I ran until I felt better. I ran a lot.

So, I lived in CA. I knew no one. I was bad at what I did. I was bad. And alone. And in my own little sad world where I tried to no avail and where I cared but no one knew.

I quit teaching, and it did make my life less stressful and happier. I told you how, because I quit teaching, I do feel like I have had time to relax, to calm down, to rediscover my personality, my energy, my joy.. I’m grateful that I feel a lot better now. I am grateful that I’ve had this precious opportunity that is the last few months – opportunity to work on my eating and myself, opportunity to calm down. Everything I said about how wonderful the last few months have been is true.

But, that’s not the whole picture. I do feel happy, but I also feel sad and alone still. I don’t want to tell you more right now. I feel like this whole letter is me delaying telling you more. I feel like if I tell you more the tightness that I feel around my throat, in my heart, and in my eyes will get too tight.

It’s only 7:34pm, but I want to just go home, lie in my bed, and wait for tomorrow. I see life around me, and I know that I’m a good person. I know I am a good conversationalist. I know that people are not disgusted by me. I know I can make people smile. But, yet, no one knows me. I am here right now, surrounded by people that, if I talked to them, we would get along. But they don’t know that. I see a world of people: eating together, walking together. And I’m just here. A giant, invisible wall separating me and everyone. I used to want the wall. I don’t want the wall anymore.


I guess I just feel very alone. Eyes stinging again. I walk down the sidewalk. And it’s nice. I enjoy the fresh air. But I just feel like “wow. Where am I? How did I get here? I know no one and no one knows me.” I’m sitting here in this place and there are people around me. It’s nice to be surrounded by bustling noise, but it’s hard too. It’s hard because I know if I were to poof into the air, no one would notice. It’s hard because it’s a reminder that I am not really part of society. I’m not articulating myself very well. I just… I don’t know. I feel like I’m a good person. Maybe I’m just not trying hard enough again. But I don’t want to try anymore. Maybe I just want life to be handed to me on a silver platter, but that’s unreasonable. Maybe the best way to say it is that I feel like I’m a potential-winner trapped in a loser body. This just can’t be normal; it can’t be normal to feel like crying every time I’m not talking to someone or not running. Normal people do not sit in public spending all their energy typing to their therapists and trying not to cry (okay – that last part was funny….)

I want to be part of the world but I don’t know how. Maybe I do know how, but I’m scared? I’m sorry I’m making no sense. I wish you didn’t have to know me either. This is where I feel like crying and just choosing to become homeless. I don’t care if I’m cold every night. I don’t care if the cement is harder than my bed. I feel like becoming homeless would be like giving up and maybe giving up is easier. I’m sorry this is so negative.

Okay – must relocate before I write anymore. I have to go home. It’s too hard to write this and sit here.

I’m home now. I cried the whole way home. No one particular event happened to me today to make me cry. It’s just a feeling. A feeling that hurts. It’s an emotional feeling that is accompanied by physical pain, right over my heart and throat and face muscles. I sat in my car, before I got out, with my hands holding my steering wheel and my forehead resting on the horn, and I cried a lot. I thought of how Tracy said it is okay and even good to feel bad feelings. I told her not eating was a way to close my eyes to this feeling. She said there’s nothing wrong with the feeling so there’s no reason to need to run from it. AS I sat in my car, I thought about that and about how there’s nothing wrong with this feeling and it’s just a feeling I have. And that made it hurt (physically hurt) less. Anyway, I’m not crying anymore.




Sometimes, I get really down and I think life would be better if I could be homeless. If I could be homeless, no one would look at me. If I could be homeless, no one would try to help me or tell me they believe in me. If I could be homeless, I could express how I feel: like an invisible person.

This letter has stopped making sense all together. Maybe I’ll just try again tomorrow. I’m tired now. I’m worn out. It’s 8:49. I’m already in my pajamas. My teeth are already brushed. My face is already washed. I took my Zoloft (and that’s another story – should I be taking this Zoloft? Does it do anything?) I’m hungry but that’s impossible. I ate a lot today and I’m getting fatter. I am just going to go to sleep now. I don’t care that it’s not even 9pm. I’ll wake up at 4 or 5, exercise, and have my day tomorrow. Also, and I swear this is not the cause of all the sadness today, but it was my gramma’s birthday. She would have been 97. That’s old. It’s weird that she’s not alive. I wish I had hugged her tighter the last time I saw her. I’m sorry that this letter makes no sense. Should I delete this paragraph before giving you this letter?

Okay, I’m going to try to stay up and tell you how I feel when I feel like this because tomorrow I’ll probably feel happy all day long and I won’t be able to remember: I’m going to make myself type no matter how much it makes me cry while I type it. I’m just going to go. Okay, begin: I feel just sooooo alone. I feel like no one knows me and I know no one. I feel like I know of people who do things, but I never pariticpate too. I feel…. The best way to describe it is that I don’t feel real. Yeah, I don’t feel real. That’s got to be the best way to describe it because when I wrote that sentence I started crying again. What is wrong with me? Do you think I’m’ making this up? Do you think I’m being a baby? Melodramatic? I just…. Yeah, I don’t feel real. My family just drove to San Diego today to go to a football game. I want to be with them. My friend Jenny says she’s going to text people and see if their white elephant gift party is still going on and then she’s going to text me back and tell me what her plan is. I want…. I want to be part of her plan. The kids who were in the orchestra earlier, when they were done one of them yelled “mom, what are we doing for dinner?” I want someone to yell to. Okay, this is too hard to type. Every sentence I write makes me cry harder. I have to stop. I’m going to totally drain myself of any life. I am overreacting. Thre is an ending to this story. I feel all these tings, but I have had healthy realizations too. I haven’t even begun to share them yet. But I have to stop now. I can’t even breathe. I will come back to this later.

okay update: it's 1.5 hrs since I wrote that. I feel better now. Releasing all of that felt good.

p.s.: does anybody know what multisystematic therapy is? today I got a text from a friend that said "You should look into being a multisystematic therapist. I think you'd be really good at it."