Welcome Home Outcast

You can tell it’s not summer anymore when you go back to the school chapel for Wednesday Mass. What you can’t tell is why. It feels a bit odd actually, maybe because family members keep asking me when I’m going to stop going to that chapel. I admit that I do sometimes worry I’ve outstayed my welcome: after all, it’s not exactly normal to finish your theological program and keep coming back for such a long time. Especially since I was never affiliated with the college and so never actually contribute to it. It’s almost like I break into a seamless, uninterrupted rhythm. It feels a bit like I’m intruding, which for some reason I feel more strongly than usual. The weird thing is that, at the same time, I feel so happy to see my friends again.

The relief that follows a long absence…there’s nothing quite like that; for a moment when I entered the chapel and picked up those familiar books, I felt that same happiness, that same lightheartedness, that same joy. I dunno, it’s like…for an instant thinking ‘Oh, so that’s what it’s like being where I’m supposed to be.’ Then I felt like usual. But it was still pretty awesome!

It’s not summer anymore because something has changed. I’m hoping that something is me. Maybe chapel, like, gave me a little electroshock or something. Maybe now I’ll get off my butt and go back to church, which I’ve been skipping prodigiously.

I really, really hope that summer’s over, mostly because I’ve been, well, sick all summer. I really, really hope that coming back to this place and centering my life around communal worship will somehow put me right. I hope the lethargy and oppressive exhaustion are over, that I can start again. I admit it didn’t help this summer that one of my really close friends from my Arts degree decided to ditch me. I mean, I know that sometimes when you’re struggling, especially when it seems you’re not getting better, you can’t expect people to stick around, but it still sucks even though I understand it. And anyway, my best friends (excepting her) have always been there for me, and that’s what matters. And there’s always God. I think we’re all really blessed that God’s always there no matter how much we sometimes ignore Him and take Him for granted. This summer, at least, has helped me realize that God is not a friend but something greater. I also realize I need to struggle harder against the isolation I tend to retreat to when I’m having trouble. Because the people who care about you are tougher than you think; even when you’re not perfect, not happy, not well, even when you almost believe you won’t survive, they’ll believe for you. And sometimes they bring you flowers.

Final requests: if it looks like I’m trying to hide or otherwise withdraw, don’t let me get away with it; don’t ask me how I am because the answer might really suck; and kick me in the ass if I don’t go to the clinic to get those horribly elaborate blood tests that you need a transfusion to get over; and don’t let me skip on those meds they’re giving me to try and mitigate a ‘disease’ that no one really understands. Yay, mystery ailment! I’m pretty sure there’s a prize when I finally get to the bottom of this.

P.S. My hair is a fuzzball from hell.
Also, I really want a cigarette.