Lauren Isaacson
January 1981
The Endless Vigil
Step carefully, now,
For a house never sleeps;
Beware of the hallway…
The second plank creaks!
The stairs to the basement
Will yawn in dismay
At the touch of a stranger
Tiptoeing away.
Hush!…not a word
Near the southern most vent…
(On revealing one's presence
This house is bent!)
For an echoing message
Will rumble and shout;
"Someone is here,
Of this there's no doubt!"
Step carefully, now,
For a house never sleeps…
Quietly whispering,
A vigil it keeps.
Lauren Isaacson
January 27, 1981
Change. It seemed too simple to be the cure for depression; nevertheless, a cure it was. Not all changes would be as easy as quitting a job or dropping a class; I would not allow myself to be fooled by my relative success regarding the cessation of dieting. Some changes, I realized, would hurt myself and others, and these were the ones that would deal with my freedom. . . my time; they would be the most important changes of my life, and to forever avoid these would lock me in an unhappy state of being. One day I knew they would be faced, for to deprive myself of happiness would be a deprivation of growth, and life without growth would be worse than death. Thus, before growth's stagnation, change.
Mar. 15, 1981… I can live, love and laugh because I have known my emotions; I have experienced ecstasy as well as depression. Serenity, though, lies midway between the high and the low.
I was staring thoughtfully through the windshield. "I think maybe the reason I can't make decisions is because I lack confidence, I guess."
Norm glanced over at me from the driver's seat, his eyebrows punctuating a look of disbelief. "Man," he said, "That's great!" enjoying the moment to its fullest.
My statement had rolled from my lips with unflinching honesty. It was a gut analysis, a spontaneous reaction that could not be retracted once spun into words. I shook my head. "It's pretty pathetic, isn't it?" I laughed. It became the joke of the month between us, made more humorous by the fact that it was true.
For the most part I was able to enjoy life after quitting my job. My anorexic tendencies slowly disappeared and I turned my attention away from food. School was my only real obligation, and though I applied more pressure to various assignments than perhaps was necessary, I was satisfied with the final results because I knew I had done my best. I found that certain subjects made me come alive with interest, and while self-confidence remained low, confidence in my school work increased rapidly. Occasionally I dueled with guilty qualms when I was indulging in recreational activities because I wondered if I had studied enough. Rhetorically speaking, however, by what measure and under whose authority is "enough" determined? Norm, more than anyone, helped me to see the necessity of "letting go". . . of saying, "enough!" and turning my back. He felt little obligation which allowed him to do as he wished; when his emotional well-being was at stake, few people could alter his stance. He spent time as, and with whom, he desired. If he chose to be alone, he made sure no one interfered with his intention. At times Norm's reactions unintentionally hurt the feelings of others, yet his sanity remained intact; he knew his limits, and made certain they were never reached.