Perhaps my most enjoyable hours were spent outside on a hill overlooking the campus. On the hill, I felt serene; every other place on campus I felt my life slipping away, as if I was carrying death within me. Here I would sit in idle reflection and muse on the autumn leaves falling lazily to the ground. The squirrels, with their crazy antics, were desperately hoarding all the acorns they found, burying and reburying until I'm sure even they didn't know where the acorns were. And I mustn't forget the restless breeze, ever blowing and hinting of winter. I shared a bond with autumn that was, at once, beautiful and sad. In life nothing truly ends, although there are countless births and as many deaths. With or without my own existence, life itself would go on, virtually heedless of one heartbeat lost to forever. In this reflective and tranquil mood I would transfer my thoughts to paper to better clarify for myself and for others the way in which I viewed my existence.
The War Within
Daily, it seems, I feel the alien
Presence that resides within,
Slowly pressing life from my
Faculties in a bland attempt
To reign in full over my ravaged body.
Neither do I madly oppose nor readily
Submit to my ruthless attack,
But attempt to retain a shred
Of normalcy in my existence.
Life takes what it will, and
Being a product of two lives,
I am subject to be called
To nonexistence, as is all creation.
Nature permits no flattery…
No favoritism…hence the
Ultimate equality of mammals,
Whether man or beast, in death.
September 27, 1982
Lauren Isaacson
The third and last class of the day was geography, dealing with the conflicts of urban life and the planning of cities. It was what I would call a "crash course," as it was a full quarter of work condensed into a mere four weeks' time. The first test, being somewhat of a midterm exam and covering a great deal of the text and lecture material, was given after about two weeks; I need not say, perhaps, that I found the class to be quite exhilarating. Indeed, it kept me on my toes, if I may borrow a well used phrase, and taxed my eyes as well. My efforts proved worthwhile, however, and I scored highly on the initial exam. A final exam and a project were the only remaining obligations of the class, leaving two English courses as my sole exertions for the rest of the quarter. It wasn't a bargain, but then nothing could be had without making an allowance of some consequence.
After attending my class, I would gratefully return home, exhausted, and lie down for several hours. I generally did no homework on days I went to school, saving my energy for days off and weekends. School coincided with drudgery, for I was no longer deriving any pleasure from life. If I was not in school or studying diligently, I was thoroughly fatigued and unable to pursue diversions of my liking. It seemed to me that I was nearly committing suicide through the over-exertion of my failing body, playing the role of a normal person when I was unfit for the rigorous portrayal.
As the days passed, I began to see the utter ridiculousness of my situation. I felt lifeless after school, and began to wonder why I maintained the effort; I had no foreseeable future in which I could utilize the knowledge obtained in college, and my time and energy thus spent gradually took on the guise of futility. It was after two occasions of pathetically wetting my nightgown (due to the fact that my exhausted body did not heed the brain's warning of distress) that I decided to accept defeat. The demeaning situation described above occurred only during sleep after school days, which, consequently, were the days that caused the bulk of my exhaustion.
School was not a "given" in my life; it was a factor over which I had control. Initially, I felt I had no other alternative but to uphold a charade of normalcy, for that gave my parents the right to hope and feel, perhaps, that life for our family was somewhat akin to the societal norm. Although I had experienced deep tremors of anxiety toward the thought of attending school during the summer months, I too, deemed it best to carry on; I could not abide the image of myself as an unproductive, and therefore, devalued member of the family. Also within me was the question of whether I could manage the demanding pressures of school, and the need to somehow prove to myself that I could, both mentally and physically, pass the test. Though my assignments were well accepted, my physical performance was far below average; my will was strong, but my body could not keep up. The decision to drop all of my classes spelled defeat, for I disliked to quit, but even more it meant relief and the freedom to entertain my desires in a comfortable atmosphere without overly taxing myself.
My parents looked upon my action with more regret and pain, for it brought the issue of my ill health to the forefront. Now it could no longer be concealed behind a wall of books or hours spent out of the house, for I was home all day, every day. My mom persisted in her assertion that "if only you'd taken just one class. . ." it could have added excitement and social interaction to my life. Had I enjoyed school as do habitual students, I might have followed her suggestion, yet I found my free time to be an immense improvement and would forgo none of it to sit in a stuffy classroom. One need not attend a college to expand his intellectual horizons, and I had no intention of falling into illiteracy; I merely wanted to do what I wanted, when I wanted.
Having scored highly on my first geography exam and completed the English assignments successfully gave me the confidence that I so needed, and further led me to believe that I would have otherwise been a capable student; while I suffered a physical defeat, I had not failed.