They Burn in Our Brains - Become a Living Hell

Couple of confessions:

First, to recap something from the last post, "Hoping for the Best". Recall that there was a lobotomy case in the late 1940s where surgeons blindly severed blood vessels in a woman's brain in hopes of curing her eccentricity and making her fit into their idea of normal society. Well, a couple of days after I wrote that post, I had a scientific method activity in my physics-theater class (a class based on examining the presence of scientific principles in plays and such). In small groups, we had to make educated guesses at the contents of a sealed shoebox. We could shake it, drop it, throw it - just not open it. The first girl in my group picked up the box, shook it a few times, and declared that she thought it was a CD. Every subsequent person followed in suit, and agreed that it was a CD. For some reason, I just didn't want to agree with everyone else - even as the experiment continued and it became more apparent that it was, indeed, a CD. I held out for Tupperware lid.

Later in class, I thought about how my disagreement affected everyone else - my opinion was out of place. It was different. And it was wrong. I thought about how people in the 20th century would have looked at me. And I resolved that every day from then on, I should try to do at least one thing every day that's out of the ordinary - something out of place, something untraditional - something that would warrant the 20th century to stick a scalpel inside of my head.

Tonight, we had the traditional Lewis Hall Freshman Welcome. We went to the chapel (every dorm has its own chapel) and listened to our rector and hall staff talk about the emphasis on feeling at home here. Then we broke into floor sections and were given necklaces with the Notre Dame crest on one side and the Golden Dome engraved on the other. Then our RA threw a box of tissues into the center of the circle and proceeded to hand out letters. Letters from parents, or in my case, a letter from my RA, Kayla. I read the card and looked at the little fridge magnet she bought me. I finished and caught Kayla looking at me. I smiled and mouthed "thank you", seeing as how she'd written me a card so I would have something to read while the other girls cried over letters from their parents. I knew she pitied me. And I let her.

You see, I just happened to check the mail on the day that Lewis sent my parents the letter over the summer, asking them to write me a personal letter about how proud they are of me. I had seen the Notre Dame logo and opened it without looking at who it was addressed to. I played with the idea of giving them the letter. Explaining that I had opened it on accident and therefore ruined the surprise. But then I thought about it some more. My school had to send them a request for them to tell me that they're proud of me? I threw the letter away. Over orientation weekend, I got into a fight with my dad. I resorted to not speaking to him unless absolutely necessary - and even then, I wouldn't look at him. When the parents were asked to go into the chapel to listen to our rector Layla give a presentation, I quickly and clearly said, "If anyone asks you to write me a letter, don't. I don't want you to."

Everything went exactly as planned. But when I saw the trouble that Kayla went through, I felt horrible. I thought about confessing to the circle, but decided against it when I saw how affected my section was by their letters. Honestly, the idea of me crying in public repulses me. That's just how I am. The idea of showing emotion to strangers is...well, less than ideal. But wait: I would rather be pitied than display sentimentality? What the hell is wrong with me?

Maybe someone really should sweep a scalpel around the inside of my brain.