Academically Insane

 While all the crazy was going on, I was attempting to maintain a writing schedule.  I was All But Dissertation (ABD) and I was giving myself a year to analyze and write up my ethnography.  That timeline was before everything. My sister really supported me in my writing.  Now that I think about it, I do not know what she was writing. It was possible she was just keeping me company and keeping me relatively sane. (See what I did there?). I wrote and wrote and wrote.  The problem was I often wrote what I was hearing. Once again the way I heard affected everything. Only, it wasn’t an ear infection, it was crazy.  I call myself crazy affectionately. It’s a term of endearment.  My therapist often reminds me to be kind to myself.  Therefore, when I look back and call myself crazy, it’s a term of endearment.  Like “look here, I’m crazy y’all, but look what I overcame.” So yes, it was the crazy interfering with my writing.  Ironically, now it’s because of the crazy that I’m writing. 

I scheduled a meeting to get my mind right.  My relationship with my advisor was love/hate.  Some days I felt so nurtured and encouraged, while others I felt patronized.   Not knowing what to expect, I went into the meeting guarded.  I spent two additional years in the field than I originally intended, I did not know her thoughts on that.  I was going to stay, but, well, read Four in the Morning.   There I was, unsure if she was going to be an ally or an enemy.  “Just die!”  OH NO! NOT NOW.  I feared I wouldn’t be able to distinguish the voices and direct my attention to my advisor.  I said a quick prayer for focus. 

“Hello!” She said to me and came forward and embraced me.  I could have cried.  I felt like that hug was an answer to a prayer. A hug from my Father. “Long time, no see. At least in person anyway.” I responded.  The meeting was a breeze.  Her voice crowded out the demands of my demise.  We set some goals and they felt feasible.  We sat and chatted like old friends.  I’d known her for over a decade of my life and although I never open up too much, there is a closeness there, until there’s not, but that’s a story for another day.  I got in my car and as I sat there trying to regain some semblance of normalcy a man appeared.  For those tracking my crazy, this marks the second visual hallucination.

I sat there, mute, eyes wide and mouth open.  This man was around my age (no, I won’t be revealing my age in this post) wearing a gray hoodie and jeans.  His hood was up and he was wearing sunglasses. I was in shock.  I put my key in the ignition and drove home.  The whole time this figure is starring ahead getting a free ride.  My mind was not processing anything.  I don’t even think it processed what I was seeing. I stared straight ahead and drove.  It was eerily quiet.  The voices were gone! Although I didn’t appreciate a random hallucination in my car, I did like being able to hear myself think for once. I pulled into my parking spot and ran into the house, not looking back, leaving the figure and the crazy behind me. 

Now that I had a comrade in all this, I told my sister everything.  Being the loving person she is, she suggested we go outside to see if he was still out there.  She didn’t say, you’re insane or try to have me committed. She met me at my level and we checked the car.  Nothing there.  She hugged me. The second hug of the day, again I’m saying it was from my Heavenly Father. “We have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow and maybe I should drive,” she said.  I just shook my head.