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Back in school: the years went by and I got sicker and slightly better in continuous waves. A good friend of mine finally confronted my parents about the truth regarding their much worshipped son in law, Jim, and the need to get me back into school. My parents were shocked and my father cried like a child. They had refused to believe me when I tried to tell them about Jim years before this. Now they'd been forced to listen. I returned to college where I remain today. I find that my performance is not anywhere near what it should be. The reality of finances dictate that no matter what I do I will not be able to graduate. I have a lot of problems with being sick all of the time. The University requires more medical documentation that the preliminary partial diagnosis of a positive test for a genetic disorder to excuse my many absences from classes. I have no medical insurance so I have no chance to provide this additional documentation. I also have severe PTSD and very little real resilience left. The abuse just went on too long. The torch of mindless senseless cruelty was passed through too many generations of abusers. I still dream about the plastic surgery that hovers just beyond my reach like the perpetual clich� brass ring on a spinning carousel. I also still dream about finalizing that diagnosis. These two things are part of what is necessary for me to go on from here. My dreams are out of reach, but they linger before me as taunting teasing illusions shimmering in a sacred space just past the rainbow molded out a rainfall of hopeless tears. |
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