Dementors

Someone mentioned Simon's Rock on a blog tonight, and it sent me back into a kind of depressive funk. Would rather not dwell on that shit-ass sinkhole, but here, have an anecdote that makes me smile bitterly:

Smith and Simon's Rock are both off I-90, aka the Massachusetts Turnpike. This means that on a couple of occasions driving west--to my grandparents' summer house in Pennsylvania, for example, or anything that required me to pass through Albany--I had to drive past the "Lenox - Lee - Stockbridge - Great Barrington" exit that leads to Simon's Rock.

Every. Single. Time. I have driven past it, it has started raining. Once or twice, it was beautiful and sunny for most of the drive, and only turned grey and rainy and nasty as I was going through that area.

This only supports my hypothesis that Simon's Rock is clinical depression personified in a campus: it has its own personal rain cloud. I swear to god it's populated by dementors or something.

(Partially related: I am so glad I'm changing host families this weekend. I've been starting to get the same frozen, cut-off feeling I had at SRC--I've stopped doing things because I feel like I can't do anything without this bitch reproaching me, either directly or with a barbed I-was-just-teasing comment. I know, logically, that she's going to pull this shit even if I do nothing at all, but the paralysis response is really hard to beat down and I do not want to fucking deal with it when HELLO I AM IN PARIS and I should be enjoying myself.)

Edit: You know what? Now that the big bad D-word is out of the bag in relation to Host Mother From Hell, I have decided I'm avoiding her as much as humanly possible. I already was, subconsciously, but now I'm going to eat dinner elsewhere and study elsewhere and if she thinks I'm rude and antisocial she can go to hell. I know it's only one more week, but fuck this, I have two gigantic midterms this week and I do not need to expose myself to triggers for past mental health problems. The hit to my bank account from getting takeout every night this week will be totally worth not going bonkers.

Dementors

Someone mentioned Simon's Rock on a blog tonight, and it sent me back into a kind of depressive funk. Would rather not dwell on that shit-ass sinkhole, but here, have an anecdote that makes me smile bitterly:

Smith and Simon's Rock are both off I-90, aka the Massachusetts Turnpike. This means that on a couple of occasions driving west--to my grandparents' summer house in Pennsylvania, for example, or anything that required me to pass through Albany--I had to drive past the "Lenox - Lee - Stockbridge - Great Barrington" exit that leads to Simon's Rock.

Every. Single. Time. I have driven past it, it has started raining. Once or twice, it was beautiful and sunny for most of the drive, and only turned grey and rainy and nasty as I was going through that area.

This only supports my hypothesis that Simon's Rock is clinical depression personified in a campus: it has its own personal rain cloud. I swear to god it's populated by dementors or something.

(Partially related: I am so glad I'm changing host families this weekend. I've been starting to get the same frozen, cut-off feeling I had at SRC--I've stopped doing things because I feel like I can't do anything without this bitch reproaching me, either directly or with a barbed I-was-just-teasing comment. I know, logically, that she's going to pull this shit even if I do nothing at all, but the paralysis response is really hard to beat down and I do not want to fucking deal with it when HELLO I AM IN PARIS and I should be enjoying myself.)

Edit: You know what? Now that the big bad D-word is out of the bag in relation to Host Mother From Hell, I have decided I'm avoiding her as much as humanly possible. I already was, subconsciously, but now I'm going to eat dinner elsewhere and study elsewhere and if she thinks I'm rude and antisocial she can go to hell. I know it's only one more week, but fuck this, I have two gigantic midterms this week and I do not need to expose myself to triggers for past mental health problems. The hit to my bank account from getting takeout every night this week will be totally worth not going bonkers.