Dear Francesca,

I have such a small life. This weekend just brought that to my attention in a glaring manner.

This weekend was my college homecoming. For the fourth year I went, only because a couple of good friends were coming that I hadn't seen since I moved to this town. I bought a new suit (because I've outgrown my old clothes) and dressed to the nines (because the sixes or sevens would certainly not do). I met my friends where they were staying and we drove down to campus. When we arrived, there were few people we knew. And of course, I hear all afternoon "I have my own art studio" or "I'm in law school" or "I just finished my master's in such and such and travel all around the country." I felt my life shrinking. Of course, I didn't tell my full story: "I'm working part-time as a librarian, doing a rote job, living in my aunt's basement, still single, rarely go out..." I only said I was a librarian at a research library, and left it at that.

A couple of years ago I decided that prestige was not really important to me as long as I was doing something I enjoyed. I didn't have to go to med school or law school or a top-notch grad school to prove something to anyone. But this weekend I felt different. Prestige does matter, at least somewhat, even though I feel shallow to admit that. But more than anything I feel that I have not lived up to my potential. I graduated Phi Beta Kappa in the top ten percent of our class. And what have I done with that? Nothing. Senior year my focus was not job searching or choosing a grad school. It was a struggle to stay sane, coping with PTSD for the first time and a severe depression. This weekend I just realized that I am (still) angry about that experience; I feel like my potential was stolen. Part of my spirit died then, and part of it died this year coping with a variety of health problems.

Francesca, I must rebuild myself, slough off the dead layers of the past and gain satisfaction with the present. I am tired of letter after letter complaining of being depressed and my less than appealing current circumstances. I want my words to be welded with strength, not wilting and dying.

Yours,
Hannah Iona