I woke up this morning and thought I was going to cry from the dream that I had.
I dreamt that my younger sister had joined a sorority on campus and that I hadn’t been able to. I was at a football game that preceded sorority announcements and was sitting on a wooden beam suspended by chains. If you fell off the beam, you lost (aka died). It was scary, definitely, especially since there were people sitting on proper bleachers around me and they were constantly jostling the beam I was on. There were others with me, but that made me more insecure. I was terrified.
More than that, though, I was jealous. I was happy for my sister for doing something that she wanted, but I was also so incredibly jealous. My feelings were very hurt. I wondered why I wasn’t allowed to join. Why my sister had done it but not me.
I woke up and I wanted to cry. I was so ashamed of being jealous of my sister’s happiness. I was so guilty for wanting to take away what I dreamed she had. I was so jealous, though. And as I type this, I cry. Not out of shame or guilt from my dream. Out of pain. Out of sheer emotional pain. For the last three nights, I have dreamt about sororities.
This week/weekend was formal membership recruitment. FMR. This time last year I also cried. That was also from pain. That was from not being invited back to any houses when I did FMR. I wondered what happened. Where I went wrong. What I could have done differently. I still don’t know. I won’t get an answer if I ask, so why bother?
Before I came to school, I never thought about joining Greek life. I didn’t know anything about it. As I learned more, I came to see it as an opportunity. I could make friends. I could be part of something bigger than myself that actually mattered. As I learned more about it, I wanted to be part of it. I had my heart set on it.
Then it didn’t happen. It almost happened, but the week after Carnival, 2 days before initiation, it was taken away from me. Just like that. My dreams of being part of something more vanished in a puff of smoke. To say I was heartbroken is an understatement. I was just broken. All of me. Including my heart.
And here I am, 5 months later, and I’m still not fixed. I’m still broken. I wonder what will fix this heartbreak, and I realize that I truly don’t know. I wonder if my subconscious will ever free me of the intense guilt and shame I have put aside for myself, free me of the sadness that encases my heart whenever I think of what I lost, free me of the nightmares that plague my dreams and my daydreams.
No one ever said that recovery was easy. No one ever said that it was painless. No one has ever guaranteed it, either.
I wonder if anyone can ever fix this much emotional damage.