Good people and good poetry

I recently had a panic attack in public. It was lovely.

This semester has been financially trying for me. I'm scraping by without relying on loans...which has been difficult. I've had two jobs, but even with the two, the money just hasn't rolled in. Not really getting many hours. The winter I make money by shoveling snow just happens to be the mildest winter Rexburg's seen in a long while.

So, my little mishap with the copyright website hit me hard (charged several times for one purchase, causing my bank account to go into the negative numbers...see post below.) It goes deeper than just money though. When things like this happen to me, I feel like a complete idiot. I beat myself up, whether it's my fault or not. I also do not like the "out of control" feeling, and I begin to panic. I start measuring my worth on the mistake that was made, and feel stupid in the eyes of everyone around me. I feel unworthy of respect, love, appreciation...all because of a simple, fixable mistake. I'm sure it has to do with my OCD...who knows. But, these panic attacks that occur in the middle of a crowd aren't exactly what you'd call normal.

Upon seeing my checking account online a couple mornings ago, panic began to rise within me. I tried to keep myself under control, contacting the company through their contact e-mail, and calling the bank. But my attempts at fixing the problem weren't bringing immediate relief, which I greatly desired. I had a 7:00 a.m. class I had to attend, and I could not miss it because we only meet once a week. I started walking to class with this panicky feeling in my chest, and tried calling my mom. She eventually called me back and as I tried to explain what happened while walking to class, I burst into tears and started hyperventilating. I couldn't control myself. The sobs kept ripping from my lungs. People continued to walk past me...I had nowhere to hide. I'm sure I looked ridiculous.

A couple hours later, in Sister Hansen's Media Law and Ethics class, I still wasn't much calmer. I had gotten control of myself of course, but I wasn't my normal self. My emotions ran high as we discussed ethical issues. People were loosing sight of individuals in specific cases...forgetting about the real live people at the heart of the issue. Someone even downplayed mental illness, saying that when someone has a mental breakdown, it's that person's choice. It's hard to explain without going further into detail, but needless to say, I was upset. I raised my hand and began to share my "panic attack" story with the class. How I had a full on panic attack in public, but just because it was in public doesn't mean I deserve to have my picture and name on the front page of the newspaper. OK...so none of this probably makes any sense. But basically, Sister Hansen could tell by my story, and my emotion while telling the story that something wasn't right with me.

Now, in case you aren't aware, this is my second semester in a class of Sister Hansen's. I'm also her T.A. this semester. She's also hired me to write the human interest pieces for the newsletter her small publishing business puts out for Farmington, UT. Sister Hansen is one of the most real, sincere, and good-hearted human beings I know. I greatly admire this woman and feel really blessed to have her as a mentor.

Well, after class she waited for me and asked me if everything was ok. As we walked out of the classroom, I proceeded to break down AGAIN. At least this time it wasn't quite as panicky...just very tearful. We've talked a lot over the last semester about life, hardship, family, the past, the future...basically anything you can think of. But, tears have never entered the mix. This time, however, I couldn't hold them back. They just came freely. Students walked past, watching me bawl in the hallway of the Smith building, while Sister Hansen stood there listening to me throw daggers at myself. I kept apologizing and she kept saying, "No Crystal, you matter to me. This matters." Many more words were shared, but the next day she sent me this poem...which touched me so deeply. I think it will forever be my favorite poem.

Wild Geese
by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

Thank goodness for good people...and good poetry.