Mountain helps ease student's nerves
Emily Dillon
Issue date: 9/7/07 Section: Opinion
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When I began my journey here at Bona's three years ago, life couldn't have seemed more frightening. I was 17 and, despite what my parents told me, completely unprepared for life on my own. Needless to say, my "Good Journey" wasn't quite as smooth as it could have been.
I spent the first three weeks of my freshman year sitting in my room wallowing in self-pity and wondering when my feelings of utter abandonment would cease. I cried so much those first weeks I think people began to think I had some sort of disease. I remember going to class with my eyes all gummy and bloodshot and receiving looks of complete disgust. It wasn't until I made my first trip to Mt. Irenaeus that things began to look up.
It had been another horrible day. Classes were finally over, and I was, once again, sitting alone in my room. As I sat crying, my tears were interrupted by a soft knock on my door. I got up, wiped my eyes and opened the door to find a beaming young woman in a brown Students for the Mountain t-shirt staring back at me. She handed me a flyer, smiled so wide I swear I could see her voice box and gave me a great big bear hug.
"It's OK to cry," she told me. "I cried almost every day when I first came here, but it will get better, I promise."
I looked at her in awe. Had a complete stranger really just knocked on my door, walked into my room and given me a hug? It didn't seem possible. Maybe I really was ill. Or maybe, as my family had told me, there really were people on campus that cared for me. I decided, for once, to bury all my instincts and actually respond to her attempt at empathy.
"I wasn't crying," I assured her. "I was just trying to fix my contact."
The fact that I didn't wear contacts and had just lied to a complete stranger on a Franciscan college campus didn't bother me at that particular moment. I did my best to smile back and continued my attempt at civilized conversation.
"What's the Mountain?" I asked.
She beamed again and made herself comfortable on my bed. Yes, my bed. I put my feelings of complete fear aside and listened as intently as I could.
I spent the first three weeks of my freshman year sitting in my room wallowing in self-pity and wondering when my feelings of utter abandonment would cease. I cried so much those first weeks I think people began to think I had some sort of disease. I remember going to class with my eyes all gummy and bloodshot and receiving looks of complete disgust. It wasn't until I made my first trip to Mt. Irenaeus that things began to look up.
It had been another horrible day. Classes were finally over, and I was, once again, sitting alone in my room. As I sat crying, my tears were interrupted by a soft knock on my door. I got up, wiped my eyes and opened the door to find a beaming young woman in a brown Students for the Mountain t-shirt staring back at me. She handed me a flyer, smiled so wide I swear I could see her voice box and gave me a great big bear hug.
"It's OK to cry," she told me. "I cried almost every day when I first came here, but it will get better, I promise."
I looked at her in awe. Had a complete stranger really just knocked on my door, walked into my room and given me a hug? It didn't seem possible. Maybe I really was ill. Or maybe, as my family had told me, there really were people on campus that cared for me. I decided, for once, to bury all my instincts and actually respond to her attempt at empathy.
"I wasn't crying," I assured her. "I was just trying to fix my contact."
The fact that I didn't wear contacts and had just lied to a complete stranger on a Franciscan college campus didn't bother me at that particular moment. I did my best to smile back and continued my attempt at civilized conversation.
"What's the Mountain?" I asked.
She beamed again and made herself comfortable on my bed. Yes, my bed. I put my feelings of complete fear aside and listened as intently as I could.
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