January 1992

For a belated graduation present, I got a paperback copy of My Utmost for His Highest, a classic, daily devotional compiled of sermons given by Oswald Chambers. On the first page was this message: "To Nyssa from L.M. May this prove a blessing to you." L.M. was an elderly woman at church who always wore her long, white hair in a beautiful coil fastened with old-fashioned pins. It wasn't a boring bun and it wasn't an "old lady" hairdo with short, curly hair. As a child, I once said I wanted to wear my hair like hers when I got to be her age, which tickled her. Unfortunately, she died soon after she gave the book to me, so I never got to tell her how much of a help that book was to me over the next couple of years, which were more trying than any I had ever been through before. But I think that, up in Heaven where she undoubtedly is, she knows.

Probably a day or two before January 5, Peter and I boarded the Greyhound bus again to return to K--. Fortunately, this time they didn't lose our luggage. Peter's parents were glad to see me, for an unexpected reason: Maybe now Misha would behave. While we were gone, she had turned into a spitfire. At one point, she even leaped onto the curtains, claws extended, and slid down, ripping the curtains in her anger that I was gone for so long. After this, they put her in a cage downstairs.

Over the break, Peter and I had the occasional tiff, but after a soul-sharing talk about all sorts of things, we seemed closer than ever. Yet as soon as we got to Peter's house, something felt wrong. I had no idea what. He said nothing about it, just acted stiff instead of tender with me. Even his parents seemed to get annoyed with me when they hadn't before. I didn't know why or what I could have done. I had to sleep in the front room instead of the spare room, and there was some sort of divider up. The next morning, after I woke up, Peter spent lots of time in the kitchen talking low with his parents; he didn't come in to see me even though he may have known I was up. I got the feeling he was avoiding me for some reason. When I first saw him and his mom again, they seemed grim.

His parents may have seemed less patient with me, too. I don't remember if this happened now or over Thanksgiving Break: Peter's mom told me I could use her pants press to iron my pants much more quickly. I smiled and said that I didn't iron my pants. She wrinkled her nose and cried in distaste, "You don't?" At some point I mentioned this to Candice. I'd never heard of ironing pants, and Candice said it was useless: within minutes of sitting down, your pants would be all wrinkled again, anyway.

When he took me back to school on probably Sunday the 5th, Peter and I went to the mailboxes in the Campus Center. It was here where he said something about us parting, and I probably made some cute, half-joking, disappointed noise. He said, "But we just spent the last two weeks together!" What difference did that make? How could I ever be tired of him? How could he possibly be tired of being with the love of his life? I probably had no clue that he might truly be tired of me, and didn't yet understand that a little space to be alone or with friends is a good and healthy thing.

Peter and I both took Science Fiction for the Fun of It. He thought about taking a class related to his major, but that didn't work out. Most of the reading was from a collection of very short science fiction stories from past decades. We discussed the previous night's homework assignment and then watched a movie considered significant in the genre. Sometimes we got out of class a bit early, especially if the movie was no longer than two hours. Peter kept having to leave before dinner and go home, saying he missed eating dinner with his parents and they wanted him to do chores around the little farm. So I let him go, spending the long evenings entertaining myself with books and music, since my homework took very little time.

Things kept going wrong; Peter would argue with me over religion; I'd get upset and fume for hours. (It's entirely possible that I was cranky because of that time of the month.) I'd thought that Peter and I had similar beliefs, but we turned out to be diametrically opposed. During the religious arguments, I looked to Shawn as moral support against my own boyfriend! The short time I spent with Peter each day had turned very frustrating. I pondered asking Peter if we could switch from "going out" (exclusive) to “seeing each other” (dating each other and other people). I also began thinking that, if Peter and I had never begun dating, we would at least have been good friends--and would I be better off just friends with Peter and dating Shawn? Shawn had said I reminded him of his ex-girlfriend; if we were alone together at the same table, he'd act uneasy and soon leave. Was he uncomfortable because he was attracted to me, someone he couldn’t have?

During the week of January 19 we got a visit from a Roanoke graduate from the 70s who was now a published science fiction author. Afterwards, I chatted with two freshmen named Sharon and Catherine. We said things like, "She graduated college in 1973? That's the year I was born!" One of us, possibly me, said, "Just think, twenty years from now one of us will come back here as a famous author to talk to a class, and the kids will say, 'She graduated college in 1995? That’s the year I was born!'" We began chatting every day; I don't remember how often Peter was with me. We discovered we had things in common, and became friends.

Starting possibly mid-month or the last full week of January, I noticed that of all the people Peter sat with at lunch, I got the least attention. He'd be gruff with me, but cheerful with others. He'd sit next to or across from me, but nearly all his comments and jokes were directed at the others. Half the time, he would speak so low that I didn't hear the joke, and I felt left out. This never used to happen. Why couldn't he say those things to me, or at least loud enough for me to hear? It was as if I wasn't even there. He later complained of "jealous looks"; I don't know what he could have meant, because I have never been possessive or jealous as a girlfriend or wife. (I have always allowed my boyfriends and, eventually, my husband to have any female friend they like and see them whenever they like, without having to get my "approval" first, as long as they don't cheat. My philosophy has always been, trust until you have a GOOD reason not to. This philosophy has served me well because when you hold on too tightly, you lose your man.) If he meant my expression during lunch, I had good reason, as you can see.

One day, probably after class, we were walking from the Muskie and through the cafeteria together when Peter went into the kitchen. I believe he made no explanation as to why. I waited for him, of course. That's what you do when you're walking with someone and he has to stop and do something before continuing. But when he came out, he snapped at me, sounding angry at me for waiting for him. And when we'd leave class and walk along the same sidewalk, I would naturally expect that my own boyfriend would want to walk with me, especially when we barely got to see each other anymore. But he would walk so fast that I would have to hurry to catch up with him! And he rarely kissed me.

It may be that, because of my nonverbal learning disability, I had no idea whatsoever that I was annoying Peter in various ways, until he finally started yelling at me about it--and then I couldn't understand why it bothered him so much. (I still don't remember what happened, since I didn't "see" it the first time around.) Or maybe he was a typical guy needing space, but not saying so; since women don't usually have these space issues, they often don't understand the "clues" and don't know they're making things worse. (I talk about this later.) To put it simply, there was a major lack of communication. And without communication, the problem can't be fixed.

On the evening of Tuesday, January 21, our class went to see Freejack, a science fiction movie which had just opened in a local theater. We rode in a van or bus, and Peter and I sat together. Catherine, possibly Sharon, and Shawn sat nearby; we were the only people there besides the teacher. We all chatted together. Somebody brought up Monty Python's The Holy Grail, which had been on TV the night before. Peter had seen part of it at home, and I had seen the last hour of it in my room. I had loved it, and so had Catherine, Shawn, and Sharon, but Peter said it was stupid.

More things happened the next few days, things that showed his coldness, things that made me cry. I don't want to go into everything that happened. On the 28th, I decided to talk to him before class and tell him how horribly he'd been treating me lately. If I had to, I would threaten to break up; that would get him to shape up. But before I got far, he turned it around and broke up with me. I don't want to go into all the reasons he gave then; all these years later, what difference does it make? My friends called them petty reasons; most could have easily been resolved with communication on his part. Some were not fair at all. Some were things that did not bother other guys. One main one was quickly proven to be an out-and-out lie. They were probably just excuses for his real reason, which was that he wanted to start exploring new things in college, and my beliefs and values kept him back. None of his reasons were ever repeated by other boyfriends. In fact, my boyfriend Phil, after telling me what Peter had told him about me, said that one complaint in particular did not bother him in the least. In fact, he expected me to do it, and he kissed me for it! I should have realized then, but didn't: If we were pre-engaged and the communication was this bad, what would marriage have been like? In the olden days, kids our age could have gotten married and been mature enough to handle it. But in our day and age, while some eighteen-year-olds are old enough for marriage, most still need to grow up.

He said, "I don't want to get married for many years after college. I want to do some things first." This was the first time he ever said anything like this. Not only that, but in a later phone conversation, when I asked about our plans for him to go to South Bend over the summer, he said, "I'm probably going to Arizona over the summer!" This was the first time he ever even hinted at an internship over the summer, yet he spoke to me in irritation, as if I should have known.

In one phone conversation we had over the next few days, he said I shouldn't expect to marry every guy I dated. (I didn’t.) When I turned this around and said he talked about marriage all the time, too, he said, "We were both at fault." But how is it a “fault” to talk about marriage with someone you’ve already agreed to marry? How is it a “fault” or “dropping hints about marriage” to discuss wedding plans with someone you are pre-engaged to? This is all part of pre-enagement! (See the discussion here among women who are pre-engaged and, in some cases, are even setting dates with their boyfriends, looking at venues and making wedding plans, even though they are not yet actually engaged.) Ever after, he denied that we had an understanding; he told people about my “marriage talk” as if I were clingy or smothering. I never have understood why, since there’s nothing shameful in having been pre-engaged to a former girlfriend. It happens all the time among young couples who want to be committed but are not yet ready for marriage for whatever reason (in our case, finishing school). You can even buy a promise ring to signify your pre-engagement, or use a class ring.

Another thing I don't understand is the modern idea that we should always date around before choosing someone to marry. What's wrong with marrying the first person you date, if you get along well? I'm of the more conservative viewpoint, that the whole purpose of dating is to find someone to marry, not just to have a good time. If you can't see yourself marrying a person, don't get serious with them, don't sleep with them, and never ever breathe an "I love you." A good article on Christian dating is here. A girl who wants to marry should not waste her time with someone who doesn’t. If you don’t want to be married, then you should be celibate–and dating will only tempt you into premarital sex. It’s also wrong to date someone who’s looking for a mate, if you aren’t interested in marrying her. The way people date these days is far too casual for anyone’s good, and a lot of people are getting hurt with lasting damage. An "I love you" based on a passing feeling is not true love at all.

The next several days are so depressing and personal that I'd rather keep most of the details in my journals--and I'll probably cut those parts out. Even when my biggest crushes turned into nothing, I hadn't felt this way. After realizing that C.B. just wasn’t going to go out with me, I allowed myself one cry into my pillow. Then after that, I thought, "I had my cry." I can only remember crying over one other boy; after that, I drew myself up and acted like he was nothing to me. I actually felt angry that he didn't give me a chance. When D.B. began dating another girl even though I thought I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he wanted me, it hurt, but I looked at it philosophically: high school romances (like theirs) don't last long, and we were about to graduate anyway.

I discovered that Food Service wouldn't be serving meals over the break between winterim and the spring semester, except to people who paid extra for sack meals. I had been expecting to spend the few days of Winterim Break at Peter's house, where I spent every break, and had no money to pay for sack meals, so this left me without food for four days! I had a brief conversation with Peter, and mentioned that I had nowhere to go for Winterim Break, but he didn't offer to let me stay over. I don't know if he realized I was without food.

My parents told me to go to the business office on Thursday and get a cash advance from my credit card of at least 50 or 60 dollars. This way, I could pay for the meal tickets. But, to my dismay, the woman working there said, "This is not a bank." So one more door was shut. The next four days looked bleak. Not only was I without the person I thought I loved most in the world, but I was going to starve. I was probably furious with Peter for leaving me in this situation, though I'm not sure he should be held directly responsible.

During this time, I began hanging around with friends I had made the last semester. They were Pearl, Cindy, Sharon, Catherine, Tara and Carol. On Thursday, I told them my situation. They were all going home for the break, and Sharon and the others had some spare food. Sharon gave me Frosted Flakes and milk and maybe some soup or some other dry food. I think Cindy gave me hot chocolate, unless I already had that. I was so grateful to them that I became their lifelong friends.

A certain member of administration (I will call her Memadmin) somehow got wind of my situation--maybe I was supposed to ask her how to buy meal tickets--and had me go to her office on the 30th. Since she had also heard of my breakup with Peter, maybe she knew why I hadn't looked into the Winterim Break meal plans before this. (I spent every school break except Christmas with his family, and this breakup was right before Winterim Break, so why would I have expected to need a meal plan?) She said to not tell anybody, but she would do me a favor: give me a few sack meal tickets, enough for one meal per day. They weren't many, but they were enough to keep me alive, especially with the food my friends had given me and the snack foods I had. Then my parents decided to come up and take me to a hotel.

totally the wrong person for me, that he would change from the person I knew into someone totally different. (Having trouble reading the various nuances of body language has made me gullible where other people could see right through it; it's possible that he never was the person I thought he was. It's possible he was trying to be what he thought I wanted. Considering what others have told me, this is quite likely. But by no means can I be sure.)

Peter--who always told me that drunkenness was stupid--was drinking underage and getting drunk. He even began smoking pot. He also went back to swearing like a sailor, even when I was nearby. I thought he had changed considerably, and my heart burned; Shawn said that no one changes that much in such a short time. He suspected that Peter had been lying to me. Though I knew Peter lied to others, even his parents, I thought it impossible for him to have lied to me before the breakup. But now, looking back, I think he must have told me a few lies here and there.

"The impairments of NLD also lead to a preponderance of very literal translations which, in turn, precede continuous misjudgments and misinterpretations. The child with NLD is naively trusting of others (to a fault) and does not embrace the concept of dishonesty (even in terms of white lies) or withholding (even inflammatory) information. He also will not recognize when he is being lied to or deceived by others. Deceit, cunning, and/or manipulation are beyond this child's scope of assimilation. He assumes that everyone is friendly who displays that front verbally and that the intentions of others are only that which they expose verbally. This inability to 'read' the intentions of others often results in a lot of unfortunate 'scapegoating' of this child. He needs to be taught to question the motives of others - he won't learn from experience." http://maapservices.org/MAAP_Sub_Find_It_-_Publications_Sue_Thompson_Article.htm

During this time, I was led astray by a popular teaching that each person can be a sort of "prophet." Many people seek to get revelations from God about whom they will marry. These revelations tend to be totally wrong, lies either from Satan or from the self. In fact, Anna was also led astray by this very thing. We would encourage each other to keep faith in what God had told us. Senior year, she discovered that her "future husband" was now engaged--to someone else. She said her "revelation" came from Satan. She got her revelation through such things as "words" from other people, and opening her Bible and finding something that seemed to be for her. I got mine through a practice I heard about on The 700 Club.

I had watched The 700 Club for years, and had actually started listening for "words" back in high school. Twice I had felt "Don't worry" when I thought I had forgotten about a test or a homework assignment, only to discover that it wasn't due for another day or two. A major part of each episode of The 700 Club was the prayer, which would include Pat Robertson and his co-hosts waiting for God to reveal to them who in their studio and viewing audience was being healed of various ailments, about to get money they desperately needed, etc. Many of these people then would call and say that they were the ones these words were meant for. Often their testimonies were dramatic, and turned into news stories for the show. One co-host, Sheila, said that at first she wasn't sure God was actually telling her these things, that she wasn't the type of person He'd tell them to. But He told her something, she said nothing, and then God told Pat instead and he said it (at least, that's how she explained it). That convinced her.

In the winter of 1992, a guest on The 700 Club gave more information on how to seek God's direction, "words" impressed on your spirit about the future or the present. You might fast for it; you might sit and meditate, trying to clear your mind and focus on one word. I wrote down everything he said. I now know this practice is deceptive, that we should let God speak to us as He wills, not try to force it. I’m told that some people have even lost their faith over “words” that fail to come true. This practice comes from the Charismatic branch of the church, which many other denominations (such as the Lutheran or Orthodox) consider to be full of errors.

You can find that website here: http://centralcal.com/crist5.htm. Go to the heading "How does one get possessed?" It may not sound like the right place, but it is. You have to scroll down a bit. A quote from this article: "Some of you reading this, who in the past got burned by some false prophecy, can now understand what happened. You may have thought that 'word' that said you would be healed, see a loved one get saved, marry someone you had a crush on, or reap a 100-fold return on the money you sent to a minister had to have been from God. When it didn't come true you either got mad at God or got discouraged and blamed yourself for not having enough faith. Well, the truth is, the Charismatic movement is rife with false prophets who give the real ones a bad name." The "Predict the Future" sub-heading above the "possessed" heading is also relevant. I don't agree with everything the writer says in his website's articles, but I believe he is right about this.

Another thing I've grown to understand, from a combination of experiences and reading that popular book Men Are From Mars/Women Are From Venus, is that I was probably right when I felt like Peter and I were closer than ever before after the talks we had over Christmas Break. (I know this book gets criticized a lot. I also know that gender differences are often more due to culture or personality than gender. Many times, I found the roles in Mars/Venus to be reversed in my case. But many times, I found it to be right on target, describing not just me but the guys I had dealt with. This book may not apply well to everybody, but it applies well to me, probably because I'm often feminine and conservative, and has given me insight into why my exes behaved the way they did.) According to Mars, such increased intimacy may scare a man into thinking that he must pull away and re-establish his identity. It doesn't mean that he doesn't love his woman. If given the space he needs, he will eventually snap back, and things will be fine again. Women, however, usually think fundamentally differently than a man does. When he pulls away, she thinks something's wrong (pages 92-98). If she says something about it, he may think she's blaming him, even when she's not (page 89). If he doesn't pull away, he may get moodier, more irritable, or more defensive (page 105). In either case, the woman's instinct is to try to get closer, to fix things. This is what works with women. With men, however, it pushes them even farther away. But because of the differences in the way men and women deal with things and respond to things, they often have no idea how their responses are affecting the other person. The man doesn't realize that the woman is hurt and that, according to her way of thinking, she has every right to feel hurt; the woman doesn't realize that her attempts to fix things actually push the man farther away (pages 93-98). This doesn't mean she should submit to being treated like a doormat. But communication and discussion before actually breaking up could make a huge difference. Chapter six talks about many feminine behaviors which I did, including trying to fix the problem.

The sad thing is, I was hardly new to being the object of vicious rumors spread by guys who used to like me. And it would happen again senior year, by Phil, an abusive ex-fiancé. In elementary school, a certain boy always used to make fun of me. Then I heard he liked me, and didn't believe it. The following year, he kept making public comments to me such as, "Hey, gorgeous." I have a soft heart, so he wore me down until I liked him back. But he never actually asked me to "go with him." Then, near the end of the year, somebody in gym class found out how I felt about him. Next thing I know, this boy, who'd chased me all year, starts yelling to me on the bus, "I'm not your type." In junior high, a certain guy spent all year flirting with me in front of everyone, though he never asked me to "go with him." Near the end of the year, he told another kid about me, "Don't you know we're going together?" I spent the rest of the day happy because he was finally my boyfriend. Then, the very next day, he said to me, "I like this other girl now." For the rest of the year and on into high school, he told everyone I was a Satan worshipper, and ripped on me and called me names every chance he got.

Now, here in a college full of what were supposedly adults, another guy was spreading rumors and ripping on me every chance he got. And in another two years, it would happen again with another ex. Not only did such treatment wound my spirit, it made me wonder why this kept happening to me. Why couldn't I find a decent man? I wanted a nice guy, but the nice guys never seemed to want me. When they did, they ended up treating me badly. It would be many years before I discovered that my issues with guys could easily be traced back to family issues.

Once, Julie told me about her own experiences with an ex, and even let me read a class essay she'd written on the subject. This happened the previous year (she was now a sophomore); they were engaged; it took her some time to get over him. It was a while before she stopped calling him to ask if he was sure. A friend or family member offered to vandalize his car, but she said no. All her poems in Poetry class were about him and the breakup--just as most of mine would be about Peter. She and Darryl started seeing each other soon after the breakup, but stopped because they didn't want it to be a rebound relationship. Julie eventually got over her ex; she and Darryl became a couple. Though they had the occasional breakup, they ended up getting married.

No one knew that I had a learning disorder which caused me to take everything literally. When Peter said he would do something with me–marry me in three and a half years, or take me out on his motorcycle, or teach me stick shift, or have me teach him German, for examples–I expected him to do it. I thought everyone did this. I could not understand why Peter came up with conclusions different from mine. I did not understand how negotiating everything could push him farther away, instead of pulling him back. I did not understand how he could say he would marry me, but then not do it. I fully expected him to still take me on that motorcycle ride, still teach me stick shift, still have me teach him German, even after the breakup.

By the way, if you read this and my fiction, you may be tempted to think that my fiction is autobiographical. It is not. Events and emotions are often inspired by my real life, but the characters, details, dialogues, even things that happen, are distinctly different. I draw from various sources: my life, other people's lives, dreams, imagination. I'll take events that have nothing in common with each other, and thread them together into one plotline. I'll make up motivations to suit the story. I'll change all sorts of things. The truth is here in my memoirs and in my journals; it is not in my fiction.

This time period wasn't all bad, despite my deep depression. I flipped to the Comedy Channel one day, and found some strange show which had a movie, shadows of a row of movie theater seats down along the bottom, and black figures of a man and two robots sitting in the seats. As the movie played, those figures made comments. I didn't understand what was going on, so I soon turned to something else. Soon after, I overheard a friend of Stefan's as she talked about how funny this show was. So I tried watching it again, and loved it. It was Mystery Science Theater 3000.