When I started this newsletter, I did not give myself any guidelines on what it was supposed to be. It was just supposed to be. A space for exploration means that I don’t have to show up as any one thing, in any one way. I’ve tried to do a fixed structured in the past, where each post had a bit of everything I wanted to tackle—some fictional writing, a personal update, some photographs, etc.—and I ended up not sticking with it because, it turns out, I don’t like writing about me much. Not in public, at least. I have my journal for that, and my therapist, and my loved ones, and for someone who enjoys the freedom of merely being an anonymous, amorphous blob online, not feeling the need to write about myself—but not eliminating the option of it altogether either—felt a lot like freedom.

Besides, there are so many things I want to use this space for! I want to write about being a lover and a romantic but being surrounded by people who systematically see me as cynic more than anything. I want to write about the uncomfortable experience of being someone who had quite an early sexual wakening, who thinks about sex pretty often, who energetically very much identifies as a slut but is yet to have sex—or even a sexually charged interaction—with anyone, even though I’m now well into 24.¹ I want to write more about Downton Abbey because I had so much fun with my first post and why the hell not? (Posts I’d like to tackle include: the queer disappointment of Tom Branson’s character and arc, something about Daisy, and very much a post about how often the show explicitly frames Mary’s and Bates’ relationship with Anna as of an equal standing/framing, even though DA is such a heteronormative show). I want to share bits of my fanfiction writing, because that’s what I write the most and it brings me so much happiness and joy; it makes me feel alive. There’s so much I’ve thought about for this newsletter, and none of it was about writing about my terrible, sad week, but I’m feeling down and sad and angry, and I’m feeling lonely, and something in me just went, Why the hell not?

Well, to be fair, it always feels weird to take up space with one’s big, sad feelings in a world that is so big and sad itself, in so much bigger and more terrible ways. My blueness is a microscopic drop in this Big Blue Dot’s oceans of pain and terribleness and unkindness. I know that. But I also have a hard time believing that the things I write in this corner of the internet—my corner of the internet—that will greet the eyes of a potential handful of people, all of whom agreed to be here, take anything away from all that².

Which brings me to: this week. I didn’t really know what I expected this week to be—I was too much of an anxious mess to see that much into the future at the time—but in retrospect, I do believe I expected it to be a good week. On Monday morning I would defend my master’s thesis and officially finish my master’s. Some of my beloved family would come and we’d all go out for a quick, greasy, fast-food-y lunch afterwards, and then I’d have the afternoon to rest. I would have work the rest of the week, but I also had a call scheduled with a friend I haven’t talked to since February, I had my Pilates appointment (after missing it last week because I was too busy), I had a therapy appointment, and I’d decided that on Friday, if my social batteries allowed, I’d go and check the Queer Film Festival currently going on here in town (I’m the type that still gets nervous about being in real-life queer spaces, so this felt like a low-key way to do it). I’d revise and post a new chapter of the fic I’ve recently finished, and I’d write a bit more of the fic I’m currently engaged in.

Here’s what happened instead: the defense went marvelously, up until the point where I was given a grade below the one I deserved. As I stood in the room and heard the fucking professor call it out, I do believe I saw red. There’s a lot of history here, between me and grades and the way I respond to them, but this one felt like betrayal. Afterwards, I still had a nice lunch, but every day since has been plagued by this one moment. It has made me comb through every regulation and guideline, trying to figure out what my rights of appeal are, and finding nothing; it has me contact academic services, and contact the university’s student advocate, which feels gruesome in the way bureaucratic processes always feel; it has made me very plainly ask my supervisor (who was part of the jury) what the fuck happened and getting a lukewarm explanation that solves nothing.

(It has made me once again question if I should continue looking for PhD opportunities like I have been doing so far. This kind of academic work and routines works so well for me, and I feel so perfectly alright doing it, but- As always, the “but”. I have given myself strict criteria of what kind of PhD opportunities I’ll accept, but even so, is it time for me to simply leave it behind and go try my luck somewhere else?)

The academic and educational systems have been the ones to make me feel the most powerless in my life. They set all the rules, they serve as judge, jury and executioner, and they leave little to no way of fighting them when shit hits the fan.

This time, though, I did not see it coming. I truly believed I could rest easily if I did my part well, and damn, did I make an effort to do my part well. And I know I succeeded, and everyone else keeps telling me how great I was, and I can’t get past the fact that, at the end of the day, these teachers and professors still get to do whatever they feel like doing and answer to no one.

In the midst of this, I caught a nasty cold. By Tuesday night I was a mess, and I spent Wednesday barely able to get up, and I am still recovering as off today. Needless to say that a debilitated physical state is not helpful in helping me deal with all these messy, thorny feelings.

It’s not fair, I keep thinking, even though I know that the world is not a fair place. That no one owes anyone fairness. That, at best, concepts of fairness or justice are just utopic ones, something to guide us, but not something we get to have.

I’m the kind of autistic that has always had a bit of trouble bowing to authorities, but a part of me still believes that if I learn the rules and play their game right, I will reap the rewards. I keep forgetting that, just because they’re the ones that make the rules, it doesn’t mean they feel beholden to them. At least not as much as I do.

Anyway, this will pass. I’m still seeing what can be done (and am so grateful that I have a mother that is also relentless in that regard, and that taught me to fight and speak up), but I’m readying myself to the fact that nothing will happen. And, eventually, this will pass. Just like it has always done.

But it has not passed yet, and for now all I’m left with is this sadness. All I have is the knowledge that my supervisor(s) (who, let’s be honest, I didn’t have much faith in, but still) could not be bothered to fight just a little bit for me and my work when push came to shove. I feel so powerless that the word itself (in this case, impotente) has started loosing it’s meaning. And I feel so angry, so so angry. Like I said, there’s a long history between me and these kinds of occurrences in these kinds of institutions, and this felt like another punch in the stomach—just not one I had even readied myself for.

The sadness feels like a vastness. Right now, I’m swallowed up in it, having a hard time seeing past it, but for now at least, I won’t force myself to. I’ve been learning to be with my feelings, and if all I want is be sad, then so be it.

This wasn’t the week I expected, though. A part of me is mourning for the celebratory mood I should have enjoyed. I mean, I finish my master’s AND Jonathan Bailey gets nominated Sexiest Man Alive (to which I only say, yes) AND Wicked: For Good press tour has kicked off? I should be having a ball and annoying my sister with endless memes. I should not be sick and sad and just so, so bleh.

I haven’t done my journaling practice this week, but this morning I turned on my voice recorder and just let myself speak some of this into the air. I cried a lot doing it—pretty sure that recording is mostly just ugly crying (made uglier by the fact that I sound so visibly ill lol). But I think I needed a good cry—I’m a bit constipated in the crying department, and I know it is good that I found a way to unlock at least some of it.

So, that’s it for this week. Today I’m just blue, and I’m letting myself be blue. And, at the moment, hope feels like more of a foe than a friend, but maybe next week this will be different. I think orange—like that burnt orange of a sunset, or the vibrant orange of a tray of oranges at the grocery store—would be nice.

Let’s have it for an orange week next week.