At first, it seemed ok. I appreciated the feedback. It was what I had heard previously. Then as it continued, I started wondering. How would I incorporate this in? How will I take this?
I stuttered at first, wondering aloud that it would take more than 20 pieces to fully answer the questions. Then I was posed with, \”you have to answer that question\”
which startled me, making me think, \”Maybe then I was thinking? Maybe I was wrong?\”
Then all the feedback about copyediting. I was surprised by the critique or as they wanted to call it on the line-editing. I wasn\’t sure if I could stop her out of respect, but maybe I should have. Why was she giving me feedback on the sentence structure? I wasn\’t sure.
And then, I thought to myself maybe I should have edited this piece more. Maybe that\’s all I could do. I needed something.
Then suddenly it cracked open when someone asked me about what I could do…and whether the feedback was intense. I was still thinking about. Whether it was something that I could do. So then all I could say was in a small voice, \”yes\” and I blinked as my eyes filled up. I blinked it back, but then someone noticed and called it out. So then well that\’s when it spilled out. I gave up at that moment and just let it spill out. And I silently sobbed for the next 15 minutes when there was a break and a reading. And I excused myself saying that I had to go, had to walk, had to fresh air, had to get away.
The black cloud followed me as I thought of rejection, failure. I was alone. Again. Darkness spilled. And I wanted to just drive the pain away so bad. Cliffs entered my mind. But instead, I called Chris and said, \”Pick me up.\”
And I sat stony near the BART station sobbing hoping nobody would see. Nobody would see the poor little me wincing in unnoticeable pain.