Here’s what sucks about graduate school: I’m pissed off. I’m really pissed off. These people don’t give two shits about me. They never have. I want them to recognize that they screwed me over, they abandoned me, and I kept plugging along despite them. I got myself through coursework, I got myself through exams, I developed my own project with very little input from anyone. I’ve done considerable amounts of archival research in a department where that seems to be getting quite rare. At no point have I not progressed on time, if not ahead of the pace of other [white] colleagues.

I need these people to recognize that. I need any and all ideas that I have somehow failed or fallen behind to be banished from their minds. I need to express my rage, the rage that’s the reason I’ve done so little over the past few months. It is not because I struggle to produce work. It’s because I have moved through the program at a quicker clip than several people in my cohort under incredibly trying circumstances (no partner, no family support, tons of emotional baggage, and little intellectual guidance) and they’ve made the arbitrary decision that I’m behind. They’re refusing to see who I am and what I have done and how much it means to me to do this work even though it has been sheer hell. I want to say, you all couldn’t be bothered to guide me through the program and I’m here and winning awards for my work no thanks to you all. You all cannot now come claiming that I’ve fallen down on the job. No, you fell down on the job and I refused to let you beat me.

But I can’t say that. Because I have to get this damn degree. Because I have to work with these people or else I will not be able to advance in this career.

So I have to smile and say thank you and let them pat themselves on the back for how they’ve pushed me to be a better scholar. I have to be grateful that they’re letting me off the hook (that’s in relation to an even more infuriating problem that erupted a few weeks back).

There is no place for my rage. I refuse to take it out on my friends or the people around me, because that goes against my strong code of ethics and because my friends and colleagues have been the only support I’ve had. It’s without them that I might not be here, not these professors, not my family. I can’t even really do it here b/c pseudonymity makes it difficult to express precisely how ludicrous this situation is in the detail it deserves. (This is another post that may disappear at any time if I feel like it might be too revealing.)

What’s left? At the moment, my plates and dishes are not looking long for this world, except that I like them and can’t afford to buy new ones. So I’m just simmering at this point. Trying to get on with things, trying to remain productive, trying to transform some newfound momentum into significant progress, but with incredible amounts of rage boiling just under the surface.


2 Responses to “anger”

  1. Take up kickboxing? I find air-punching even feels good, though I’m not a generally angry person.

  2. I’m sorry to hear you’re feeling this way 😦 I’ve been there too – I hope it passes. Stick it to them all by finishing, that’s my plan πŸ˜‰

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