a formal apology to MSOE

No, this is not actually a formal apology to MSOE, the Milwaukee School of Engineering, but it is a composition regarding my relationship with the institution of higher learning as the relationship stands now. Much of what happened during the summer of 2004 concerning myself and the school is documented in the section "the gods` bananas" and explains why I am currently under the status of not being allowed on the school's property. I write this as a sort of therapy session in order to see if I can avoid spending time with an actual therapist rehashing the events which led me to a state of city-region-avoidance as well as the great deal of guilt and fear that creeps up on me from time to time. If I do not successfully avoid formal therapy, at least this will create some mental framework to go on as I deliver the monologue of the epic to the paid professional.

It could have ended the day it began. As is documented in more detail in the rather lengthy literary project in the link above, I had a mental break one day into finals week the year 2004 in the dorms at the Milwaukee School of Engineering. I am bipolar and have been since I was eighteen years of age. These "breaks" (I hate the word "episode".) have been becoming a bit more intense with each occurance, and this time I was in and out of police cars and hospitals for three months. The reason it could have ended the day it began, with the $167.00 disorderly conduct ticket and a horrible relationship with the housing director who came to see me minutes before I was slugging a man in the neck and weaving between cars to my ultimate pepper spraying, was because I didn't have to return to MSOE grounds, nor did I have to do what I did somewhere inbetween hospital stays. I embarrassed myself royally on both occassions.

Just how badly did I disgrace MSOE, the electronics profession, my future as an engineer, and the name of love itself? I'm told again and again that it's not my fault. In retrospect I can clearly see how crazy some of the things I've done were whacked far out of line, but afterall, I came up with the ideas to do these things, and no one could tell me I wasn't in my right mind when I did them. So, I accept much of the blame. It's not as easy to forget about a super-amplified social taboo as it must be to tell someone to do so.

There are two points I am concerned about and that have me hung up with fear. To tell the truth, the first I will tell about made me feel a bit cool for some time, even after I was released from the final hospital. I called a girl. Not any girl. A girl I didn't know. I had had nothing less than an absolutely adoring crush on her for the two years I had attended MSOE. I found out her name; she was a resident advisor, which means she reigned over a floor of the dorms. Between two of the hospital stays, I looked her up on the student directory, found out her phone number, went home, and began calling. I never, to this day, have spoken to her. I must correct myself. I said hello as I was moving out. That was it. In any case, I only got her answering machine, to which I left sweet message after sweet creepy message... on into when I was admitted to the hospital the next time.

This next time is the worst. I went to MSOE at the same time I was calling this girl. It was raining. I needed to get back into the buildings in order to use the Internet and study for an exam. I figured a perk would maybe be seeing my phone victim around. Please keep in mind, I was half-insane. I am not this creepy when I am well, not nearly. In any case, the woman in charge of changing permissions on the identification cards was out for a while. I wasn't allowed on MSOE property so I decided to wait on the corner by the dormitory buildings. Apparently because it was raining, I must have been in need of an emergency detention by a Milwaukee police officer because no one in their right mind stands out in the rain and smokes cigarettes, dropping them in puddles and relighting them almost magically.

Who saw the arrest? Who knows? It was an arrest because I shouted "Mirandize me!" to which they obliged. Now I'll get down to it. I fear MSOE students because of what they may know about me. Many probably saw the scene of running out of the dorms during finals week. I'm sure this stunningly attractive girl I was calling has many friends. And, she exists out there too. (I still live in Milwaukee. More on that soon.) I see them most days I wander out, and I wonder what they know. I wonder if I'll soon be approached. I wonder what I'd do if I met the girl I called walking head on down the sidewalk. I was in such a manic state that I don't recall if I told her I loved her. I pray I didn't and kept it at least somewhat cool.

If I someday soon decide to go back to MSOE, I will have to sit in suspicion in classrooms filled with people who may have seen me, or know something about the happenings. I am tempted to wait a full four years before going back to that school, just to make sure I am not enrolled in a class with the girl I called so many times. I will have to face teachers with an explanation to my absence and to what they might have heard. It is encouraging that the one teacher I contacted about the final she didn't make me take simply said, "I hope you are feeling better." It's ignorance, but it comes across heartfelt in being so.

Perhaps I shouldn't give a shit about the stigma, but I do. I avoid the entire MSOE campus when taking outings downtown. The walk isn't any longer, but it would be nice to have the option of walking through it. I see the campus shuttle van here and there around town and my knuckles turn white. Obviously I have a phobia of anything associated with the place. If I were stronger, I may walk through it and say hello to the people whom I recognize. If I were even stronger still, I might move away to another city and start up my education there. Or is that weakness?

This is where the therapist would come in with lots of talk about "issues." I can't predict what advice one would give me. I am almost curious enough to actively seek one. It would be great if she could say one phrase like, "Just imagine them all wearing Santa caps," and it would all go away. I pray it's not a repetitive stroking of my psyche with, "You've got nothing to be ashamed of." Like hell I don't.

Tell me I'm not a decent writer. Perhaps electronics was a cop-out for getting a real job. When a reference is made to something I learned at school, I get a bit sick. Maybe it's guilt for being in question of continuing, or maybe it's got to do with the perceived stigma toward me at that place. For the time being I ramble on with plenty of time to write, with no plans for the future. I often think, if only I could erase it from everyone's memory. Simply erasing the calling of the girl would help dramatically.

Hopefully the reader can get some entertainment out of my misery. After all, I don't run this blog solely for my health. I am finished, for now. Perhaps this will come out in a nice room with a fish tank and lots of psychology books neatly arranged on shelves, though maybe not. Somehow I will rise above this mess.