Chapter 20
"Thank you all for a great semester. It's been a real delight. I hope you each have a wonderful summer. Please turn in your teacher evaluations before leaving. Next year come by and say hello if you're in the building. If you are interested, I also teach a 4000 level class on Gender Roles." Dr. Stephens said as she dismissed the class for the semester.
The shuffling of desks and papers as everyone got ready to head home.
"June, can I talk to you in my office?" Dr. Stephens asked.
June nodded. She moved off to the side and let people pass her. A few girls that were in her sorority gave her an accusatory look as they left. June looked down to avoid meeting their glance.
In Dr. Stephens's office, her professor pulled out her final project. Dr. Stephens looked angry. June shifted uneasily in her seat, not used to having a teacher look at her that way.
"June, you know we run these papers through a checker. You plagiarized word for word. This sentence here and here off of someone's comment on goodreads.com."
June gazed down at the paper, confused. It was in her final paragraph of a 10-page essay. There it was highlighted in red. She had copied it word for word. No paraphrasing, no quotations, nothing. It was so evident and such a simple mistake she would have never made. But she did. She remembered when she rewrote the same paragraph over and over. At 5am after her 2nd all-nighter. Going on 40-minute naps when she could fit them during finals week. Indeed she couldn't have been so careless. This was the most straightforward final for June. A simple summary of the book she was analyzing.
"June, truly, I'm shocked. All semester you've been such a good student. It's disrespectful. It shows you put in such little effort. As a teacher, I have to report this. We take cheating very seriously here. Our academic integrity board will review all the work you've submitted. Every teacher you have from here on out will be notified. You'll most likely fail the class and have to retake it."
June met Dr. Stephen's eyes with a look of horror. This was the very last nail in her coffin. Everything she worked so hard for, all her plans. The last piece of June's life she thought she had under control. June saw her academic future vanish before her eyes.
"Well?" Dr. Stephens asked, watching June's face.
June thought about the look on her parent's faces when she would tell them. June felt the dam behind her eyes break. She hadn't cried after her assault. For weeks she pushed the feelings down and away. Compartmentalizing and concentrating on not allowing herself to think about it so she could finish the semester. Nobody in her sorority came forward to tell her who she was with that night. Nobody reached out to check on her. June would feel eyes on her as she walked between classes.
Robotic and task-oriented. Yet when June walked through the crowds of people on campus. June would feel prickles on the back of her neck. A cold panic would spread from her core out to the tips of her skin. June looked at the faces of the men she passed every day. Fear if an average height dark-haired man looked back at her. June wondered if her rapist knew her. Walked past her knowing who she was. Indescribable shame tore her further away from her core. June wanted to leave her body.
"June, Are you okay?" Dr. Stephens asked.
June shook her head, water trickled out of her face. She began to tremble as the tears started. She couldn't hold them back. June wept for her soul.
June and Dr. Stephens talked. Dr. Stephen's face started to change. "June, I'm calling the counseling center. You need to go talk to someone now."
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Jane sat on a stiff copper-colored couch placed across from the counselor's armchair. The stand next to her had a deliberately placed tissue box, but June was done crying. Her episode in Dr. Stephen's office appeared like an unexpected outburst. She went back to feeling drained and hollow.
The room wasn't very cheery. It was poorly lit in the basement of the health services building on campus. The lights amplified the mustard-colored walls. Behind the counselor was a poster that read: "When you enter this office, you are: amazing, wonderful, tough, kind, important, loved, cared for, safe and brave." Each word in different font and colors around an oak tree. June felt like none of the words carried their intended meaning anymore. They were taunting her.
There was something severed inside her. Invisible cuts were dividing her head from her heart, her heart to her uterus. When June breathed into her diaphragm, she had no sensation coming up from between her legs.
The counselor, Dr. Adams, was a short, black haired overweight gentleman with beady eyes. June stared at his hair, which was parted to cover the growing bald spot on the top of his head. June crossed her legs three times, rested on her elbows then put her hands in her lap. Then she gave up figuring out how to position herself.
They sat, staring at each other. June wished it was a woman she was talking to.
"June, you have to say something." Dr. Adams said. He tilted his head sideways.
"Why, what's the point? Nothings going to change."
"Perhaps we can get you some help. Tell me what you're thinking. Are you suicidal? Do you think about hurting yourself?" He asked, fishing for a diagnosis.
"I don't feel suicidal. I don't want to do anything. Even the basic simple tasks feel challenging. Sometimes I have no thoughts. I feel nothing. That's the problem."
"Nothing at all?"
"Even when I got caught cheating. I don't care. I don't know why I'm doing any of this anymore. I tried to convince myself that there's a reason for everything, but right now, I don't want to even believe that."
"The more I think about it, I can't stop. It all feels absurd. I don't know why I continue going along with it. I carry on my day to day and feel numb. I try so hard to get somewhere, be a better friend, daughter, sister, or be like someone else. I see my life like it's one long, endless day into the next. All the same, striving, but why?"
"I've just started, and I'm already tired of it all. We get up every day and do it again. We try in school to get a 9-5 job, only to realize we hate it and want to do something else. But we have to work until we can do what we really want to do. We work we can have money to buy things. We marry someone who we're comfortable with because we don't want to be alone. To someone, we only can tolerate being around. Maybe have a family, but then hate your husband and someone cheats. Then we die. We do it because that's what other people do."
"We're mimicking each other's suffering. Everywhere I look, people are unhappy. Never satisfied. Most of the time, dulled. Is that it? Is that all there is?
"June, I think you're burned out. You have a lot on your plate. Whether it is obvious to you or not, you're self-sabotaging."
"I will never understand then," June said. She felt more alone.
"You should stop trying to define things and search for answers where there are none. I think you suffer from anxiety-induced depression. I believe it would be best if you went home to see someone long term.
I hate to do this, but I have another appointment. Don't finish your finals. I'll handle it with the office of undergraduate studies. You'll have to take in-completes for your courses. Most likely, you'll need permission from a psychiatrist before you can come back. It might be best if you take the fall semester off as well."
"So I can come back when I snap out of it." June got up and left.