For the most part I was able to enjoy life after quitting my job. My anorexic tendencies slowly disappeared and I turned my attention away from food. School was my only real obligation, and though I applied more pressure to various assignments than perhaps was necessary, I was satisfied with the final results because I knew I had done my best. I found that certain subjects made me come alive with interest, and while self-confidence remained low, confidence in my school work increased rapidly. Occasionally I dueled with guilty qualms when I was indulging in recreational activities because I wondered if I had studied enough. Rhetorically speaking, however, by what measure and under whose authority is "enough" determined? Norm, more than anyone, helped me to see the necessity of "letting go". . . of saying, "enough!" and turning my back. He felt little obligation which allowed him to do as he wished; when his emotional well-being was at stake, few people could alter his stance. He spent time as, and with whom, he desired. If he chose to be alone, he made sure no one interfered with his intention. At times Norm's reactions unintentionally hurt the feelings of others, yet his sanity remained intact; he knew his limits, and made certain they were never reached. I, on the other hand, would plow headlong into a doubtful situation at the expense of my emotional well-being, to avoid hurting another individual's feelings. I would endure intolerable people and ready myself for the asylum, while the person rattled on and thought well of me. After his or her departure, Norm would be responsible for finding a putty knife and scraping me off the ceiling. It was no secret between me and myself that I despised a fight. I controlled anger with a fervor, frightened that I could not defend my position if the recipient of my vehemence chose to see red. Quite removed from anger, though, I could not even wage a modest war against the persuasive tactics of those who would pirate my wish for solitude or guarantee myself "equal" time in a conversation; if I was not blessed with a fair companion, my desire to spend time alone was rarely respected and my views were seldom heard. How was it possible to say "no" without being hounded until my response was "yes"?. . .or claim my share of the conversation without rudely interrupting with, "shut up!"?... I hated to hurt people; I once had a hard time hanging up on a prank phone call. Nevertheless, I knew I was still slightly depressed, and until I was able to defeat my lack of aggression, I would continue to be haunted by the weakness and resent those who dexterously wielded the power of persuasion over my head.