The year of my Advocate presidency.

The Advocate was the undergraduate literary magazine at Harvard. How I got involved with that is a sordid story and how it went for me is worse.

I went to Harvard on a wing and a prayer.

I wrote my college application personal essay about running away from home.

My father was so mad at me about this that he tried to rape me New Years Eve when I was 17 after I had just sent off all the completed applications. I didnt realize until very recently that that was why he did that to me.

So, i got all those fat acceptance letters from Ivy League colleges April 1, 1979 and I had nothing but a queasy stomach.

Rage and pain.

I didnt realize all those years that people disliked my criticizing my parents given that they paid for that fancy boarding school educatuon and Harvard University. That didnt look well for me.

Ironically, I went to Harvard–as promised–as a runaway. I really didnt want to go after what had happened. It was just the only possibility.

I thought abour joining the army.

So that I could lose weight.

I thought about becoming a novelist and started writing about horses and the boarding school man to whom I had lost my virginity after what my father did.

So, i went to Harvard.

I got into it right away with roommate S., also a hi-tech crowd person; and never really got over that. After Sophomore Year I tried to exit the roommate situation to the Advocate. I was accepted on the Prose Board. But, the magazine was folding (or so I was told by the boyfriend who was breaking up with me.) So, there was a dearth of rising Seniors and they got me to run for President. Not knowing anyrhing.

I didnt know anything about them and they didnt know anything about me.

So, a terrible breakdown followed and I tried to turn back to my parents for help.

I remember the phone call when they just hung up.

They were pissed about the high society boyfriend whose parents took me to their bosom briefly when I felt broken and small, starting Freshman Year and running into the beginning ofJunior Year.

Then, I was “President of the Advocate.”

And I had to go home to their home.

“How arrogant.”

“Spoiled brat.”

“Get up and get dressed or I’ll dress you myself.”

Then, there was the exit to this house in PA–for them; not for me.

After that I was reeling from the blow. They wouldnt let me connect with my husband when he showed up here in 1990 and I was living here briefly after the state hospital.

Instead, they chased him off of me in favor of my brother connecting with a Manhattan socialite who was attracted to my brother through a Seiko watch and a Harvard sister.

Well that is about all I have to say in this regard.

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