impact

I just read my Roo essay for the first time since finishing it.
There's a very real possibility that I might cry.
I am usually able to be at the very least, somewhat, objective about my essays. Step back and view them as someone who doesn't know me might view them.
I really couldn't do that with this essay. I could occasionally step back, but it wouldn't last very long. I was caught up in memories... thinking of what other details I could have included- wanted to include. What I could explain better. What wasn't explained perfectly, but I couldn't have done a better job at and still held true to myself.
I think that writing such as this is a whole other monster from "normal" essay writing. It is not just about relaying the needed information, nor is it about relaying that information well and interestingly. It becomes more than that. It transforms and its sole purpose comes to be serving the subject.
My English book on writing says that good writing serves for the writing, not for the subject, and in this way, the writing comes to best serve the subject in a way that could not otherwise occur if one did not step back and think solely on the writing.
If I worked more on my essay, I think I could find myself able to do that. However, I'm sure that I would want to. The essay would still continue to be- at its core- about the subject, and not about the writing.
The two are inextricably combined.

What an interesting experience it has been writing this essay! I think it has changed me. It certainly affected me in many, many ways while I was writing it. My thoughts were constantly on it. The disorders. Roo. My memories. My thoughts about each. Hypotheses. It seemed to permeate my mind throughout the entire day- everything reminding more strongly of Roo than it had before I began (for the second time) the intense work on my essay. I had two labels for my activities- working on my Essay, and not working on my Essay. (This is possibly a bit of an exaggeration, but I state it as such because doing so best gets my idea across.)
What am I going to do now?
Decompress, I suppose. Let all of the emotional intensity involved with that writing subside; abate; become somewhat more dull.
What am I to do, now that I no longer have that looming over me?
Return to normal, I suppose. Well, perhaps not it won't quite be a return, because I have been changed just a little bit.
Interesting what writing can do, isn't it?