It's been awhile. College is harder than I anticipated. Last year, after my last entry, I started classes at a nearby university with my best friend. It went downhill really fast.
I really shouldn't have started a new job at the same time I started a new chapter of my life, but I did. It just added a lot to the stress of going to college for the first time.
I was anxious about losing friends I had grown close to in high school and about the looming deadline of choosing a career. I still haven't decided on what I want to do with myself. Being a very type-A person, its really really difficult for me to not know what to do next.
My friend didn't have a very good time her first semester, either. She was sexually assaulted after a month, by some new "friends" she had made on campus. I didn't know how to help her. She blamed herself for not saying "no" more sternly and that killed me inside. For any of my readers beginning college soon, my friend's experience was in the minority. But take heed, and take care of yourself. Whatever happens, no means no. Silence means no. Maybe means no. Anything other than a clear and enthusiastic yes, means no. and sexual assault is NEVER the victims fault. No matter what.
If someone you know goes through an attack, there are resources on campus for them. Counseling centers and campus security to name a couple.
Even though I tried to help my friend by telling her these things, supporting her, and reassuring her, it came down to what she was willing to do. It took a long time for her to forgive herself, even though there was nothing to forgive. Still, she has bounced back tremendously and is now in a loving relationship with someone who respects her boundaries.
As for me... well, I'm lucky to be alive.
I had around 2 mental breakdowns and a number of panic attacks throughout the first half of the semester. That is about the span of 2 months. Needless to say, I was exhausted all the time. I took on far too much at once and that, combined with taking care of my best friend through her difficulty, took a serious toll.
When you get to the point where it feels like you are always knee deep in water, it can be frustrating. Even completing the most simple tasks by normal standards was a monumental achievement and they often left me drained. I was never really happy, but I had never experienced misery, either. Until fall of 2015.
Every day I would feel nothing but fatigue and every night it was as if all my repressed emotions tore through me and I would sob. The mood swings gave me whiplash.
It quickly became too cold to take nightly walks, so the only thing that would calm me down was to light a candle in my dark bedroom and engross myself in the flame. It was hypnotic and gave me relief from all the problems that seemed so big.
Still, I planned to kill myself on October 18, 2015.
In the days before, I was almost giddy, knowing that I wouldn't have to suffer anything anymore. Nothing could phase me. I was unstoppable. However, on the 17th, around 24 hours before my self imposed death sentence, I had my second mental breakdown. The first one happened while I was out walking one night, during the summer. I started off furious at everything, then I sort of blacked out and I don't really remember much of that walk. This one, however, was different. My emotions took over with no warning or provocation. Unfortunately my mother and sister were home with me. Though I tried to get out of the house without them noticing, my older sister saw me crying.
Now, my sister is emotionally retarded (not trying to use the term as a bash on those with special needs.) So she made the whole situation worse by asking me why I was crying and, when I couldn't answer, told me that it was stupid of me to be crying. By then I had started hyperventilating and my mom joined us in the kitchen. I can't remember what happened between then and my mother and I ending up on the porch but I do know there was a lot of yelling, based on how raw my throat was.
When my mom got me alone on the front porch, she asked me why I was so upset. I replied that I couldn't tell her.
About an hour out there, just talking, I trusted my mom more than my judgement, and I told her how and when I was going to kill myself. My mom isn't very good at the whole empathy thing so she didn't help much. But just telling someone lifted a weight off my shoulders that I didn't know I was carrying. I saved my own life by speaking up. No one said anything that could have changed my mind except me.
Since then, I took a semester off college, started a less stressful job, and took care of myself. I'm in college again now, away from the campus that holds painful memories for me, and I'm loving it. I started part time at the community college and now I am working back up to full time study.
I love to learn. I always have. But I forgot for a while and I lost sight of myself. The scholar in me died and I almost followed, but I am glad to be here and I am glad to revive my passion for education.
