This semester has been the hardest on me thus far. I’ve wanted to quit. I’ve wanted to change majors and follow a different path. I’ve gone so far as to calling other schools to transfer. I’m not doing well in one of my prerequisite classes that I really need to continue with my degree. Last Friday was the drop date for all classes and I heavily considered dropping this one and starting over. Not sure if I would have done better had I gone that route. I decided to stay and give it my all as there is a chance that I could still pass the class.
I’ve felt better about my decision. I look in the mirror and I look at old pictures of myself and I remember why I wanted to become a psychologist. As hard is this journey is and despite all the tears it has caused me and will continue to cause me, I feel this is something I have to do. It’s imperative. I’ve struggled with depression, anxiety, and eating disorders since I was 11 years old. I can count on my hand how many people are even aware of this until now. I still struggle to this day, but I’m beginning to have a better understanding of it. I was never treated for it until I became an adult because my parents don’t understand mood disorders and did not believe there was anything wrong with me. Although there were plenty of causes. Even as an adult it still hasn’t been properly and consistently treated. That is something I’m still working on.
I know what it’s like to suffer silently. I know what it’s like to reach out for help and to have your hand slapped. I know what it’s like to be afraid or angry or sad and not know why. I have to help the young girls and boys who are feeling what I felt so that they don’t become what I have. So they don’t have to go through the mental anguish I still suffer. When I get into my moods or have an episode and want to run away I force myself to remember why I started. Why I wouldn’t know what else to do if I wasn’t doing this. I almost always gets As on any paper I write or presentation I give for my psychology or even sociology classes because I choose topics that I know firsthand about. Talking about it comes naturally. My peers and professors don’t know that I know I’ve experienced these things myself. In presentations I’ve had to hold back tears as I’m reliving past situation, saying they I knew a girl who went through this. Of course, I never tell them that I am that girl.
Nonetheless, no matter how tired and stretched out I get I have to continue so that I can help them.
this was all a figment of my imagination,
eighteen year old lust
But then we speak
and I hear the softness
in the way you speak my name
and I’m not so sure
my last word will probably be either “whoops” or “shit”
Life hack: Die to get out of your student loan debt
- things we hated as children: being spanked and naps
- things we love as adults: being spanked and naps