(no subject)
Looking at the post from November 12, 2007 lets me know for sure something I'd been speculating all along. The end of fall semester 2007 was where I finally broke.
I've been unhappy a long time. But in most ways it just fell like general moody teen unhappiness. I just figured I was a little bit more over the top with it than other people. I like the drama, maybe, I thought. But after high school I figured I could change and I did for a while. I was still moody and angry and sad and whatever else, but that goes along with the college adjustment. And it was a huge adjustment. Despite being so close to home, it's an entirely different environment. But after awhile I made peace with it, then grew to love it, and despite all its flaws it's in my heart forever now.
I was doing my work. I was well on my way to a 4.0 fall semester, if it hadn't been for Physics. That, by the way, I cannot attribute to anything but the fact that I just didn't do well in Physics. I tried, and that makes me feel okay about my grade. But, yeah, I was doing well enough that semester that it didn't matter that I was going batshit insane towards the end of it. The grades were all but on the transcript, practically.
I slipped hard this semester. I had a geniune interest in every single one of my classes, but my mind was telling me it would be a better idea to stay in bed. Then it told me it would be a better idea to kill myself. So I spent a lot of time sleeping not to think about anything, or crying instead of getting shit done, or thinking of ways to kill myself that wouldn't end instead in permanent damage and a 72 hour stay in the hospital.
That, by the way, is the sad and funny part. I didn't kill myself because I knew it wouldn't work, statistically, not because I didn't want to die.
I found myself at the Student Health center, and I found myself in therapy, and then I found myself taking drugs everyday to make me feel like I had a grip on shit again. I'm a psych major, so I know there are psychologists and detractors and even some psychiatrists who don't think they work. But they are for me, so basically I don't give a shit what their meta analyses of reviews of multicenter randomized placebo controlled trials of whatever say.
Anyway, I feel like I know too much about this stuff to say I'm legitimately crazy. I think I just had shit I took too long to deal with and my overall personality combined with my anxiety about school and my tenacity to do well and I exploded and nearly died.
I haven't posted in a long, long time, but reading that entry just made it feel so clear. On Sunday I'm returning to Duke for the Mechanisms of Behavior program. I'm viewing this as a test of recovery. If I do well in spite of not knowing a lot about lab research, and if I don't fall apart like I did/wanted to last summer, then I'll know I'm going to be okay.
Also, despite everything, I still set the curve for my Chem final. So suck it.
I've been unhappy a long time. But in most ways it just fell like general moody teen unhappiness. I just figured I was a little bit more over the top with it than other people. I like the drama, maybe, I thought. But after high school I figured I could change and I did for a while. I was still moody and angry and sad and whatever else, but that goes along with the college adjustment. And it was a huge adjustment. Despite being so close to home, it's an entirely different environment. But after awhile I made peace with it, then grew to love it, and despite all its flaws it's in my heart forever now.
I was doing my work. I was well on my way to a 4.0 fall semester, if it hadn't been for Physics. That, by the way, I cannot attribute to anything but the fact that I just didn't do well in Physics. I tried, and that makes me feel okay about my grade. But, yeah, I was doing well enough that semester that it didn't matter that I was going batshit insane towards the end of it. The grades were all but on the transcript, practically.
I slipped hard this semester. I had a geniune interest in every single one of my classes, but my mind was telling me it would be a better idea to stay in bed. Then it told me it would be a better idea to kill myself. So I spent a lot of time sleeping not to think about anything, or crying instead of getting shit done, or thinking of ways to kill myself that wouldn't end instead in permanent damage and a 72 hour stay in the hospital.
That, by the way, is the sad and funny part. I didn't kill myself because I knew it wouldn't work, statistically, not because I didn't want to die.
I found myself at the Student Health center, and I found myself in therapy, and then I found myself taking drugs everyday to make me feel like I had a grip on shit again. I'm a psych major, so I know there are psychologists and detractors and even some psychiatrists who don't think they work. But they are for me, so basically I don't give a shit what their meta analyses of reviews of multicenter randomized placebo controlled trials of whatever say.
Anyway, I feel like I know too much about this stuff to say I'm legitimately crazy. I think I just had shit I took too long to deal with and my overall personality combined with my anxiety about school and my tenacity to do well and I exploded and nearly died.
I haven't posted in a long, long time, but reading that entry just made it feel so clear. On Sunday I'm returning to Duke for the Mechanisms of Behavior program. I'm viewing this as a test of recovery. If I do well in spite of not knowing a lot about lab research, and if I don't fall apart like I did/wanted to last summer, then I'll know I'm going to be okay.
Also, despite everything, I still set the curve for my Chem final. So suck it.