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When I was a senior in high school, the thought of college was horrible. It was terrifying. I'm not quite sure why, but I know that the mere mention of it would be enough to make me burst into tears. Perhaps I was worried about the complete change that awaited me - the "great unknown." I'm sure I also worried about the impact it would have on my relationships: I had amazing friends in high school and I was terrified of us growing apart as we all relocated across the country (and, in some cases, across the globe) away from each other. In the end, I applied to a variety of schools (including one internationally) and chose the school I would eventually attend at random. I might as well have thrown a dart at a map. The first time I stepped foot on Washington State soil was when I stepped out of my car, after a grueling 8-day drive from Maryland, just a few days before my freshman orientation.
I cannot say what I expected. College was...unknown. In a lot of ways, the increased freedom was intoxicating. I could work, I could sleep, I could attend classes (or not) - as long as I got what needed done done then there was little problem. This isn't to say that I skipped often or anything like that - but my high school had been especially strict in a lot of ways that college simply wasn't and I felt, at last, like maybe I was "growing up." I had classes that actually challenged me and instructors that expected great things from me. Most of the time, I realized that I was happier than I thought I'd ever be. Though, |
of course, there were also times that I wish I was free from it. The increased work-load had curtailed much of the free time I had enjoyed in high school and my blossoming interests in other activities (like sewing and dancing) or the time I had available to interact with the friends I was making through couchsurfing was being sucked up in a rush of homework and straight-up work (at it's worst point, during my third year at the University, I was working four jobs while attending school). But at the same time, the increased independence (extended to monetary independence) had taught me that there was a lot more to life and what I could do with it than I may have thought. This culminated in a trip to South Africa for a study abroad program with the linguistics department. I applied for the program, was accepted, purchased tickets and textbooks and paid for the tuition from my savings on my own. I didn't inform my parents of the trip at all until two weeks before I was to depart for New York
for my transferring flight to Cairo and finally to Johannesburg.
My past year at the University, however, has been increasingly difficult. Personal losses in the middle of spring quarter of my fourth year set me on a bit of a tailspin. I was struggling to maintain the standard of my work, scraping by with as little as possible and nearly failing one of my courses. Since then, I have been battling a war against depression and anxiety which has been a roller coaster, sneaking up at strange and entirely unwelcome/inconvenient times. I was unsure whether my experiences and emotions were truly valid excuses for what I had perceived as my increasing failures and so I tried to keep going silently - accepting the consequences as they came. However, the unexpected support I have received from my therapist, family, friends, employers, and teachers (as well as my dog, Eisley, who is a registered emotional support animal) has helped me to continue moving forward in a more positive way - and I learned that the first step towards living with my mental illness was admitting its existence and working with those around me to best keep me on track when I am unsure of my own ability to move forward. Now I am wrapping up my time at the university and preparing for the next great adventure - whatever that may be! |