Reflections

As I reflect on this past year, it has been a time of ups and downs – but mostly downs. This year was very similar to my senior year of high school. It feels a bit like déjà vu.

I’m not shy about my experiences with depression and anxiety. At least not anymore. When I first experienced a depressive episode my senior year of high school, I didn’t really tell anyone about it. I knew that my friends could tell that something was wrong, but they couldn’t quite pin it down. I would not allow them to sense my weakness. I barely let my parents in on the issue. When I nonchalantly mentioned “Oh should I consider seeing a psychiatrist?” they thought I was overreacting and just a little stressed with applying to college. I was very good at hiding the issue so they thought I was going going through some kind of phase. And I don’t blame them. It’s hard for someone to put the pieces together when the signs aren’t exactly clear.

The only person who really knew that I was constantly struggling with self-motivation, general happiness, and finding pleasure in virtually any aspect of life was my guidance counselor. She was my saving grace that year. She sat there and listened to me talk about anything I felt I needed to say. She asked me so many questions about how I was feeling and how long I felt that way. Now I know that she was basically going through a checklist of depressive symptoms.

That year was full of tears late at night in my room, staying up late because I couldn’t fall asleep, waking up late because I physically could not get out of bed, and general displeasure with everyone around me. Last semester felt a lot like that.

I wanted to scream. I wanted people to just leave me alone. I wanted to leave school. I quit one of my jobs on campus because I decided that I would rather lie in my bed than go do that job. I could not find the motivation to do my schoolwork or to hang out with my best friends without feeling like I was dragging everyone down just by being there.

One long weekend, I went home on a Thursday with the intention to return to school Sunday afternoon. I didn’t go back to school until the next Monday. I missed a class that morning, but I didn’t care. I woke up that Sunday to head back to school, and my dad had already made me breakfast, as he does every time I’m about to drive back to school. I could not get out of my bed. I texted him to let him know that I would be leaving a couple hours later than planned…those couple of hours turned into the next morning.

I woke up crying, and I kept saying “I can’t do it. I can’t go back to school.” I felt like my world was falling apart. My dad just held me while I cried. I cancelled a meeting that was planned for later that evening, and I took one more day for myself.

That weekend was a rough wakeup call for me. I made it back to school that Monday morning and I played it off like I just needed to spend time with my family, which I did. But since then, I’ve been feeling better. This semester was probably one of my best. I didn’t have many classes, so I wasn’t bogged down and stressed by schoolwork 24/7, and I spent a lot of time with my friends without feeling like a total buzzkill.

The time I spent reflecting has made it really hard to grasp that I’m graduating in a little over a week. Never again will my group of friends be so close and all in the same place at once. I will have to start over, and it won’t be as easy as it was in college. Friends out of convenience don’t really appear when you’re a true adult. You have to try, and I’m terrified. The thought of leaving this bubble has triggered some depressive feelings.

I can only hope that after I graduate, I will develop a group of friends/family who will understand me. I’m trying to stay positive. I don’t want to slip back into any kind of depressive state, but I know it’s possible.

Here’s to a new chapter in my life and the excitement of going into the unknown.