The Month of Admission Counselor Hell

Before September, I had very little experience traveling for work. During my internship last year I got a taste of what it’s like to travel on the company’s dime, but three university visits and a two-day trip to Germany with colleagues did not prepare me in the slightest for what constitutes an admission counselor’s fall travel season. Having survived the 10th month of the year, I officially declare October the Month of Admission Counselor Hell.

Why Hell, you ask? Well, let me tell you. October is prime time for colleges to really push themselves to prospective students. So every traveling admission counselor has a full month of high school visits and college fairs. But on top of that, there are open houses to staff, applications to read, interviews to conduct, emails to answer, and phone calls to make. Not to mention reschedules for any of the things that go wrong during regular travel. October is Hell because we have all of those things on our plate. And we’re only physically in the office for one day a week to handle it all. It took me less than a week to begin feeling like a character in Dante’s Inferno…

In some ways it feels like I’ve never done anything other than promote my college. In others, it feels like I’m still the greenest counselor out there. Here are some of my travel experiences that I think are worth mentioning:

People in Central PA are much less friendly than you’d expect. And people in Long Island are much more friendly than you would believe.
- Confederate flags. Confederate flags everywhere
Plans outside of work? What are those? Are there actually people who don’t live in a strange state of travel-induced limbo and have the time to do things they enjoy? That must be really nice. But since I often dream about visiting high schools, I can’t imagine it.
Driving by myself all the time has caused me to forget how to act like a normal human being while in a car. I apologize for the second-hand embarrassment I will undoubtedly cause anyone who shares a ride with me in the future.
- What do you mean I’m not supposed to sing this song at the top of my lungs while also doing a strange stunted driver seat interpretive dance?
My rental car looks like I LIVE in it. Empty water bottles, a box of tissues, CDs, extra power cords, pens, promotion publications, a carrier bag filled with all the random hand-held food you could imagine, gloves, jackets, extra shoes, panty hose, a mini cooler…all things that can be found in my back seat. Even though I don’t actually live in that car, I probably could if it came down to it…
Being in the office one day a week is sort of like a warped version of the cornucopia at the beginning of the Hunger Games. Quick, you need to get those copies made! But don’t forget about your expense report! And there are swarms of angry applications buzzing all around the office. But look! You haven’t seen that coworker in 6 days and they always tell the best road stories! And suddenly there’s only an hour left until your next meeting- How are you ever going to be done it all by 5:00?!
It will take a shockingly short amount of time to memorize where all the free wifi spots in your travel territory are. Anyone up for a Starbucks? How about some Panera? No? Well, too bad, because I’ve got work to do and those places have reliable internet.
- I didn’t even like Starbucks before this travel season started. Now I catch myself daydreaming about pumpkin scones and lemon loaf.
Having an 18-wheeler blow a tire in front of you on the Turnpike is a very startling experience indeed.
On a related note, car accidents are terrifying. Even if it’s a minor incident and no one else is involved.
And on an even more closely related note, having anxiety and traveling a lot for work don’t always mix well.
- Imagine crying in high school parking lots. And yelling at your GPS. And over-analyzing just exactly WHY that counselor/student/parent/random stranger was so awful to you. And wanting to turn around, go home, and crawl into bed forever. It’s kind of like that.
Students and parents will ask you the weirdest questions. But the ones that don’t ask you something strange will ask you the same things. Over and over and over again.
- Anyone want to know about study abroad? How about our pre-med program? Fashion? Business? Student to faculty ratio? Dorm rooms? No? Well, that’s too bad because I probably talk about this stuff in my sleep.
Hotel room upgrades are a beautiful thing. As are free hot breakfasts.
There will be rough days. You’ll be late to one visit, no one will show up to the next, a counselor will be mean at the third, and a student will be rude at the fourth. Then you’ll end the day with a fair where you only talk to three families. You’ll go to bed thinking that there’s no way you’ll be able to make your living doing this.
- But the next day? The next day you’ll meet an absolutely awe-inspiring student and you’ll have a conversation with a counselor who’s been working at the same school for 20 years, but somehow hasn’t become jaded. You’ll feel good about yourself at the end of that day. And the next week, you’ll be back in the office, and an application for that amazing student will come across your desk. And making that accept phone call will be the best part of your day.

So what do you think of my first travel season? I’ve had more near and actual nervous breakdowns than I’d like to recount. I’ve had passive aggressive arguments with coworkers and I’ve complained to those close to me more often than I’d like to admit. It was a rough two months.

But you know what? It’s almost over. Right now, as I type, I only have three visits standing between me and the end of fall travel. And that is an exciting prospect.

I know that the end of travel season doesn’t mean the end of my troubles, but it does mean one accomplishment ticked off my list. I still have a lot to learn, but at least I know that next fall I’ll be tackling travel with some experience under my belt.

Several people have described my job as cyclical. You do one thing until you feel like you can never do that thing again. And then you switch. You start doing another thing and you continue at it until it makes you nauseous. That’s where I am right now. I feel like I’ve been visiting high schools for my entire life. But you know what? In less than a month that will all be over. It’ll be on to applications and interviews and scholarship planning.

And is that terrifying? Does the feeling that I’m going to feel green for an entire year make me extremely nervous? Sure it does. I know that there will be a lot more near and actual nervous breakdowns in my future. And some of those arguments will stray into the actual-aggressive territory. And I’m going to apologize right now to the ones close to me- that complaining isn’t going to end any time soon.

But even though all of that is true, and there are a lot of scary things waiting in my future, I can continue to remind myself that I survived the Month of Admission Counselor Hell. And if I could survive the first cycle, there’s nothing holding me back from surviving the next.

I’ve been alive for a quarter century

I get really excited about other people’s birthdays because I think the chance to celebrate another person’s existence is amazing. I love the idea of having an entire day to be happy for someone, about someone. I’ve always felt this way.

When I was little, I loved my birthday, too. My mom always threw a small party with family and two friends that I got to choose. Mom would make snacks and Grammy would make food and we would order a cake from the grocery store. Every year I thought long and hard about the theme. One year was Rugrats. Another was PowerPuff Girls. Later the theme was Harry Potter.

As the years went on, I got less and less excited for my birthday. I still loved to celebrate others, but October 18th just didn’t have the same appeal for me anymore. Sometimes I wonder why. Is it just that getting older really did make things less exciting?

Last year on my birthday I was still in a pretty rough place. I was desperately trying to find a job that would allow me to stay in the country. It was close enough to my visa expiration date that the people at home were starting to get excited about the prospect of seeing me again. But I wasn’t nearly as thrilled as everyone else. I was kind of dreading coming back home and seeing all those people again. A lot had changed in the year I was gone and I was desperately afraid of disappointing the ones close to me.

But I had a friend who wanted to make my birthday a special day. In fact, since my birthday was on a Saturday, she wanted to make the weekend a special weekend. On Saturday we toured Bletchley Park, went shopping, and ended the night with Thai food. We spent Sunday in Stratford-upon-Avon and she humored my geeky Shakespeare obsession. That day ended with gelato in a little ice cream shop. It was a fun weekend away and I didn’t have to worry about my imminent departure.

This year, my birthday snuck up on me. With all the adjusting involved in my new job, and the fact that I’ve been on the road for the majority of the past month, I was genuinely surprised when I realized the date at the beginning of the week. I thought ‘Oh hey, my birthday is this weekend. Imagine that.’

So am I doing anything fun? No, I’m doing the same thing that kept me from realizing it was my birthday in the first place: working. I’m driving to Long Island, to be specific, and getting ready for a week of high school visits and college fairs. Yesterday I had to ask my mom the date. She looked at me funny and said, ‘October 17th. You know, the day before you were born?’ I replied, ‘Oh yeah.’

While I’m not excited about my birthday this year, I am kind of freaked out over the prospect of turning 25. I’ve been on this earth for a quarter of a century now, and I don’t feel as if I’ve really accomplished anything worth while. Yes, I’ve done exciting things in my life, but I don’t think I’ve done anything really substantial. Anything that’s made the world a better place for my being in it.

On the verge of turning 25 I am—

-No longer unemployed, which is definitely a good thing
but
-I live at home
because
-I pay ~~honestly more than you want to know every month in~~ student loans

-I’ve made some amazing friends in my lifetime
but
-I’m finally at the age when people are starting to look at me funny after I tell them I’m single and don’t have any plans in the works to start a family

In all honesty, I feel like I’m stuck in a never-ending transitory period. Everything since high school graduation has been a build-up for entering the ‘real world,’ but now that I’m supposedly there, I still feel as if I’m working up to some type of unknown goal. I think I feel this way because the ‘real world’ is changing.

The real world is no longer a white picket fence, a husband, 2.5 kids, and a job where you earn 70% of what said husband earns. I think the only realistic bit about the ‘old’ real world is the 70% wages…

I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to afford my own house. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel financially stable enough to start a family. Right now, I can’t even imagine having my student loans paid off, and with every student loan check that I write, owning a car feels more and more like a pipe dream. So while I often feel a bit like Debbie Downer, just as often I feel like this new ‘real world’ I find myself in warrants a bit of practical thinking.

My aunt sent me a birthday card this week, and when I opened it, I thought ‘Oh my gosh, a check! Now I don’t have to feel so guilty about those Batman underwear I bought.’ And I think that is an apt summary of the world twenty-somethings are finding themselves in today. We’re fighting tooth and nail to make something of ourselves, even though the odds are stacked almost insurmountably against us.

So what am I going to do, now that I’m 25? The lure of being grumpy and depressed about my current situation is strong, but I still want to make something of myself. I still want this world to be a better place because I’m in it…

This year, I’m definitely going to keep fighting. I’m going to continue to try to make a difference in this world and I’m going to try my hardest to not be Debbie Downer. Maybe most importantly, I need to remember that I’m fighting for something entirely different than the generations that have come before me. And when it comes to the little things, like those superfluous Batman underwear, I’m going to try to remember that even if I don’t strictly need them, it’s often the little things that have the ability to brighten your day.

So go forth, all of my fellow twenty-somethings, and fight to be successful in your own personal real world. Try to make your world a better place. And if you get frustrated, remember that you’re not in it alone. Remember all the other twenty-somethings out there, fighting the same fight. And if you’re ever feeling especially down, Target usually has a nice selection of superfluous things that will brighten your day just the tiniest bit you need to keep on fighting.

A Different Way of Thinking

Author’s note: This post was written a few weeks back, right after finishing my second week on the job. I’m hoping to update more consistently (yes, I hear your disbelieving snickers out there), but please bear with me as I try to figure out this whole work-life balance thing. Happy reading!

So it’s the post you’ve all been waiting for! After nine months of feeling sorry for myself, this unemployed 24-year-old found a job!

In late June a previous supervisor emailed me with the information for a position opening at my alma mater. So I scrambled to put together a ‘perfect’ resume and cover letter and hand delivered said documents to the woman in charge of the search committee. Two and a half weeks later, after a 4-hour long interview process and a lot of tense waiting, I accepted an offer to work as an admission counselor with a fellow alum and the woman I worked with as my scholarship coordinator during my time as an undergrad.

So far I’ve survived two weeks on the job. It’s been a lot of training, a lot of learning, some frustration, and a few small moments of ‘Oh my God what have I gotten myself into?’

I’m still not 100% sure what I’ve gotten myself into. This job seems like it could go either way: an extremely rewarding, but ridiculously time consuming, opportunity for me to actually make a difference in students’ lives … or hell, basically. The amount of uncompensated overtime I’m required to work is unbelievable. And my salary just squeaks in over the living wage for my state. (Whether or not the job turns out to be rewarding, things are going to be tough financially for the foreseeable future…I just have to keep reminding myself that this paycheck is better than the nonexistent paycheck I received while unemployed.)

But on to more positive things… Some aspects of my new job are really wonderful. My mentor has worked meticulously to help me and make sure I’m not feeling too overwhelmed throughout all this training. ALSO he’s an alum, so the advice he can give me is extra-relevant.

In general, the office is super accommodating and helpful. Everyone from the Director of Enrollment to the Visit Coordinator to the Data Specialists upstairs has asked me several times how things are going and they check in often, sometimes just to make conversation.

All of the counselors seem to be really close and I think that is of paramount importance in the office. From what I’m gathering, we’re a group of overworked and under-payed young people who stay in the job because we love what we do. I know that I’m going to have moments over this next year when I feel like I’m at the end of my tether. I’m going to get lost during travel season. I’m going to be overwhelmed while planning receptions or coordinating interview schedules. I’m going to want to pull out my hair after reading the 60th application of the day and realizing I still have 50 more to complete by the end of the day. But I won’t be the only one feeling these things. The other counselors will have their own moments of frustration, but we’ll be there for each other since we’re all in the same boat.

And, on a personal note, I’m working somewhere I know and love. During my time as a student at Albright, I grew and learned and met wonderful people and pursued experiences that changed me for the better.

So yes, so far it seems like there are a lot of good things about my workplace. It’s possible that I’ll be able to do great things and help a lot of people in this position. But I think I would be remiss not to note something else in this post. I was extremely hesitant to apply for this job. Once I started to realize I wanted to pursue a career in higher ed, I said to myself, “Never admission. I never want to be one of those fake smiling people standing behind a table and doing anything they can to lure students to their institution.”

Needless to say, when I was offered the interview and then accepted the position, I had quite the internal battle. I felt like I had no choice but to accept. Who says no to the only job offer you receive? Who turns down a full-time job when your health insurance is soon to run out? I had a lot of thinking to do.

And do you know what I realized? In a way, I was correct in my original assumption. I still don’t want to be one of those fake smiling people standing behind a table and making promises to students that they can’t keep. And if I turn into one of those, I’ll have to look elsewhere for employment. But I don’t think I have to be one of those toothy admission monsters.

I realized that my successes in this job probably won’t come from talking facts and statistics. My successes will stem from truthful interactions and personalized conversations. My goal isn’t to recruit every student who walks past my table. I know that not all students want what Albright has to offer. Some students want huge universities, or engineering programs, or schools in a big city, and I respect that. Albright is not for those students.

I refuse to lie to students or tell them that ‘my’ institution is the be-all, end-all best. But when I was a student, Albright was the be-all, end-all best for me. And I bet there are other students out there right now who are like 16-year-old me. Students who will benefit from the things I benefited from. Students who are looking for a particular college experience. I genuinely enjoyed my time at Albright and in this new position, I will try to find others who will do the same. My goal is to help share the Albright experience with those people who will appreciate it as much as I did.

Is that an incredibly naive way to think about admission counseling? Maybe. Will I try my absolute hardest to maintain my ideals while also doing my job? You bet. Hopefully this gainfully-employed 24-year-old will have several success stories to tell. So stay tuned and think of me the next time you see an advertisement for a college fair. And if you’re in my area, pop by and check out the A’s. I might just be there, sharing my stories and looking for students who will love Albright as much as I do.

Validity

I had two moles removed from my back last Tuesday, and the ensuing days have been a constant struggle to keep my mouth shut and not complain. Leading up to the surgery I told everyone how minor of a procedure it is. “In and out” were the words that I used most often. I said “It’s just a precaution” and “They’re both really tiny” a lot, too. And ultimately, I was right. The whole visit took less than two hours and most of that was waiting around for the local anesthesia to kick in. I couldn’t feel the excisions at all. Then it was a simple matter of keeping the dressing on for two days and starting a twice-a-day cleaning routine. Not a big deal…

The pathology results came back Friday and I found out that both moles showed ‘cellular atypia.’ From what the nurse (and a bunch of websites, because you know I can’t leave well enough alone) said, cellular atypia may progress into cancer in the future. But both moles were completely excised, as opposed to biopsied, so I have nothing to worry about. Everything is completely okay.

So. End of story. Cleanse wounds twice a day, watch for infection, move on with my life.

But you know what? I want to complain a little bit. I’ve never had anything like this done before. This was a real surgery, no matter how minor. And the results came back less than perfect, even if the doctor did completely remove any questionable bits to get said results…

I want to whine that the little holes on my back twinge every time I move wrong and that the prescribed hydrogen peroxide burns like hell when applied. I want to bemoan the fact that I can’t bend down or reach sideways without pain. I want to rage a little bit that the skin on my back is completely ripped up from changing the gauze twice a day.

So I got to thinking. Why haven’t I been complaining at all this week? Why have I been doing everything in my power to downplay this whole thing? Here’s what I came up with…

After this procedure, I kept thinking about how well I felt I was treated by the doctor, the nurses, and the staff. They were extremely accommodating and they did everything in their power to make sure I was comfortable- an extra drape on the table because it was chilly, a modified half gown since I had to be bare from the waist up, two stress balls to squeeze while they injected the anesthetic. Little things, really, but they made a big difference. While the doctor marked off the areas she was going to remove, she kept rubbing my leg and explaining what she was doing. The nurse rubbed my arm and asked me several times throughout the short procedure if I was alright. Yes, the procedure was short and easy, but the people at the office made it that way.

I’ve been seeing this dermatologist for about 13 years, so I thought maybe that was the reason everyone was so kind. I imagine if you see someone once a month from the time they are a pimply little awkward pre-teen, you might get a bit attached to them. But then I thought (and this may be a bit naive of me me but…) isn’t that how medical professionals are supposed to act? You know, bedside manner and healing people and all that jazz? Aren’t you supposed to feel comfortable with the people you trust with your health?

I don’t know what kind of medical experiences people out there have had, but speaking just for me, I’ve had some pretty bad encounters with doctors.

Throughout my life, my physical health has been pretty good. Sure, I’ve had my share of bumps in the road and health problems, but who hasn’t? I’ve never been the type to run to the doctor for every minor issue, and I’ve always kept up with my necessary yearly exams. Keeping that in mind, I’m not sure why doctors have always been so awful towards me.

When I was about 7, my pediatrician told me I would have to get a mole on my arm removed, but it was “way too big and a much more serious procedure then they could handle.” So, being 7, I was appropriately terrified. The doctor I was sent to wouldn’t perform any procedures without doing his own skin check first. All I remember of that traumatizing day is crying while standing in nothing but underwear in front of a strange man who yelled at me for crying and then said “I’m certainly not going to perform an operation on you if you can’t take this seriously.” The offending mole remains on my arm to this day.

At 15 I had pains in my lower abdomen that were so bad I couldn’t get up off the couch for almost 12 hours. When I went to the doctor I was told I might have kidney stones, but they couldn’t do anything. I should come back in a few days if the pain continued. The pain continued. During the second visit, the (male) doctor had these words of wisdom for me:

“I know you don’t drive yet, but there’s this thing that happens when you drive. You’re driving along, and you see a cop car on the side of the road. Now, you know you haven’t done anything wrong- you’re going the speed limit, you haven’t gone through any red lights- but you panic anyway. That’s what you are experiencing.”

If a doctor said that to me today, I think I would murder him with my bare hands. Really? What are you trying to say? Are you saying that I think I’m getting my period? (I’ve been getting that since I was 13, thanks.) Are you saying I’m experiencing some type of false pregnancy? What exactly are you trying to say to me with your bad driving metaphor? Oh, you’re saying I’m making this up, right? You’re saying that there’s nothing wrong with me and this pain that I’m having isn’t real.

After that lovely encounter my mom took me to a gynecologist, who proceeded by sending me for an ultrasound. There were three cysts on my ovaries that had burst. I was diagnosed with poly-cystic ovarian syndrome and sent along my way with a prescription for birth control.

Those two stories are simply the two most extreme of my encounters with doctors. All of the things like snide remarks about my body type, questionable exams, and generally being ignored barely merit mentioning.

So back to my original question- Why haven’t I been complaining at all this week? I think that I’ve been trained (by medical professionals, no less) into downplaying any and all of my physical ailments. I think that keeping my mouth shut is the product of a lifetime of being told that nothing is wrong with me.

Now here I sit, leaned slightly to one side as to not bump my wounds, my back sore and itchy, thinking… How am I going to act the next time something like this happens? The next time I’m really sick, or the next time I have to get some type of surgery, what am I going to tell friends and family? This time I hid it. I told as few people as possible beforehand and I’ve kept it as almost a secret afterwards. I don’t think I’ll do that again. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not going to shout it from the rooftops. But I’m not going to hide it either.

My name is Rebecca and both my health and my body are valid.

Anxious and Unemployed

Do you ever just sit outside at night, look up at the stars, and know basically nothing about the world you live in?

— Night Vale podcast (@NightValeRadio) February 10, 2015

Prolonged unemployment is more overwhelming than anyone who hasn’t experienced it could ever imagine. It’s not just the lack of a job. It’s constantly thinking about cover letters and resumes, dealing with all the people around you who don’t understand why you don’t just ‘send out some resumes,’ and feeling more and more inadequate every time you watch a closing date pass without a word. For me, it didn’t take long to start feeling like a complete, good for nothing, waste of space.

I’ve been working hard to keep myself together, but about two weeks ago I was laying in bed when I realized that I’m falling back into old habits. Insomnia, not eating or really taking care of myself, more and more destructive thoughts…The things that I’ve been working to keep away, basically.

Last Tuesday, I was given a tiny reprieve. An employer offered me a phone interview and it was a job I really wanted. Long story short, for two days, I was completely consumed with that interview. The interview happened. It didn’t go well. But I was less upset than I could have been, because I felt like someone had noticed me. All those resumes and electronic forms and someone finally noticed me. It was a tiny boost that I sorely needed. And I’m glad for that, because after what happened this weekend, I probably would have had a complete mental breakdown if I was still as entrenched in that ‘waste of space’ mindset.

My plan for this past weekend was a pretty simple one. Job applications. There were three position opening notifications sitting in my inbox that I wanted to tackle before Monday rolled around. I had an appointment for a haircut on Saturday, but I was planning on spending most of the weekend lost in resume-land, floating on the currents left behind after my disastrous phone interview.

On Saturday, a friend left her wife. This is the same friend who was living in my room while I was in England. It seems as if her impulse wedding wasn’t actually a good idea, and she finally had enough of being treated badly. Cue my mom and I awake until 4am, texting and calling with said friend. She announced in a Xanex-fueled breakdown that she would be over on Sunday with a suitcase.

And guess what? She was. I’m outside shoveling snow in the record low temperatures, and up rolls a familiar Fiat. She drops her stuff in the living room with a promise to be back soon with some clothes and essentials.

It’s 10am. I don’t think my mom and I had gotten 8 hours between us the previous night. We spend the afternoon clearing out the downstairs room so our friend can put up an air mattress. And it was a lot of work finding new homes for all the things that used to live in that room. My bedroom looks like a storage unit now.

I feel I need to make a disclosure. I’m really glad that our friend has somewhere to stay. I’m glad she doesn’t have to stay in an abusive relationship. I am. Really. But I’m so overwhelmed right now, and if I admit it, I’m a bit afraid.

It’s hard to explain what exactly I’m feeling…so here’s a bit of back story I will use to try to hash out my feelings.

When I was in England, our friend (I’m going to call her Susan, just to make things easier) separated from her partner of 7 years. Her partner was physically and emotionally abusive, and my mom told Susan that if she wanted to get out, she could stay with her. So in the spring, Susan moved into my room. The separation was brutal. Susan lost almost everything- her house, her pets, her belongings, her friends. There were very few things she was able to salvage. To this day, the whole thing still isn’t sorted out. Attorneys and arbitration really are time-consuming.

In late July, Susan met someone on an online dating site. They spent almost every minute for two weeks together, the other woman went on vacation for two weeks, and then Susan moved in with her. They were engaged in the fall and married on Christmas Eve. There were red flags from the beginning of this relationship, but Susan’s an adult, and as proven, will do whatever she wants.

Apparently those red flags didn’t go away, but escalated, because Susan is sleeping a floor below me right now. Today she changed all of her addresses and yesterday she was talking about movers.

I think it would be fair to say that Susan is a bit un-tethered at the moment. But the problem with un-tethered Susan (and where my feelings come into play) is that un-tethered Susan is a bit of a loose cannon. Un-tethered Susan has been known to make extremely hurtful remarks, both off-hand and on a few memorable occasions, directly at me.

You see, I made the mistake of telling her, way back when I first got home, how unhappy I was and how nervous I am about my future. I’d like to think it was an honest mistake- we were pretty good friends before I left for England, and she asked me, genuinely, how I was doing. Less than a week later, I hear about how much she can’t stand when ‘people unload all of their problems’ on her.

Whether or not she said that with me in mind, that was the end of me telling her anything about my well-being. One thing people should, but really don’t, know about me is that I have some massive trust issues. I always have. I don’t let others in easily, and when I do, it’s because that person is important to me. And it doesn’t take a lot to break that trust. I know how messed up it is, but I would much rather fall back on being alone than constantly open myself up to being hurt.

I let Susan have her little breakdown. My mom works with Susan (that’s how we all met), and I continued to hear the mean things she said about other people. I brought it up to my mom and her response was ‘Sometimes when a person is depressed, they have a hard time holding it all in.’ ~~I mean, I’ve been doing a pretty damn good job of not flaying the entire world with my words, and I’ve been depressed for over a year, but this isn’t the time or the place for that argument.~~

So fast forward to two weeks ago. I’m feeling really shitty about myself. I haven’t left the house in almost a week. I’m basically the poster child for poor self-care. But it’s not like I talk about it. I force myself to shower and dress when I know that people are going to be around. I go along and mind my own business. Susan is at our house. The three of us are sitting in the living room, and for close to two hours, Susan complains/vents/talks about/however you want to word it about how awful her wife is. And it is non-stop. My mom doesn’t talk about where they work, I don’t talk about myself, it’s just Susan talking about her wife. And I’m fine with that. She can do all the talking she wants and I can sit and nod and make the appropriate noises at the appropriate times. But of course it can’t be that simple. The last thing Susan says to me before she leaves is, ‘And you think you have it bad. Just think about me the next time you are feeling awful about your life.’

Why was that necessary? I do everything I can to keep myself away from others. I make myself emotionally as small as possible so no one will notice me. And she says something like that after I dutifully sat and sympathized with her for an evening. That night was the first time I really considered a razor blade for the first time in almost 6 months.

So now Susan lives with us and not only do I feel an acute sense of uselessness, but I’m paranoid about it to boot. What if she doesn’t approve of the way I’m living my life right now? What if she starts to call me lazy or question me about everything I do? I’m quickly finding out that her questioning is like the annoying aunt I spoke about in my Christmas post last month… But I can’t get away from Susan like I can my aunt because Susan lives in my old room.

And that’s where I am right now. I covertly filled out two more job applications today- I really don’t want Susan to find out how many ‘rejections’ I’ve actually had. In some twisted way, I think I’d rather she believe I’m lazy than find out how many jobs I’ve been passed over for.

I feel the need to reiterate a point: I need to get a job so I can get out of here. I just keep telling myself that none of this is permanent…

Getting to know your blogger

As promised, here are some fun questions I answered so you can learn a little bit more about me.

If you could live anywhere, where would it be?
London. I would live in London.

What is your favorite book to read?
Right now, anything Sherlock Holmes. Currently, I’m reading The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.

What was the last movie you went to? What did you think?
The Imitation Game. It was a brilliant movie, an astonishingly important story, and I think anyone who has ever felt different should see it. I cried several times in the theater (and it was actual real crying, not just trying to hold back tears). Also, this. I think that’s extremely important, too.

If you could only eat one meal for the rest of your life, what would it be?
BREAKFAST. I love breakfast more than I love just about anything else in the entire world. Seriously, bacon and French toast and pancakes and home fries and sausage and omelettes…but also, you can have cake or pie or cookies, or…or cold pizza… Okay, so I might be cheating on this one, but I choose breakfast. (And now you all know that I have pretty atrocious eating habits :P)

Who is your favorite author?
Do I have to choose one? I feel obliged to say J.K. Rowling since Harry Potter was such a huge part of my childhood. But I also obsessed over Roald Dahl’s, Eoin Colfer’s, and Eva Ibbotson’s books when I was a kid. Now I love Stephen King and Neil Gaiman.

Have you ever had a nickname? What is it?
I pretty much let my friends call me whatever they want. They all pick a variation of Becca. I’ve been called Becca, Bec, and Bec Bec. I think I would have to draw the line at Becky, though.

What are your hobbies?
I don’t have as many hobbies as I used to, which makes me sad. The only hobby that I’ve clung to for my entire life is reading. Print books, e-books, fan works, whatever. I’ll stay awake until 3AM to read them all.And I’m a huge nerd. I’m not sure if that counts as a hobby, but I could talk for hours about certain books or TV series or movies.

BBC Sherlock’s 221 B Baker Street (187 North Gower Street, next to Speedy’s Cafe)

What is the worst gift you have received?
For one of my birthdays (Maybe 16? It was somewhere around there) my neighbor gave me a cat toy wrapped in a McDonald’s napkin. That has the potential to be funny, but it was a serious gift. He bought a teenage girl a little round cat toy with feathers and gave it to her wrapped in a fast food napkin.

If you were a super-hero, what powers would you have?
I would want to be fluent in every language. All of the spoken ones and all of the sign languages and heck, let’s be able to talk to animals, too.

What form of public transportation do you prefer? (air, boat, train, bus, car, etc.)
Trains. I love sitting in a window seat and watching the sights go by. And I think there’s something wonderful about getting lost in a book while taking the train.

What’s your favorite zoo animal?
Sloths, but I get pretty excited about red pandas, too…and when I was in Australia, I got to meet koalas, dingoes, echidnas, and wombats… That was magical. 😛

21-year-old me feeding some echidnas at the Australia Zoo

How many pillows do you sleep with?
Two

What’s the most daring thing you’ve ever done?
I’d like to say skydiving, but I was attached to a trained professional for that…so, I guess bungee jumping. In that situation I was just trusting the big elastic cord tied to my feet and the dudes who were in charge of it.

AJ Hackett Cairns

What was the last book you read?
Um…It was either Rivers of London by Ben Aaronovitch, or The Sign of Four by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I don’t remember which one I finished most recently…

How long does it take you to get ready in the morning?
It depends on what I’m getting ready for. Generally, it takes about 45 minutes – an hour to shower, dress, and do the whole bathroom hygiene/hair routine. Less time if I don’t have to wash or dry my hair…More time if I have to shave or eat breakfast.

Do you love or hate rollercoasters?
Love them. LOVE LOVE LOVE them. I rode my first roller coaster when I was seven and I’ve never looked back. I love the feeling you get on a coaster you’ve never ridden before- right at the tipping point of the first big hill when you’re sitting in the first car. You can see the entire roller coaster sprawled out before you. It’s like a huge surge of excitement and adrenaline, mixed in with that immediate self-preservation thought of “Oh shit what have I gotten myself into?!”And I love riding coasters with other people. Like, if I don’t know you well, get ready, this is going to be a bonding experience. I’m probably the hugest roller coaster screamer out there. I’m that person you hear while you are waiting in line and my screams give you butterflies but you’re too far up in the line to even consider backing out now…

Stealth at Thorpe Park Fright Nights

What’s your favorite movie?
Ugh, again with the choose one? My favorite movies are (in no particular order):
-Aladdin: One of the first Disney movies I saw in theaters. (Yes, I know I was 2 when it came out, but that was back when movies stayed in theaters forever.) I remember wanting to be Jasmine. And the beginning with Robin Williams as the street vendor made me laugh. It still does.

-The Nightmare Before Christmas: My love affair with Tim Burton and Danny Elfman began early. This is one of those movies that I look back on and think, “Wow, this should have scared me as a kid.” But it didn’t, and I still love it. Maybe I subconsciously sympathized with Sally and her yearning to get away. Nah, you’re right, probably not. It was probably the awesome stop motion claymation and the creepy-but-still-awesome singing skeleton man.

-The Great Mouse Detective: I rented this movie from Blockbuster so many times, my mom bought me my own copy. Even when I was a little kid, I remember that the scene with Ratigan and Basil on Big Ben stressed me the heck out. I loved the movie when I was little and now I can appreciate how they smushed so much Sherlock Holmes-y goodness into it. And it’s funny, because a lot of my fellow Sherlockian friends have this movie in common as a childhood favorite.

-The Princess Bride: This one doesn’t really need an explanation, does it? Instead, I’ll give you a fun fact. I love shouting “Have fun stormin’ the castle!” at people as they leave.

-Iron Man: I saw the first Iron Man movie with some of my friends who worked at the movie theater. I didn’t know I would soon be a Marvel movie junkie. Robert Downey Jr. blew me away and I loved his transformation from weapons-manufacturing-billionaire to troubled-superhero-with-a-heart. Also, Pepper Pots, badass extraordinaire.

-Pride: This one is more recent, and it hasn’t gotten nearly enough press, in my opinion. If you haven’t heard of it, here’s the gist: Welsh mining strike in the 1980’s. Really bad- people starving and the government being antagonistic. Enter Lesbians and Gays Support the Miners (LGSM), a rad group of gays and lesbians from London who start raising money for a small mining community in Wales. This movie has got everything- a coming of age story about accepting yourself and others, living during the AIDS crisis, people supporting people, tolerance, and also a butt-ton of humor. And Andrew Scott being a bookshop-owning cutie pie. I’ve seen this movie several times and I still cry happy tears.

What’s the most unusual thing you’ve ever eaten?
Probably a chocolate covered cricket in 11th grade Advanced Biology for extra credit. But I also tried alligator and kangaroo once.

Have you ever had a surprise party? (that was an actual surprise)
Yes, before I left to study abroad in Australia, my mom got a bunch of my friends and family together for a party that was the biggest surprise ever. Friends from high school and college were there, along with my family who drove all the way from Virginia to attend. There was a sheet cake with a kangaroo on it.

What is one thing you will never do again?
Date someone who doesn’t accept me for me. Or stay in a relationship after it becomes clear that things aren’t going to get better.

And some personality tests and other things you might be wondering…

Myers-Briggs: INFJ
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Kinsey Scale: 3
Hogwarts House: Hufflepuff

Growing up is confusing

Author’s note: This post was extremely difficult for me to write. The topic is as close to home as it gets, and I have a lot of conflicting feelings regarding it. So if it’s choppy, or overly emotional, I apologize. Also, because I know that the last three posts have been pretty Debby Downer, the next post is going to be one of those lame ‘Getting To Know You’ questionnaires. That post is almost complete, so you should see it in the next couple of days. As always, thanks for listening. Here goes nothing…

I’ve always had an atypical relationship with my mom.

My mom was the only constant in my life while growing up. I’m an only child. My parents were divorced before I turned 4 and my dad decided that the whole ‘fatherhood’ thing wasn’t really for him while I was in 1st grade. I lived in 6 different places before I turned ten. Although I had grandparents and neighbors and a few friends in my life, none of them were nearly as influential as my mom.

Looking back, I don’t know how my mom did it. She was a young mother, not even finished her teaching certification when I was born. She juggled both a budding teaching career- people always say that the first few years are the most difficult- and a young daughter. Now it’s clear to me that we often struggled, were never that financially well-off, but I never noticed that. My mom sheltered me from all the things that a pre-schooler should have no business worrying about. I felt as if I had the perfect life filled with homemade dinners and lots of playtime. Thinking about my childhood now, I wonder how in the world my mom ever accomplished things like lesson plans or grading homework papers and tests. She always put my happiness first.

When I got to grade school, I started to realize how atypical my lifestyle really was. When my friends were feuding with their parents and wishing they could be anywhere but home, my mom and I got along. I always saw her as my best friend. I could talk to her about things that other kids my age would never dream of sharing with their parents. She helped me through pre-teen difficulties and high school blow ups with friends. She supported me through my rocky high school relationship and subsequent break-up. When I decided I wanted to go to a private college, instead of a cheaper state school, she told me to go for it- we would figure it out. When I approached her about studying abroad my junior year, she told me that if I figured out the details, she would be behind me 100% of the way. Of course we had our ups and downs, but we never had any hugely significant fights or falling-outs. I trusted my mom more than anyone else in my life. She was my rock, and I was her’s.

Things changed while I was in England. She was having a lot of problems with work and colleagues and students and her parents and every time I talked to her it seemed like nothing was ever going right. That’s why I started to hide my own problems. She had all of these other major issues to deal with- I didn’t want to worry her with mine because I knew there was nothing she could do about them from all the way across the Atlantic Ocean.

As time went on, she figured out that things on my end weren’t great. I told her about some of the situations and problems I was facing, but I tried to keep everything vague. And even then, she…well, for lack of a better term…freaked out. And that’s just what I was trying to avoid.

But I tried so hard to keep a smiling face. I emailed her every day, a ‘tradition’ she started with her mom and I picked up when I moved to college. We Skyped once a week at the very least (which, if you talk to anyone my age, that’s a lot). Most weeks we Skyped several times. I sent her cards and presents in the mail. When I had to get the keyboard on my laptop replaced, I sent her a 6-page letter detailing how I spent the days around my birthday. When my webcam broke and we were no longer able to have long video conversations, I started writing her practically novel-length emails. I would tell her about the places I was traveling and the things I was seeing and I would even include pictures. She never mentioned any of them. When I asked about the correspondence (because who knows, maybe a 6-page letter is too long and some gung-ho customs agent confiscated it?), she said she appreciated them. Well then why couldn’t she have told me that?

We also started having petty arguments that would linger and never really be resolved and left me confused and upset. We ‘argued’ for over a month about the date of my flight home. The reason that these arguments bothered me was that they weren’t even real arguments. I would bring up a topic. (Mom, I’m thinking about booking my flight home. I’m thinking sometime during xx weeks. Any thoughts?) No response. I would make my own decision. (Okay, I’ve researched flights and I’ve decided on this one. It costs this much, and lands at this time.) Then I would hear about it. (What? A Monday flight? Well you’re going to have to wait at the airport or make your own way home because there’s no way I’m taking off school to come pick you up.) I would be confused about the sudden interest in a topic that had previously been ignored. I would question my original decision. Then I would get another contradictory email. (I’ve thought more about your flight. Do whatever you’d like. Do whatever makes you happy.) In the instance of the flights, I bent to her demands. I came home on a day that she could pick me up without taking off work.

Situations like this made me worry more and more about coming home. How would I be able to act as my own independent person when my mom is still exerting so much pressure on me to act as her ‘little girl’? I’m at the age now where I need to start making important life decisions, so what if I make a decision and she disagrees with it? I’m not a kid anymore. I’m an adult and I need her to give me some space in that regard.

So at this point, I’m worried about my relationship with my mom and I’m worried about school and family and my future…I’ve got a lot on my plate. But things still aren’t ‘irreparable’ with my mom. I think that it must be difficult to have me away for so long. The distance and duration are just getting to her, right?

The nail in the coffin of my mom’s trust came in early October when I came out to her. I’ll do a post on my sexuality some other time, but the basics are that I found a label I felt comfortable with while I was away (pansexual, in case you’re too curious to wait) and it really wasn’t a big deal to me. It’s just another facet of who I am, and I thought she would see it the same way. She’s a very accepting person, so I wasn’t nervous about coming out or worried about the ‘fall out.’ I thought it would be just like any other conversation.

Instead she told me that I “just haven’t met the right person.” Hearing that from her hurt, but I tried to defend myself. I told her, no, that’s not what this is. In fact, my having a crush on someone was what finally helped me to discover my label. Her response was to voice her disappointment that I never told her about said crush. Then the topic of conversation was changed. It hasn’t been spoken about since then.

So fast forward to November, a few weeks before Thanksgiving. I’m home, and I discover that we both have been keeping secrets. My mom is not doing well. She’s unhealthy, she’s gained weight, she’s depressed. And I soon find out that even though she is seeing a doctor and seeing a therapist, everyone has been telling her, “Just wait until your daughter gets home. Things will be better then.” Really?!? Is that your professional medical opinion? My mom’s depression and high cholesterol and blood pressure and all of her other ailments will just clear up because I’m home?

I feel extremely guilty. Whether it’s founded or not, I feel guilty for leaving in the first place and not physically being here as the sounding board to my mom that I have been for the past 20-odd years. I also feel guilty for not wanting to come home. Because I didn’t. I wanted to stay away for as long as humanly possible. True, things weren’t great while I was away, but they were better than anything I had waiting for me back home.

Now my mindset is guilty and depressed. Yes, don’t forget about the fact that I’ve been depressed for almost an entire year at this point. I realize that being home is going to be even more difficult than I anticipated….

I’ve been home now for 2 1/2 months and in a lot of ways, it feels like my mom and I aren’t good for each other anymore. Whereas we used to support each other and help each other through our problems, now we are prickly around each other. I still listen to her and have tried to resume my place as sounding board, but she doesn’t make it easy. It hurts so much when she makes jokes about killing herself, or talks with blatant disregard about her failing health.

And an extremely selfish part of me resents that she hasn’t figured out that I, too, am depressed and hurting. She knows how important my school work has always been to me, she knows that I’ve never had the greatest self-confidence. And now here I am, without the Master’s degree I set out to earn. And she can see the symptoms. My sleep has been radically disrupted- some mornings when she leaves for work, I’m still awake from the night before. My self-confidence is at an all-time low- often I can’t help myself when I make comments about how worthless I am. Today I told her I feel like the only thing I’m good for is housework. I know that she’s having her own problems, but I feel like there isn’t anything of my ‘old mom’ left. Like none of that old relationship exists anymore.

As much as I hate to say it, for my own mental health, I have to tell myself that this is a temporary situation. That living here, where I’m not getting the support I need, and I’m no longer able to give my mom the support she needs, is just a stopping place before I find a job and move somewhere else. Somewhere I don’t have to face my mom slowly killing herself every day. And I know that my leaving again might be bad for her, but in this, I have to be selfish. I’m 24 years old and I can’t give up because I feel guilty about my mom’s problems. I’m an adult now, just like she is, and we need to make our own decisions. My decision is to get better, and to do that I need to find a job so I can start seeking out the help I need. And if my mom’s decision is to give up, even though I absolutely hate it, I have to accept that.

So I’m going to continue applying for jobs and keep my fingers crossed that someone sees enough in me to offer an interview. I’m going to get better. And although things are different now with my mom, and even if our relationship is never the same, I can hold on to those memories from my childhood. I can remember how she loved me enough to always ensure my happiness. And I will try to never forget the feeling that there is one person in the world who loves you more than anything- who will accept and nurture and support you, all of you, in everything.

(There’s no place like?) Home for the Holidays

The holidays are a stressful time, and that is a fact. Whether you are the type of person who starts listening to Christmas music in October, or that dude who procrastinates on gift-buying until Christmas Eve, there is a good chance that you are going to end up clammy with an elevated heart rate and shifty eyes at some point throughout the festivities. So if even the most well put-together people are prone to holiday breakdowns, where does that leave the *ahem* less mentally stable? I’ll tell you. We are constantly one plum pudding away from a holiday meltdown.

Now the holidays are over. The tree is down, the leftovers are long gone, everyone has returned to their respective homes, and I spent two consecutive days in bed. I’ve given myself time to decompress from the holiday season before beginning this post. If I hopped right into it, I know I would have concocted a long ranting post about all the flaws I perceive in my family. While this might still sort of be the case, hopefully it will also have a constructive and self-therapeutic slant.

For me, family is stressful. And without going into a long-winded post about my life history and family dynamics (that’s a post for another day), I’ll just say that my family has always been the driving force behind an undue amount of the stress in my life. Around the holidays, the stress used to be sort of like this: ‘Oh, everyone gets so crazy when we’re all together. Let’s bond over inappropriate dinner conversation and my grandmother’s idiosyncrasies!’ This year was the first time that it was like this: ‘Hold on, I think I need to take a minute to quietly break down.’

With all the things I’m dealing with right now, I knew I would have to tread lightly this holiday season. I came up with a few lines to give when the inevitable ‘So what are you doing with your life’ questions arose, and polished my non-stick surface in preparation for the tough situations that would be thrown my way over the coming weeks. In short, I did what I could to make things easier for myself.

Since I’ve just recently left school, I knew that I would have to answer several of the ‘what’s next?’ questions. While I would like to truthfully answer some of these questions, (No, I do not have a job right now. Yes, I have my own personal reasons for not having a job secured the minute I set foot back on US soil. Yes, I also have my own personal reasons for still not having a job almost two months after returning home. No, I don’t want to discuss anything with you, because it would be uncomfortable for me and you wouldn’t understand even if I did.) that’s really not possible with my family. In their wonderfully tiny, black and white world, mental illness, or anything relating to mental health, is an urban legend. There are strong people who know what they want in life, and then there are lazy people who want handouts. End of story.

And surprise, surprise, my defenses were under siege every single day I spent with my loved ones. I felt on edge and way more defensive than my usual ‘I’m depressed but trying to hide it’ facade permits. Things that usually wouldn’t have bothered me had me tensing and biting my tongue. I was forced to flee into the bathroom on more than one occasion to fend off a panic attack through some strategic deep breathing. I’d like to think I put up a valiant fight.

The worst part of the holiday, however, was that one relative who asks extremely personal and prodding questions. This tactic, which is usually annoying, was just short of devastating this year. Remember? The ‘I’m depressed but trying to hide it’ facade? That facade involves more than just glossing over my current feelings of worthlessness and general regret. It’s trying to keep a lot of things that have happened over the past year away from my less-than-understanding and pretty solidly fair-weather family.

I should have known that my prepared response would crumble like a house of cards when faced with my annoyingly persistent aunt.
Ambiguous family member: So what are you doing now?
Me: -just a tiny bit forcefully- Enjoying the holidays with my family *hideously faked smile*
Ambiguous family member: -gets the hint and leaves me the hell alone-
Some of the conversations I had to endure were pure dinner-time torture.

And if the invasive questions weren’t enough, I realized something even more draining after the conversations were over. My aunt has always been insensitive in her questions. She has always delved into topics that agitate me, it just never was as jarring because I didn’t have as much to hide.

Rewind to my high school days- I really REALLY hated high school. Anyone who tries to get to know me on even the most superficial of levels will probably suss out that I hated grades 9-12. Thus, it was always a topic at holidays. Things that I thought were unfair, too much stress, the absolutely atrocious school I attended…it was no secret.

Now fast-forward to the present. My youngest cousin was bemoaning high school. I offhandedly mentioned how I hated high school (old news, right?) and told her that even though she may hate it, it won’t last forever and college will be better. My aunt then had the balls to say ‘Oh, you hated high school? I thought you loved it.’

So, the moral of this story? My insensitive asshat of an aunt will spend entire meals dissecting my personal, professional, and academic life, and then will proceed to forget all the traumatic topics she dug out of me. This is super frustrating and unbelievably hurtful to someone who struggles to feel like she’s worth anything and has a hard time remembering that the people around her actually take notice of the things she says and does.

That was the major nuclear-family-blow I sustained this holiday. It was exacerbated by the (long-standing and often-practiced) fact that the rest of my family totally and completely disregards everything that my mom and I say and do. This is nothing new, but it’s hard to cope with on the heels of being near-flayed in front of everyone close to me for absolutely no reason at all.

There are several reasons that this holiday was a tough one for me and there are several reasons why I cannot articulate this to my family. Prior to this holiday season, I was away at school for 14 months. I missed two Halloweens, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. My family missed out on both my 23rd and 24th birthdays. When I wasn’t sure the exact date I would be returning home, I told everyone, I’ll be home ‘for the holidays.’ I didn’t know if it would be just a quick stop home before starting my new and exciting international job, or if I would be home for good. But I was vague about my intentions and I promised that I would be home for the holidays.

The last few months I was away, a few family members knew that I wasn’t exactly 100%. They didn’t know anything specific, and they certainly didn’t know how bad it actually was, but they knew something was up. The sentiment ‘It’ll all be better when she’s finally home’ spread rapidly among those who knew. And that’s one of the problems.

Everyone was waiting with baited breath for me to come home and enjoy the happiest time of the year with those closest to me. But people who don’t have intimate knowledge of things like depression don’t know that there isn’t such a quick fix for our problems.

So while Perry Como will continue to sing that there is no place like home for the holidays, I will remember what I’ve been through, look at the people around me, and continue to politely be unconvinced.

All the best,

Rebecca

New Year, New…something, I guess

Nothing is permanent in this wicked world, not even our troubles. -Charlie Chaplain

So it’s 2015. If I had to describe 2014 in one word, unfortunately, that word would be ‘depression.’ Depression isn’t necessarily something new to me, but having an episode last longer than a year…longer than 6 months even, that is new.

In high school, I realized that I had definite periods of ups and downs. I started seeing a therapist (at the recommendation of my family doctor- migraines were starting to rule my life and they thought some therapy wouldn’t be amiss) my senior year of high school. Overall, I think she did more harm than good, and I ended my two-year stint with her by studying abroad in (read: running away to) Australia. I thought that getting away from everything was what I needed. In a way, I was right. Being away gave me a new perspective on things. It helped me to realize that I actually enjoyed the subject I was studying. When those 5 months were over, I knew I wanted to travel, and I was happier than I was when I left.

I finished college and all was (mostly) well. I decided on grad school and then decided on grad school in England. I was so excited. Looking back on the shambles of the last year, I think that’s the saddest thing- the absolute and total excitement I felt about moving to another country and studying a subject that I thought was the most fascinating thing out there. It’s hard for me to pinpoint when things started to go wrong. It’s even harder for me to say what it was that went wrong.

This blog tracked my progress until November of 2013. After that. After November is when things started to go downhill. What I thought was a bit of homesickness and holiday melancholy turned into more anxiety and self doubt than I have ever experienced. Then, in March, my grandmother died. I don’t doubt that the way my family handled this situation was some sort of breaking point for me. The short and simple of it is this. I came home from a day in London and got on Facebook to find out that my grandmother- the only real tie I had left to my dad’s side of my family- had passed away. I’m not trying to say that my grief is any more important than the grief of her children, but I would have liked to find out some other way than a generic ‘We’ll all miss her so much’ Facebook post with a few pictures thrown in for good measure.

I wasn’t 100% before this happened, but everything went downhill from there. I knew that I was in trouble, so I tried to get help from the university. After a quick evaluation where I discussed my nebulous thoughts of self harm, I was put on a two-month waiting list. In the course of those two months, I think I fell beyond reasonable help. I tried valiantly to keep a front, but even that was difficult. There were entire weeks when I didn’t leave my bed.

Therapy started in July. My therapist’s name was Louise, and while it took a while for me to figure out how to trust her and open up so she could help me, she probably saved my life. It was a rough journey and I saw her weekly until November when I traveled back home. While the sessions were helpful in the big picture, when it came to things like my self-esteem and my academic endeavors, it was too little, too late. My coursework was doomed, my mental state was in tatters, and I was still falling. The lowest of the low was three incidents of self harm in August.

I’d like to think that I’ve been steadily progressing since then, but really, it’s hard to say. I have a lot I need to work on and I have a lot I feel still needs figuring out. In many ways, I feel like it’s one step forward, two (or three, or five) steps back. I’m trying. That’s all I can definitively say.

Now I’m home- that’s about all I know. Hopefully, the blog posts that follow will show my steady upward progress, a job that I don’t hate, and maybe even some healthy hobbies/friendships/things that normal people do. Keeping that in mind, I’m not naive. I know that there will continue to be ups and downs. I know that my life has been fundamentally changed and I will have to proceed accordingly. So if you’d like, stick around and help me to see where things go from here.

In many ways, 2014 was an awful year. I’m hoping that 2015 will be better. I’m hoping that I will find that something, whatever it is, that I need to keep me going.