Don't Stand So Close to Me

I was always a good student, K-12. I got mostly A's, a rare B here and there. High school was extremely easy for me. I don't mean to be braggadocios, it simply was. I never studied, except on my cumulative history final. I never revised papers, I had 110% in my Spanish class, and I got an A on my To Kill A Mockingbird test. I never read the book.

Honor's cord and everything. Thanks for the bunny ears, Mom.

When I got to college, it was a huge shock. Everything was so much more difficult and time consuming. I turned in my first essay in a comp class and got a C! I had always been great at English, I couldn't believe it. I'd been expecting that effortless A.

If high school was supposed to prepare me for this, it had completely missed the mark. I buckled down and, with a little extra effort, I was getting some A's, mostly B's and a few C's. I wasn't over the moon, but I wasn't failing completely.

Here I am, "going" to college. Or laying on it.

Yes, those are rave pants. No, I've never been to a rave.

I was dating a guy at the time that I completely adored. We met when we were in high school. I loved him so much, sometimes I would cry because I wasn't sure he felt the same. I didn't believe that anyone could have that much affection for me. My therapist would have a field day with that, I'm sure.  I was always scraping the bottom of the barrel of my self-esteem, and I'm sure having to constantly convince me that he cared put a strain on him.

So this is... from Cinderella.

We went to separate universities, not far apart but enough that we would only see each other on the weekends. The distance didn't seem daunting, so we decided to stay together. I was willing to do pretty much anything, because I was head over glass-slippered heels for this guy.

As time went on, those visits became fewer and farther between. I'll admit, I was putting in less effort than I should have, being so wrapped up in my theatre community and my new friends. It shouldn't have come as a surprise when he called to break up with me. I had a moment of a meltdown; honestly, I cried for five minutes and then was strangely okay. I don't think I was actually processing what had happened. My brain was attempting to protect me from complete collapse.

The next day he showed up on my doorstep, saying he changed his mind and we should stay together. I didn't really have the opportunity to let the separation settle in before we began again. Even though things had been bumpy, I thought this guy was my future, so how could I say no? I can't remember how that felt at the time, if it was right or wrong for me, if I had my hesitations. I suppose it felt like what I was supposed to do.

Our relationship was weird after that, which wasn't shocking. It was strained, and he didn't seem to trust me around my guy friends, which had never been an issue before. In retrospect, it makes sense. Often times, when someone's cheating on their partner, they point their guilty finger to deflect any suspicion.

Credit Arrested Development. Also my feelings at the time. 
Also a much needed humor break.

I was devastated. I always thought no one would ever love me or be attracted to me, and I took this as proof. I just wasn't enough. I didn't want to feel the pain and bitterness. I didn't want to feel anything.

This story of love lost is a common one. I'm sure most of us have had a similar experience. It shatters you, you feel like you'll never be okay again. Slowly, it gets easier, and you can almost live again. Eventually, you can love again.

Personally, I decided to plummet face-first into self-sabotage. I wanted to suffer, I wanted to fail. I felt like I deserved it, that it was the only thing I deserved. I could barely leave the house, let alone make it to class. I grabbed on to anything that would aid my self destruction, complete with a really reckless rebound relationship. I lost my job, went into incredible debt, started getting D's and eventually F's. I don't know if I'd call it depression because it was far too volatile for that. In retrospect, it was probably dysphoric mania. It's surprising how much you can ruin your whole life in two years; that's how long it lasted.

Hey there, college girl. Stop studying so hard.

I'm not sure how, but eventually I came out of it. It was like waking up from a nightmare to the safety of your own bed. I don't know if my brain was just so fried I can't remember, or if it was just so subtle I didn't notice. I got a job I actually liked and cared about. The rebound relationship that lasted 18 months crashed and burned in its own horrendous spectacle. Maybe I wasn't okay yet, but I was getting there.

I emerged, scarred but renewed. Maybe that's how bipolar works, maybe that's what it is. I was still pushing through to finish school, and my grades pulled out of the nose dive they'd been in for four semesters. My last year and a half I got mostly A's again. I managed to graduate. My GPA was shit, but I had a degree. I'd survived college.

My dad was super proud! I was... kind of drunk, to be honest.

Bipolar never goes away. I actively work to treat it, with medication, therapy, and support groups. Now, as I tackle College: Take Two, things are different. I no longer want to get it over with. I'm older and, I hope, wiser. I'm in a very stable relationship, and not trying to balance work and school. I want to learn, and move toward something to make this world a better place. It might be more uphill than down, but I'm ready to keep moving forward.

First test! Hanging on my fridge. Because this time,
I'm quite proud.