We always read these quotes and articles across the Internet. "Your mental health is more important than your GPA." We retweet them on Twitter, share them on Facebook attempting to send a message (sometimes a hint) that we, as a generation, are struggling. "Do what you need to. Your classes can wait." It's nice to imagine quitting class to take a holiday to 'focus on your mental health.' The notion is a bit harder to conceive when you're a Senior in college with graduation just over the horizon. I'll admit-- when my counselor recommended a withdrawal from classes, my very insides lurched. So, what's the difference between those who marvel at the idea and those who flinch at it? The difference is that you have to be at rock bottom to understand it as a fresh start rather than a setback.
I know the people from my college who read this will have questions. Here are your answers. No, I did not drop out of college. While it did seem like I had fallen off the face of the Earth... No, I did not move. I wasn't skipping class for 'funsies'. I took an incomplete in my classes due to a medical withdrawal. Not because of cancer or a broken bone or surgery or whatever story will inevitably make its way around campus. I withdrew for mental health reasons. The semester started off on level ground but only continued to go downhill for me-- for both reasons that I understand and wish not to disclose and others that are still a mystery.
This semester, I began to relapse into depression. My occasional anxiety attacks only worsened the situation. It started out mild and only went downhill as the semester progressed. By the middle of semester, I had come to terms with the idea that this would be my last Christmas. (I say that not to harbor sympathy from readers. I don't need it. I say that to illustrate just how badly depression messes you up. I was completely at ease with putting a time limitation on my life.) One cold Tuesday morning nearing the middle of the semester, I ended up in my therapists office and came clean. There were no tears. There was numbness and brutal honesty. It was not a dramatic scene from a film. It was my plea for help in the form of raw, terrifying honesty. I remember telling her that I was desperate for medical intervention-- that I didn't trust myself handling this on my own much longer. That's when she laid out my options for me. Virtually every sensible option involved 2 factors that make me cringe: Rehab & Medical Withdrawal. So that's what I did.
No, I did not take the "easy way out." I'll tell you why. There was nothing easy about the nausea and sweaty palms that overwhelmed me as I sat in my professors office and prepared to tell her that I had to stop coming because my depression and anxieties had grown to the point of suicidal ideation. There was nothing easy about the shame I felt when I had to tell my favorite advisor--the one who praised me for 'always having my life together'--that I wouldn't be taking finals because I would be in rehab across the state rather than on campus. There was nothing easy about having to miss my roommate's wedding because of having to spend a week in rehab. There was nothing easy about constantly fearing that my family was going to see my decision as a disappointment. And as petty as it seems, there was nothing easy about plastering a smile on my face when my friends unknowingly gave me a hard time and picked on me for constantly flaking on plans.
I'm not thrilled at the idea of spending a week in rehab, or the opinions that people will form of me because of my decisions. But I'd rather spend a week over break kick starting my recovery than spend the next few months pretending like things are fine only to end up harming myself before the summer begins. I refuse to be another "Everything seemed fine... We never saw it coming" tragedy.
Each year, whether I intend to or not, I take some sort of life lesson from my college experience. Some years, it has to do with relationships, or my ability to push myself. This year, even in my worst semester to date, I continued to learn from myself. I learned that my mental health is indeed more important than my GPA. I learned that I will still continue to thrive and grow as an individual even if I'm not a Student Government Ambassador. I learned that the Dean will continue to respect me as a person, regardless of my affiliation with campus activities. I learned that being upfront and honest, while utterly terrifying, is incredibly liberating.
In a world where your success is determined by your accomplishments and involvement-- I urge you to take a step back and breathe. Do not get so involved with being perfect that you lose sight of what makes you happy. Please, if you are currently battling with any mental illness-- seek help. Do what you have to do. No set back is too monumental. Maintaining your GPA is not worth sacrificing your mental state.
I will focus on getting well over break.
I will be back on campus full-time beginning in January.
And I look forward to many, many more Christmases.
God Bless.
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