At my high school graduation ceremony in May of 2016, I had every intention of attending college that coming August. Anyone who knew me knew that I was excited for this next step in my life. I had already secured my roommate, had my graduation party, and purchased a ton of super cute stuff to decorate my dorm. I was ready to go in that aspect, but in retrospect, I was hiding my anxiousness under a facade of readiness and excitement. Since I’ve struggled with anxiety, some of which is largely related to the fear of being away from home or from a certain comfort zone, a couple of my close friends were apprehensive about my decision to go to a school three hours from my home. Admittedly, I often had doubts as well. However, I assumed what I was feeling were normal for people my age. As the summer progressed and it got closer and closer to move-in day, my doubtfulness began to outweigh my optimism. This is where I screwed up, and I hope this can serve as a warning to people who may find themselves in similar situations: I didn’t tell anybody what I was feeling. When asked about how I felt about the start of college approaching, I continuously replied with a smile and talked about how excited I was. All the while, I felt defeated and hopeless. During the weeks leading up to my departure, I began to feel increased anxiety. I don’t know how else to explain it other than feeling like I was being torn away from my happiness and safety. I was able to keep it together until the morning my boyfriend left for college a week before I did. I completely lost it, but credited my boyfriend leaving as the reason for that. Yes, that was upsetting and anyone who’s gone through that will agree, but the way I was feeling was different. I guess it kind of felt like one of those dreams where you run but you don’t move anywhere or the ones where you open your mouth to scream but no sound comes out. At this point, I had about four days before I left.
The morning of August 20th finally came. I packed the car, buckled my seatbelt, and I was on my way. I felt sick to my stomach throughout the entire three hour ride. I cried a few times but I knew there was no going back. The ride to my college was one I will never forget. I knew that something didn’t feel right, but once again, I said nothing. I kept quiet until we got to campus. I unloaded my stuff and went up to my room where my roommate was setting up with her family. I smiled and laughed, as I’m known to do if I’m feeling anxious.
While setting up our dorm room, my roommate kept saying how it felt like home and I kept agreeing enthusiastically, but I couldn’t have disagreed more. I felt like I had been thrown in a shoe box and forced to make it my new home. My heart had been pounding since I got in the car a few hours earlier. I had this constant feeling of dread because I knew that eventually, my parents and my sister were going to get in the car and drive back home without me. In almost 19 years of living, I have never held back so many tears. I was terrified. And it wasn’t the normal terror every college freshman feels on the first day and I was absolutely sure of that. Still, I faked excitement and tried my hardest to take in this new experience.
Later on, my family and I went to lunch. We sat down at a nice Italian restaurant. We talked, we ate, and I cried. If you know me, you know I hate to show defeat. I hate to cry or get upset in front of people. When I’m upset, my first priority is making sure the people around me don’t know it, but I just couldn’t do it this time. I felt an overwhelming surreality in this moment and I remember thinking to myself, “Is this really happening?”. My mom, who is my best friend in the entire world and the only person who can make me happy when I’m upset, was rubbing my back and telling me that it’s okay. That this is normal. I calmed down enough to finish my meal. What happened next was one of the scariest moments of my life, and I will remember it for as long as I live: We were walking through the parking lot going back to the car after lunch and, as if a flip was switched in my brain, I was taken over by dread and hopelessness. I was crying more than I ever have, and from that moment, I stopped for a total of two hours out of the next 22. I sat in the car, hysterical and barely able to breathe, begging my parents to take me home. “Please don’t make me do this. I can’t do this.” I kept repeating this over and over and it was apparent that my family was getting fed up with me. “This is normal, Lil. Everyone is feeling this way.” My dad told me incessantly.
The ten minute car ride back to campus, my last ten minutes with my family, seemed to go by in a matter of seconds. I was looking out the window at my new home, trying to catch my breath enough to beg my parents one more time to just take me home. Despite my pleas, I wasn’t going to get my way. We pulled up to the “Campus Town” parking lot right across from my building. I got out of the car and my parents each gave me a hug and a kiss and wished me good luck. I watched them turn around, get back in the car, and drive away. I immediately felt trapped, and if you know anything about anxiety disorders, you know this is a very common fear for those who have anxiety.
So there I was, standing alone in the parking lot, looking at the college campus that I would inhibit for the next four years. I felt like I was going to lose my lunch. I felt like chasing my parent’s car in one last attempt to convince them to change their minds. But I stopped myself. I thought, “I am eighteen years old. I can do this.” I kept telling myself I could do it but it wasn’t working. Still, because of my refusal to show defeat, I toughened up, as much as a 100 pound 18 year old girl can, and I walked confidently back to my room. Once there, my roommate asked if I wanted to go to Wal-Mart with some of her friends. Again, not wanting to show defeat, I agreed, knowing it was going to be everything but easy for me.
We got in the car and my palms immediately started to sweat. My heart was racing a mile a minute and my head was spinning out of control. It was about a fifteen minute drive from campus to Wal-Mart. When we finally got there, I stepped out of the car and felt the best I had that day as the cool early evening breeze hit my face. I took a deep breath and attempted to enjoy this time with my newly made college friends. This Wal-Mart trip was uneventful, but I found myself feeling less anxious and I thought that maybe, finally, I felt normal. I was proud of myself, grinning ear to ear, until we were waiting in the self checkout line. I don’t know why, but my anxiety hit me like a ton of bricks. I stopped talking mid-sentence and just stared out the doors into the parking lot. I watched little kids helping their moms with the groceries and I remember thinking that I would do anything to be with my mom again. I know, this makes me sound like a homesick little kid at sleep away camp, but it really is hard to explain this feeling to people who have never felt it. So, if you have felt this specific kind of anxiety, you know how sad and scary it can be.
Anyway, my roommate noticed I had gone quiet, and I had obviously briefed her before moving in together that I did suffer from anxiety. She calmly grabbed me and asked if everything was okay. I said yes and forced as much of a smile as I could. She looked doubtful but took my word for it. I started to get the feeling that I had in the car that morning. A feeling that this wasn’t right for me. A feeling that it was only going to get worse. I know what you’re all thinking, “WOW, this girl is negative.” And I agree, in this moment, I was negative, but that’s not me. I am the kind of person who can somehow find a positive in some of the worst situations. It was just something about this that didn’t feel right.
We got back in the car and, once again, my hands started sweating, my heart started pounding, and my brain did it’s own thing. I couldn’t wait to be out of that car. I just wanted to be alone. And again, I know what you’re thinking; that when you’re upset, being alone is the worst thing to do. You should surround yourself with people who might make you forget about what’s upsetting you. In some cases, I’d agree, but human interaction was overwhelming me to a tipping point and I really thought that maybe, just maybe, being alone would give me some time to think and to gather my thoughts and I’d be better in a couple hours.
Boy, was I wrong. When we got back, my roommate went to her friend’s room to hang out and I went straight back to my room. I sat down on the futon, took half of a deep breath, and burst into tears. I sat like that, crying and shaking for two hours, until my roommate texted me telling me she was on her way back for our floor meeting, which I’d completely forgotten about.
Not wanting her to know I’d been crying, I put on some makeup and threw away the mountain of tissues that had been building next to me for the last couple of hours. I sat on the futon and opened my phone, trying to look as natural as possible as I texted my mother, begging her to come get me and telling her that this was more than just feeling homesick.
My roommate got back and we went to the floor meeting. I sat there, spaced out, for thirty minutes, and that huge ton of bricks hit me again. I got up from my seat on the floor and ran to the bathroom, tears stinging my eyes. Eventually, an RA came in to talk to me. I was tired of hiding everything, so I told her about my anxiety and about how I knew I didn’t belong here and that I wasn’t ready for this step in my life. I had just met her thirty minutes earlier, but she treated me with the most insane kindness. She hugged me and told me that if that was how I felt, I was probably right. So I walked back to my room, climbed up to my bed, and texted my mom once again. Through foggy eyes I wrote, “Mom. I can’t do this. I’m not ready to do this. I pushed myself too far and I need to come home.” I still remember every word of that text message, because I stared at it for hours, waiting for her to reply.
I stayed in that exact spot for 12 hours. I didn’t get up to use the bathroom or to eat. I didn’t go to the freshman pep rally. I sat in my bed and I cried. I texted my best friend and told her how hopeless I felt and how I knew I needed to be home. She rubbed it in my face a little, reminding me how she’d known I wasn’t ready. She was right. It was silly of me to not believe someone who knows me better than I know myself. Eventually, she fell asleep and I sat in my bed alone, looking at the popcorn ceiling above me. I didn’t sleep at all that night. My roommate went out to a party and invited me but I didn’t have the energy to even reply to her text. I was alone, not just in my room, but in my life. At that moment, I felt hopeless.
Soon enough, 6 a.m. rolled around. I still hadn’t stopped crying and I was getting restless. I knew in my heart of hearts that I needed to tell someone on campus what was going on. I pulled out my phone and texted Katie, a senior at the school from my hometown, who I had visited for a night months earlier. It took me forever to type the message because I hadn’t eaten or slept in way too long and my hands were shaking uncontrollably. “Hey Katie. I know it’s early but I’m having a mental breakdown. I really need someone to talk to.” Send.
A couple hours went by. I would text my parents every so often, still with no reply. At about 9 a.m., Katie replied and told me she would pick me up right outside my dorm in five minutes. I didn’t bother getting dressed or brushing my teeth or hair or anything. At this point, the only thing that mattered was finding sanity in this insane situation.
Katie drove around with me and listened to what she could understand behind my crying. She told me that everything was going to be okay and that she had anxiety when she first got there, too, but that it would all get better, I was just homesick. I tried explaining that that’s not what it was. I knew what homesickness felt like, and this wasn’t it. I thanked her repeatedly and she dropped me back off at my dorm. I returned to my familiar loft bed, and of course, began to cry again.
A couple hours passed and I decided it might benefit me to go on a walk around campus. This is where things got really bad. I took one step outside my dorm building’s doors, and immediately ran back in. My anxiety had successfully taken over my entire body. I ran to the elevator and pounded the up button over and over again until the door opened. Once in the elevator, I fell to the ground. It was at this point that I had completely given up hope. The next thing I remember is a custodian for the building getting on the elevator a few floors up. She looked at me and asked if I was okay. I didn’t hesitate for a second before telling her I wasn’t. I told her I was having a panic attack. My face was turning blue from lack of oxygen due to my poor breathing. The custodian dropped everything she was holding and ran me to my room. She sat me down on my futon, gave me her water bottle and some tissues, and told me she was going to get help.
Minutes later, there was a knock at my door and two women came in and sit down in front of me. I don’t remember much after this. I remember crying and screaming and trying to tell them that I wasn’t homesick, but that I was not mentally ready to be here.
About an hour later, I was laying in a hospital bed with a heart monitor. The skin next to my eyes was broken and bleeding from crying so much. I was tested repeatedly, asked about my health over and over, and questioned by a psychologist. The doctors wouldn’t tell me anything. I just sat in that bed. My phone was dead and I just remember thinking to myself, “What have I done?”
Seven and a half hours later, my parents walked through the door. My mom was crying as she ran up to the bed. She hugged me and kept repeating “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. We should have listened to you. I’m so sorry.” I felt her tears on my hospital gown and reassured her that it wasn’t her fault.
My dad was sitting in a chair next to the bed, looking down at his feet. I felt like the biggest disappointment in the world. A couple minutes later, my parents told me that I was most likely going to be admitted to an inpatient center for a month or so. I objected immediately, insisting I was fine and that I just needed to go home. They told me they wanted to do the best thing for me, and that may be admitting me to a hospital near the college and sending me back after I was better.
“You’re sick, honey. We can’t let you live like this anymore.” My mom was still crying, holding my hand and stroking my hair, just like she did when I was little.
This time, my pleas were heard. We stayed at a hotel that night, and the next day, I was withdrawn from the University and was on my way home.
So, here I am now. It’s been over a month since I came back home and it hasn't been easy. When I got home, I only told my close friends what had happened. I was embarrassed and felt like a failure. But now, I want people to know my story. I want people to know that there is nothing wrong with “giving up” if that’s what’s best for you.
Do I regret leaving college? Yeah, sometimes I do. What I don’t regret, though, is doing what was right and best for my mental clarity. I’m now home with my family, picking up jobs here and there, and will be starting at a different school, close to home, next fall. I’m getting help from excellent people and I’m on the road to becoming a much happier person.
So please don’t feel ashamed if you can’t do something. Do things on your own time, not at the time everyone else seems to be doing it. Recognize what’s best for you, and base your life on that. There’s no rush here. You don’t have to be like everyone else. I used to think the only college experience was going to a big school away from home, partying, making all new friends, and turning into an adult. While I still would do that if I were able to, I am completely content with the path I chose, and I’m excited to see where it takes me.
