I decided to apply to be a part of Odyssey pretty spontaneously. Pretty much like all decisions I make in life, I thought nothing and jumped. And now I sit in front of my laptop dealing with the repercussions of my spontaneous decision--what do I write about? How do I even begin to start letting readers know who I am, where I come from and what has shaped me and what motivated me to spontaneously be a part of an online platform when I have no writing skills at all and zero credibility.

Why do I feel like my voice and my stories and my experiences need to be heard? Halfway through writing a piece on academic pressures at Wake Forest I was reminded of one thing a Professor at Wake, who is also my mentor, told me: “Your existence on this campus is resistance Roohi.” The words always stuck with me and have come to define who I am.

When I came to Wake, I struggled with finding my place in an institution full of people who were driven, intelligent and just always seemed put together; not to add the fact that this is a predominantly White institution and I am a woman of color with numerous intersecting identities.

I rushed a sorority, I bought my very own Jack Rogers and Hunter boots that seemed to be the rage on this campus, and I made sure I always looked like these people who were driven, intelligent and put together. But the truth was I was anything but put together, I did not look or sound like the majority of people on this campus and I hated Jack Rogers and Hunters.

Halfway through the first year when I started sleeping a lot, over thinking and barely eating, the thought of being not enough on this campus took over me to the extent that I could no longer make it to class. I decided to go to the therapy. I was soon diagnosed with clinical depression and anxiety. It felt weird. I tried to say the words “I have depression and anxiety” over and over in my mouth, I tried to feel every syllable and every alphabet and it felt odd. It felt disgusting.

I had worked so hard to make it to this institution that was meant to make me grow and thrive, but all I grew was depressed. I hid my depression like a dirty secret never to be revealed. Back home, I was shushed from ever telling anyone that I was on medication for a mental illness. Like numerous people affected by mental illness, I internalized that shame and I lived with it.

I refused to email my professors and tell them I couldn't come to class not because I had a migraine, but because my anxiety had shaken me to a point that stepping out of my cluttered dorm room felt like entering a battlefield with no ammunition and no armor. I refused to tell people that the bags under my eyes were not products of all-nighters, but products of my inability to sleep because I felt I didn’t belong. I felt unfit to match the standards that the world was putting on me.

Somewhere between my Jack Rogers and Hunter boots I had tricked myself into believing that I was put together even though I wasn't. I tricked myself into believing that I looked and sounded like everyone on this campus, but interactions with people constantly reminded me that I wasn't. I was not the typical Wake Forest student.

Somewhere between my Jack Rogers and Hunter boots, I became so disillusioned with myself that I forgot, I forgot that I am resistance. I realized that I'm not a woman with depression, but I am a woman of color with depression. I am not put together, but I am completely torn apart by the ravages of colonization, racism and mental health.

In this world that forces us to be not ourselves, but our “best” selves we forget that our “not so” put together self is what is resistance. I forgot that every day I push myself out of the bed and push the depression that covers me like a blanket away and step out and smile at people who cross me.

I am the embodiment of resistance, and that's why I deserve to be heard. I deserve a platform to talk about the intersectionalities of my identity that make me. My decision to write for Odyssey was not spontaneous. It was a culmination of anger for the years of silence that I've been made to wear like a uniform. It was a decision that stemmed out of years of being told that my thoughts didn't matter.

To answer my question, my voice and stories deserve to be heard because my decision to write is my resistance. Every time I write I am choosing to resist, and I am choosing to be vulnerable. I am choosing to make every piece I write true and honest but most of all I am choosing to continue resisting like numerous other minorities at Wake who are silenced.

Ps- I threw out my Jack Rogers and Hunters.