One Semester Left

I wouldn't want to say that this is the most depressed I've ever been, because I've been in some pretty bad spots. But I think it's safe to say that this is the most my depression has ever affected the rest of my life. Somehow in the past, I was always able to function - sort of, at least.

The past few months I've been filling out PhD applications, following my big dream of becoming a professor and doing research forever. Balancing this with general grad school life hasn't been easy, but it also hasn't been impossible. I actually started off this semester feeling pretty strong and confidant.

I finally went to the university counselling center after hearing so many good things about them, and was feeling hopeful. We scheduled an official intake appointment...and then a hurricane hit, so my appointment was cancelled. I couldn't force myself to go back again to try to figure it out. Counselling centers are a huge source of anxiety for me (ironic, I know) because of past experiences, and it's insanely hard for me to take the first step in trying to get help.

Anyway, a few weeks ago as I was struggling to write a paper, I came to a kind of epiphany. I realized that ever since coming to Florida, I had been continually sacrificing the quality of my work in order to cling to shreds of my mental health. Because I knew I was not and had not been turning in quality work and it was starting to feel like I was just getting worse and worse instead of improving (which is what is supposed to happen in school, yes?). Every time I sat down to write something, even a tiny two page response paper, I would get overwhelmed with anxiety. Concepts that I fully understood only moments ago became complete mysteries, I couldn't understand what the words meant anymore, and I certainly couldn't figure out how to form a coherent sentence. Looking at the stuff I've written over the past year and a half is like watching myself slowly go insane and there's nothing I can do to stop it.

It's worse because I know I was a good writer. I got good grades, writing teachers loved me, I loved writing. I was a writing tutor for goodness sake. So I completely recognize how bad my writing is now and yet can't seem to do anything about it.

I wish there were something I could blame it on because then I might be able to fix it. The only thing I can clearly say is that I have been deeply unhappy since moving to Florida. Maybe it's just a coincidence and I was bound to continue spiraling downwards regardless of my location. Maybe it's the weather here. Maybe it's the absolutely insane drivers here.

I mean, it's probably the lack of a support group. That one time I went to the counselling center, one of the things the intake counselor said was most concerning was my isolation. When she asked about my closest friends or emergency contacts, all of them were at least one full state away. But I already knew I was alone, and I know I have a hard time connecting with people, and unfortunately my life is not like a melancholy comic where the solitary depressed protagonist stumbles into a lifelong friendship with a group of quirky individuals.

She was also concerned about how I had no "safe zones." There really isn't anywhere I feel at home here. I'm constantly on edge in my house because my roommates and their dogs, constantly on edge on campus, and too poor to hang out at coffee shops that often. Let me tell you, one of the most depressing thoughts I've had in the past year and a half is sitting at my desk in my bedroom on the verge of tears, desperately wishing I could go "home," and then realizing that I already am where home is supposed to be. Most college students go home for holidays and breaks - I visit my family, but that is no longer my home. There is not a lot of extra space in my mom's house and my home town just brings back a shit load of bad memories that I hate reliving.

During the last two weeks of this semester, I knew that if there were a way for my to drop out of grad school with no repercussions, with a source of income, with a purpose in life, I would absolutely do it and not come back next semester. Campus gives me anxiety, thinking about assignments gives me anxiety. At this point it's too late to go back to therapy and figure out some kind of accommodations for this last semester. I'm not saying therapy wouldn't be helpful and that I'm not going to try to go back, just that at this point it's too late to figure out a way to make my time here less harmful.

I will clarify here that of course I'm going to finish grad school. I would hate myself even more for quitting with only one semester left. I'm not counting on graduating with a high GPA or flying colors, but I will graduate. And if I don't, then, I don't, but at least I tried.

Like I said, my big dream was to go to PhD school after graduation. I'm only applying to three programs because I'm poor and don't have a lot of time (or sanity) to spend on a bunch of different applications, but I know my applications have not been stellar. I've received one rejection so far, which came as no surprise. I still have one application left to finish, and it's hard making myself work on it at all. I quite honestly feel embarrassed and ashamed to even try at this point. Asking for letters of recommendation from my professors feels like a waste of their time, not to mention the ever present thought in the back of my head that they think I have no chance anyway and are just doing it out of pity. I honestly think they are better people than that and they wouldn't agree to write a letter if they didn't think it was worth it, but I still think about it every moment of the day.

Plus, this whole time I've been talking about how I'm not good at grad school. So why on earth would I want to continue into more grad school? Part of me is clinging to the hope that maybe it's just Florida and maybe I would be more functional somewhere else. Maybe this time I'd have an idea of how to manage my life. Maybe I'd finally live somewhere I felt safe. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

I still want a PhD, but part of me believes I should try to get my mental (and physical) health in order before continuing. Except, I also doubt I will ever have my mental and physical health in order. I don't have the money for that kind of thing. I feel like I will always be a mess and all I can do is damage control and try to stay out of situations that exacerbate it (i.e., academia).

But then...what am I supposed to do after I graduate?

One option is to stay in Florida until something changes, maybe apply to PhD programs again in another year while I'm not also trying to graduate. I could invest more time into the burlesque troupe I recently joined. I could find some kind of other part time job, I could start doing music jobs again, I could try some other random things and just hope I make enough money for rent. There are a shit load of downsides to this (I'd still be in Florida, I'd still be with my current roommates, I'd still be incredibly alone), but also some positives (I wouldn't have to move, I'd be able to continue with the burlesque troupe).

Another option is moving back to the city where I got my undergrad. It's a tiny little town, but it's one of my favorite places, and I think I'd find some peace there. I still have some friends in the area and potential living options. There's some burlesque opportunities, and I could still do music and probably find some kind of job. There are downsides (having to move, having to join a new burlesque troupe) and positives (a happier environment, friends, there's still burlesque, more dance opportunities).

Or I could move to the opposite side of the country to where all the PhD programs are, even though I wouldn't be in the programs. This sounds like a stupid idea if I'm not actually going to school, and sounds kind of pathetic if my goal is to just keep applying until they ban me or accept me, but that wouldn't be the only reason. I actually have friends in that area too. However, this option is a lot scarier and sounds a lot riskier than the other options, and seems the least feasible. Downsides (incredibly far move, big scary unknown city, who knows what kind of burlesque opportunities, potentially harder to find a job because there's more competition, high rent), positives (brand new city, very good friends, definitely some kind of burlesque, potentially easier to find a job because there are more jobs, would make getting a PhD easier if I ever do decide to try again).

Maybe I'll be out of this funk in another few weeks. Maybe it's pre-period depression. Maybe, somehow, my brain will start working again next semester. Maybe I'll be able to convince myself that I'm not getting dumber, I'm just getting sicker, and that it's not my fault. Maybe that will be enough to give me a little peace and to get through a semester, even if it it doesn't improve my actual work.

Every passing day makes me more and more convinced that I'm just incapable of taking care of myself. I've never been able to envision being able to support myself. I don't know how easy it would be to let myself depend on someone. I can't imagine there being someone who was in a situation where they could help support me, much less that they would actually want to. But I really have become incapable of doing a lot of things that are necessary.

It's kind of ridiculous though. In order to get any kind of help for my mental disorders (or to qualify for disability benefits or anything), you have to somehow surpass your disorder. But also prove you have it? And also have money?

After turning in my last final, I got absorbed in a video game and played it almost nonstop for a few days. Then I beat it. Then I got absorbed in a web comic and read it all day. When I got up to date, I read another one. And then another one. And then another one until 3 am last night, and then cried for a while because I felt so hopeless and exhausted and tired of trying to hide from myself and my thoughts.

Anyway. One day, things will be okay. One way or another.

It helps to write things out and clear my head a little. I feel like all I ever do is complain and vent, so I appreciate you for reading all the way through this. And if you're one of the people I regularly vent too, I appreciate you for listening.

--Dexter