The things I learned in Undergrad

My undergraduate experience hasn’t been very conventional. And I’ve hated myself for that since I returned to school in Fall 2015.

But I just finished a 10-minute guided meditation on self-forgiveness (because apparently I’m a person who meditates now), and as cringey and fluffy as it sounds, I realized something important. Namely, that I have learned so much more since I started university in 2012 than I ever could have if things had gone differently.

I wouldn’t be who I am today if I had graduated in 2016 with my friends from high school. If I hadn’t switched programs. If I didn’t take time off for eating disorder treatment. Maybe things would have been easier, but they wouldn’t have been better. Because I went to university to learn, and that’s what I did.

2012-2013

I began first-year as an anxious but generally happy super-Christian. I went to church twice a week, I volunteered with a youth group, and I planned to declare Religious Studies as my major in second year. I hardly know that 17-year-old version of me now. I feel compassion for her, because I remember that Christianity gave her a purpose and a community, before it gave her crippling self-hatred for being a sinner and stifled her dreams. I feel compassion for her, but I barely know her. These days, she rarely crosses my mind. Anyways, at some point, this girl decided God was telling her to become a nurse. When I didn’t get into the Nursing program for the following year, I decided to major in Psychology for my second year then transfer into Accelerated Nursing.

2013-2014

At the end of Summer 2013, after university education and life experience left me doubting Christianity for months, I made the decision that I was no longer a Christian. When I went back to school in September, all my friends thought I was going to hell, I had no hobbies or interests outside the church, and I had no direction or purpose for my life. I tried turning to science to give me some sense of meaning. I thought if I learned HOW our species and our planet ended up where they are now, I would also know WHY. I wanted to switch into Biology. Then Biochem. Then general Life Sciences. Then physics. Eventually, I decided to stay in psychology after all and do something to help those with mental illness. I developed Bulimia in the Fall, and barely attended any classes in the Winter. I went to the Psych ER three times with suicidal thoughts. At some point, I thought a change of scenery might help, so I applied to double major in Math and Writing at a different university in January 2015. Over the Summer, I experienced a trauma and my eating disorder became restrictive and took over everything. (When I talk about this, I like to clarify that my eating disorder COINCIDENTALLY became worse and more restrictive at the same time, but restrictive eating disorders are not generally more or less severe than other eating disorders)

2014-2015

Just typing in those years brings me immense sadness. This year must have been the most miserable in my life to date. In the Fall, I couldn’t work, and I was waiting until January to return to school. I watched documentaries under a blanket in my room all day, and had energy/motivation for little else. All I cared about was food and calories and weight. And to be honest, I probably needed it at that time, because everything else had gone to shit. I accepted a referral to a Day Hospital program, because I thought I would be magically better in 8 weeks and go back to school like nothing happened. I started attending classes in February, and relapsed immediately. I still only cared about food and calories and weight. I dropped all my classes in late March or early April because I didn’t have the mental capacity to learn anything. I returned to the Day Hospital program in April. While there, I decided to return to my original university, as it was closer to my home so my parents would be nearby and the trigger of commuting would be gone. This school doesn’t have a writing program, so I intended to double-major in Math and English.

2015-2016

I managed to mostly maintain my recovery through the Summer. I met Jenn in the Fall. She made me happy and was a great motivation for recovery. I’m still getting over our breakup, so I’ll just say the recovery stuck and Jenn did not. I also decided to only major in Math, as that meant graduating with a BSc instead of a BA, and the English courses at this school are not remotely writing-related.

2016-2017

Jenn broke up with me a few days before classes started in September, so I started the term suicidal. I was in the hospital a few times for overdosing, and was very nearly admitted as a psychiatric inpatient. I managed to get my shit together just in time, and got through the term. In the Winter, my roommate was admitted inpatient, and everything was about her for months. I sound unsupportive and I honestly am, but I had zero support and she was incredibly selfish during this time. I don’t want to get into the details, but our friendship became very toxic, and it was all very difficult for me. I made no changes to my program this year, believe it or not.

After 6 years of undergrad, I will (if all goes to plan) finally receive my degree in 2018. That degree will tell the world that I came to university and I learned about math. And I used to take comfort in knowing it wouldn’t say anything else. Like the fact that it took me 6 years to achieve, or the fact that I changed my mind on my program 20394 times, or the fact that I entered school wanting to be a missionary, or the fact that I lost a year of school to complete eating disorder treatment. But today, I kind of wish my degree wouldn’t just say I learned math. I wish it would say that I learned where I stand on religion, how to survive when I don’t want to, how to cope in unhealthy ways, how to cope in healthy ways, how to break and then put myself back together, how to love, the fact that I love women, what heartbreak feels like, how to put my life back together a second time, what I really want to do with my life, and how to work towards the life I really want. Because I learned all those things, and looking back, I wouldn’t change my path one bit, because those struggles and setbacks and detours made me grow into the person I am today. And I learned things about myself and the world that I will use for the rest of my life. So my undergrad hasn’t been conventional, but thank god it hasn’t been.

Sarah

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Let’s Talk about Death

Last night, I was in a really strange mood. After listening to hours of Kimya Dawson songs, I started feeling abnormally peaceful. I’m not a person who feels peaceful unless something is horribly, horribly wrong. So that was weird.

When the peace began to subside, I started desperately trying to figure out how to bring it back. I didn’t need it back right away, I just needed to know how to access it again. I wrote the following note in my phone:

peace

Kimya Dawson
Everything has made me who I am?
One with the universe?
Song writing?

It looks like a mason jar and a Lululemon bag (the ones with the “inspirational” quotes) made a love child, and it was this note. Essentially, these were my ideas of what had caused that peaceful feeling.

I just listened to a couple Kimya Dawson songs again. And I might have figured out what it was about her songs that made me feel so calm.

She talks about death.

She sings about the death of her friends, the death of her loved ones, and alludes to her own eventual end.

I think about death all the time. ALL. THE. TIME. And not in a suicidal way. Okay, sometimes in a suicidal way. But mostly in a “We’re all going to die one day, so what’s the point?” way. It makes me feel depressed. Which sometimes makes me feel suicidal. And terrified to die. Simultaneously.  It’s all an exciting whirlwind of death and sadness. That would be a great title for my future memoir. Anyways…

I think I’ve been depressed since I was 13, but my depression became severe just after I left Christianity. I knew what happened when we died; I knew what my purpose was; I knew why the world existed. And then I didn’t. I watched a bunch of documentaries on the origin of the universe, looking to Stephen Hawking to tell me why I existed. But it turns out, that’s not really that guy’s job.

The point is, I’ve spent a lot of time since then contemplating death. And life. And the meaning behind all of it. And the lack of meaning. But I think about it in my head, because otherwise I bum people out.

As a society, we’ve decided that even though death is the one thing we all have in common, we are not going to talk about it. I will die. You will die. Everyone we love will die, and we’re supposed to go on working out and studying and paying bills like that isn’t true. And when somebody we know does die, it’s impossible to comprehend. It fucks us right up, because people don’t die. People are here and we know them, and they can’t just not be here anymore. What the hell?

So I guess there was something relieving in hearing someone sing about death. It made me feel like it’s okay that everybody is going to die. That sounds morbid, but I mean it feels okay that everything is temporary. We can spend the time we have connecting with others and feeling inspired and talking about how fucking weird it is that one day, we won’t exist. And when that day comes, the world will go on. Unless you die in some sort of Armageddon-style end-of-the-world situation, in which case it won’t. But the matter and the anti-matter will do whatever it did when… okay I didn’t pay enough attention when I watched those documentaries. I digress.

The point of this post is that, as it turns out, talking about death brings me incredible peace. And I think that as a species, we should do it more. I’m so fucking weird.

Sarah