healing is not linear - A Memoir by Frances Edelstein

Chapter 11: Fall 2019 Madness

Trigger warnings: disordered eating, stomach/digestive issues, depression, self-deprecation

I got so used to being at home, going back was pretty crazy. I wasn't as upset as the first time going when I was a freshman; I knew what to expect, where my classes were, I knew that I could call my family any time, and I had a stable relationship I knew wouldn't be crushed by the distance. I drove in one car with my awesome little brother, and my parents drove in another. Since I was bringing most of the stuff in my room, including a new awesome circular plush chair, we definitely needed two cars. We took some rest stops, and I jammed out to my stations on Pandora (I love rock music, and my brother simply calls it "Franni Music" whenever he hears rock, and I think that's so cute).

I was nervous moving in, since I had a new roommate, and until the night before I didn't even know her name. When we brought my stuff in, she was already moved in, but she wasn't there. When she got there, she was very shy and seemed kind of scared at first, and I was nervous that she wouldn't like me. After only a week or so though, she made just as many inappropriate jokes as me. We had some in-depth conversations about religion, humanity, and our future goals. It was nice because she was just as funny as me, but we could also have serious conversations. I even found out we both watch the same YouTuber! How funny is that! Eventually, she got pet rats in the room (she asked if it was okay and I said sure. I love animals), and they were surprisingly cute, just really stinky and noisy at night, ha-ha!

That semester, I met some great new friends, strengthened old ones, and got to broaden my horizons by taking some education classes. I thought I wanted to be an art teacher, so I altered my major, but then I realized it just wasn't for me. The school day and teaching the same thing over and over seemed too monotonous for me personally. Plus, getting up super early and staying up late to plan for the next day and grade things seemed like too much work for too little pay, quite honestly. I've had some amazing art teachers in my life, so I have even more respect for them now. I'm telling you this, not to bash on the teaching profession—if you want to be a teacher, go for it!—but to make it clear that it's okay if you are still wondering what you want in your future while in college. College is a great way to expand your horizons and see what you would be happy with as your job in the future. It's okay to change your major, then change it back; it's so important to make sure you like what you do. For example, I work on this book for hours at a time, with breaks just to take a sip of water or say hello to my pets, but the time flies by, and I go to bed wishing I had more time to write. If you love what you do for a living, you're basically getting paid for enjoying your life, which is an amazing feeling. So if you have to change majors or schools one or more times in order to find your happiness, that's totally okay.

Even though there were some good things about this semester, it was my last semester at this university for a good amount of reasons. My anxiety spiked while I was there, my heart racing and my chest aching for most of the day. It was exhausting. I would come back to the dorm sweating from anxiety, even when it was cold out. I started meditation, and it helped keep it manageable, but overall the anxiety I felt there was way worse than when I was at home. I'm not sure exactly why, maybe because I lived at the place I was doing schoolwork for, so everything seemed more like a make-or-break assignment, since I literally lived my work. It was a small town, like I mentioned, so there was no real place you could go to escape for a little bit. There was a cute little pond, but in the cold weather, you couldn't go hang out there unless you wanted frostbite.

Another thing that bothered me terribly was the loneliness I felt on the weekends and days off. I had friends there, but a lot of them went home every weekend, so I had no one to hang out with most of the time. My roommate was in the band and went to a long church meeting every Sunday, so I was alone for most of the weekend. Even on the first Saturday, when my mom called just to talk and I was sitting outside by myself at a table, I told her I already felt really lonely. This never really changed. Every weekend I would be alone for the most part, unless my roommate wanted to go to Walmart with me, which was always fun. I even joined two different clubs, but they were only an hour or less once a week, and that was it. I did enjoy ceramics class, though, because I became pretty friendly with a good amount of people there, but we only really talked in the studio. A good amount of my friends would just reply to me being open about my mental health troubles by saying "same," which was completely and totally enraging. No, not "same." Not one person has the same exact issues as another person, and to think that is so is completely and horribly ignorant. You can say you've been through something similar and offer advice, of course, but just saying "same" and not even offering help makes the person seem unimportant and quite honestly angry as hell.