“Sorry, I’m going to have to sit this one in.”
“I’m really tired tonight.”
“I’ve got a lot of homework to do.”
It’s hard being a college student with mental illness. It’s hard growing up in a culture that celebrates things my mental illness prevents me from always doing; a culture that celebrates going out, rewards you for how many drinks you can down in an hour, and high fives you if you pull an all-nighter.
I wish I could do those things. Some of the best stories from my best friends come from sleepless, crazy nights. The truth is, that’s not something I can do very often, and it’s not because I’m boring or lame or a prude or whatever you want to call me.
Mixing alcohol and anti-depressants is poison. Anti-depressants have a very similar affect on the brain that alcohol does; I like to joke around with my friends that it makes me always “a little drunk.” I’m the definition of a “light-weight.” I weigh 100 pounds, 5’1”, and I am a vegetarian – less carbs in my belly to soak up the alcohol, unless I stuff my face with bread beforehand (which I would gladly do, who doesn’t love bread). One drink and I can get tipsy, if I don’t have much in my stomach. And on the days when I have panic attacks, and have to take extra medication for that, I don’t dare to drink.
Crowds give me anxiety and big groups of people do too, and I get worried that people will judge me for not having more than two drinks. I get worried about having to walk home alone, because my anxiety will get the best of me and I’ll have to leave before anyone wants to leave.
I feel like nobody understands how much it affects my life. I became a vegetarian, in the first place, because my anxiety was affecting my eating habits and I would get attacks about becoming overweight every time I felt full. I thought becoming a vegetarian would help me lose weight. Now, I embrace it – I do it for the animal rights and for my own personal health, but when people ask why I became a vegetarian, it’s hard to explain that I became a vegetarian because I borderline had an eating disorder and was convinced that eating meat made me look a certain way.
I work out four times a week because if I don’t, I start to get those feelings again. I start to feel like I’m getting lazy or not being productive, and I break. I do my homework ahead of time, not because I’m a goody-two-shoes or a prude, but because my brain literally screams at me until I do it.
It’s more than just my introversion. It’s more than me being lame or square or whatever, because I chose to stay in. It’s because I don’t want to go down that hole. I know myself well enough to know my limits, and I hate that anxiety limits me in a way that stops me from doing all the things all my friends are doing. I hate that people don’t understand; that they just see it as me not liking to go out. I don’t know if I like it – there are times when I have. It’s not a question of liking it or not, it feels like life or death for me.
Everything in my life has been shaped by my experience with generalized anxiety and panic disorder, and periods of depression that accompany it. My worries, my dreams, my career goals, my hobbies; literally everything. When I think about it, I get so mad. Because I want to be like other people; I want to have crazy stories about going out to bars while I’m abroad. I hate that I can’t, and I hate that people don’t understand, and I hate that it affects how others see me. I’m not judgmental. I’m not a prude. I want to hear about your crazy stories and how much fun you had; I want to hear it all. I’m just tired of being judged for a part of me that I didn’t choose. I’m working on loving, understanding, and caring for that part of me, and I hope that you can too.