10 Things I Wish I Would Have Known Before Going to College

1. What ever happened in high school doesn't matter: No one cares about your high school grades, or AP courses, friends, or ACT score. Everybody is on the same level when the start college
2. Don't focus all of  your energy on having a social life or getting good marks: If you only focus on grades, you'll go insane and if you only focus on friends you will fail out.
3. Popularity is not a thing: This is not high school, there are no cliques in college. You can be friends with the sorority girls, the marching band, and the president of the chess team and no one cares because that stuff doesn't matter anymore.
4. Don't become a slut: This is for guys and girls. It may seem like a good idea to hook up with some random person at a frat party, but it's not worth walking around for the rest of your college career wondering if you hooked up with every person who smiles at you.
5. All nighters do not help: You may want to be the stereotypical college kid who pulls the all nighter to ace your exam, but they do more damage than good. You'll make stupid mistakes on your exam and you probably wont learn anything in your half tired, half caffeinated state.
6. The freshman 15 is not real: I'm sure it happens to some people, but if you eat the way you did at home and avoid snacking while studying you will not gain weight. I know several people (including myself) who have lost weight in college without trying. Also don't drink a bunch of alcohol and smoke a lot of weed and gain weight because of those sneaky calories.
7. Make your room into a good study environment: Don't just study in your bed or in the library. Set aside a place of your own where you can organize your thoughts.
8. Mark exams and major assignments on a calendar: Don't let these big assignments creep up on you and force you to stay up late stressing and cramming.
9: It's ok to change your major: You're interests will probably change, but make sure you try to keep you schedule focused on what you think you want to major in so you don't waste money.
10: Be yourself: I know this sounds cheesy, but people can tell when you're trying to be someone else in order to fit in. Forcing yourself to fit in with a group of people only isolates you from them and the people who you really fit in with.

Why Leaving College Was the Best Decision I Ever Made/ A Story About Me

Let me first start out my saying I do not recommend doing this by any means, but for some people in the same situation  as I or any other situation, leaving may be the best/only option. 

I guess you could say that my story started back in high school, just as I was adjusting to  the stress of AP courses, hormones, and friend drama. The summer following my freshman year was supposed to include friends, reading, and maybe even some sort of romantic involvement (although not likely). Instead I found myself to be tired, sleeping most of the days into summer. My mom attributed this fatigue to the stress I had put on myself during the school year. For me, the napping felt good, I would almost look forward to getting so tired that I could pass out anywhere. Rewind a few months before this. I don't remember this part so well, but I remember my parents arguing a lot (maybe even a little more than usual). Both of my parents seemed to always be angry at each other and that anger was then put onto me. When my mom wasn't mad at me for "acting like your father" she would take me shopping, at least once a week, I would go to school without repeating an outfit. But after a year of her attempting to replace a stable family with material objects, the weight of the dysfunctional family finally collapsed on me. 

I remember one day my parents were arguing and I remember thinking they were arguing because of me because at one point they both had yelled at me. I went to hide in my room to escape the madness, but I could still hear the yelling coming from three levels below me. I cried. I cried more than I ever had before. I cried and no one was there to care. At that moment I was no longer the spoiled only child, I was invisible. When I was six years old I remember thinking if I was teased as much as the unpopular children of the first grade, I would just kill myself. I figured there was no point to living if people did not like you. When I was in middle school I contemplated suicide a few times, but my actions were blocked by the thought "what would everyone think?" Would they think I could not handle my problems? Could semi-popular me be depressed? Depression? A mental disorder? Me? Dying from a mental disorder? But at this moment, on this spring day, in my room, I vowed to ignore what anyone would think and attempted to kill myself. 

It seems foolish now because I can barely remember what events that caused my first suicidal attempt. I don't know if it was the years of living in a dysfunctional family or the realization that my unhealthy family was affecting me or just feeling completely alone. I ran to the bathroom, looked at my tear-filled face in the mirror, looked under the cabinet, and swallowed a lot of mouthwash. I'm not sure why I chose mouthwash, maybe because it said that if you swallow more than the recommended amount that you should contact your local poison control. But I did not contact poison control, I did not even contact my parents. I went to sleep that night expecting and hoping with everything I had that I would not wake up in the morning. 

The next morning, I awoke in my bed feeling the same as I had yesterday physiologically. Mentally, I decided that I would brush my suicide attempt under the rug and vowed to never speak of it. I told myself that maybe everyone goes through something like this and I left it at that. 

I continued with my life, pretending to be happy at school, shopping, and pretending that everything was alright. But later that year I broke down crying so much that I could not catch my breathe. It was probably something my mother said to me, I can't remember now. I cried so hard and between sobs I blurted out that "I can't handle it anymore". My dad came in and saw me crying and held me until I calmed down a little. Nobody really understood what I meant by "I can't handle it", I don't even know if I understand what it meant. 

A few months later a similar situation occurred. This time I new the mouthwash would not end my life so I tried something that I thought was a little more potent. I took around 13 pills of Motrin. Again I woke up the next morning as alive as I was the day before. I again made to promise to myself to never tell another human being what has been going on and I told myself that I would grow out of this phase. 

I quickly learned that I did not grow out of this phase. My mother and I got into some other argument and this time I completely broke down and told her about the attempted suicides. She called a psychiatrist from the yellow pages or something and explained what went on. The psychiatrist told her that she should put me into a hospital immediately to avoid another suicide attempt. My mother thought it would be better to keep me at home and took me to the psychiatrist the next day. 

I don't remember saying much at my first psychiatrist appointment, but I remember her asking what my biggest wish/goal was at the moment. I told her "I wish I could be dead". At the time, I thought this statement was normal, at least for someone with someone who is in a depressed state. Apparently it was not a normal thing to say and I was not just in a depressed state. I was diagnosed with major depressive disorder and was forced to go into an inpatient psychiatric program. I remember crying and begging not to go in, but the control was out of my hands and out of my parents hands. The doctor told them if they decided not to put me in the hospital that their parental guardianship would be taken away from them. When my mother and the doctor left the room, I paced back and forth around the room, looking for something that I could hang myself with. I knew that I had to die at this moment. I found nothing. 

I watched the cheesy welcome video and texted my friend that I could not hang out the next day. At that moment, my phone was taken away from me, along with my shoe laces, the ties of my pants, and any of the things I used on a daily basis that the hospital considered to be a weapon. I got to the hospital at night. I'm not too sure as to how I got there, I might have walked because it was connected to the doctor's office, but I'm not sure.

When I arrived in the hospital I was put in another white room where they asked me all sorts of questions. I remember telling my mom to tell my dad that I was at a sleepover. I don't know why I was so obsessed with keeping this away from my dad because looking back on the situation it was at least 55% his fault. I guess my mom told my dad because he arrived at the hospital about an hour later. When he came in the room all I could say was "I'm sorry". I don't know why I felt the need to apologize. Maybe I was embarrassed, or maybe I was just being dramatic. 

My first night there I barely slept and when I finally fell asleep I was quickly awoken by nurses who took my vitals. The morning, I was given some sort of anti-depressant and I tried to kill myself by not eating. Finally, the side effects of the medicine caught up with me and my lack of food and I became extremely shaky. I gave up on that suicide  plan and ate. Over the next couple of days, I did not shower or look at myself in the mirror. Not because I was particularly depressed, but I could not find time for a shower in the strict schedule and the mirrors were made out of some material other than glass so I couldn't really see into them if I tried. 

I made "friends" if you want to call them that. I just thought they were interesting. They all had a different story and seemed really rebellious. By the end I kind of wanted to be like them. While I was there I saw people get tranqualized and put in other places, I saw people get released, and I saw people come in. Finally on Christmas Day I too was released. I don't know if you could say I was happy, but I wasn't thinking about killing myself and I at least pretended to be happy to my psychiatrist. 

I came home and opened presents and tried on the new clothes I had received. I looked at the house and thought about how happy I was to be home. I told my parents about my experiences in the mental hospital. I guess you could say I was almost manic at this point, but I mistook my manic state for happiness. I had to do an outpatient treatment for a week where I would go to a group therapy session and talk in a circle. It kind of reminded me of the stereotypical AA group where you go around in the circle and say your name and which mental disorder you were diagnosed with. Looking back I realize how fucked up the whole system was because all I saw was a group of average teenagers labeled with multiple mental disorders many probably didn't have. In this group things like "suicidal tendencies and thoughts" were spoken about like they were an actual mental disorder instead of a symptom of depression. Bipolar disorder seemed to be over diagnosed along with OCD. Addictions to drugs that are not addictive like marijuana were claimed and anorexia was given to a girl who probably was just self conscious of her weight. ADHD was confused with simply being bored in a group therapy session. We all had one common enemy, the mental healthcare system. A kind of "stick it to the man" type attitude it you will. We would push as hard as we could without getting put back into inpatient. Some pushed too hard, but most were released at the end of the week. 

I'm not sure what was accomplished in those weeks of intensive treatment because I returned back to my depressive state several times after my release. My doctor would change my medicine, I would change my doctor, threats about going back into the hospital were made but never acted on, and several failed suicide attempts were made. 

This brings me to the summer following my sophomore year of high school. I found my new drug, sleep. And it was addictive just like any drug that's rewarding. Now I realize that we are all addicted to something, some things will just fuck up your life more than others. I would sleep 12+ hours at night and take naps during the day. Then one morning, I woke up earlier than earlier. I did not wake up because I was ready to wake up, I jolted awake because of pain. I had the sharpest pain I had ever felt in my stomach. I laid on my stomach for most of the day, drank plenty of water, and took Motrin (the recommended amount this time). Nothing helped, so my mom figured the best thing for me was to go out. I went out and got my cartilage pierced. The pain from my abdomen was so intense that I barely felt my cartilage being pierced.

When I got home my mom thought I was over exaggerating and left me home with my dad. I asked him to take me to the hospital and he did. When I arrived at the hospital I threw up, probably from not eating all day combined with the pain. I went through several tests and they all came back negative. Just as the doctor was about to send me home, he decided to do an MRI and found a blood clot in my left kidney. I'm still not sure what caused it. It could have been the birth control pills that I was on, but I've been told my several doctors that birth control clots usually do not occur in the kidneys. Maybe it was from all the suicide attempts or maybe it was from the clotting disorder that I was recently diagnosed with or maybe it was a combination of all of the factors. 

I was in the hospital for about 2 weeks and they did a series of tests after finding nothing wrong with me. They sent me home with blood thinners that I had to inject into my stomach twice a day for six months. It hurt, but almost in a good kind of way like slitting your wrists. I remember being tired the whole school year and almost failing my calculus class while doing poorly in the other classes because all I wanted to do was sleep. 

I struggled with my depression for the rest of my high school career and somehow convinced myself, my parents, and many college admissions that I was mentally stable enough to attend college. My freshman year of college I felt tired all the time, but my depression was not a huge challenge. Aside from the occasional home sickness, I almost never felt sad. 

I'm not really sure what changed my sophomore year of college. Maybe it was the pressure I put on myself to do better than I had my freshman year or maybe it was all the medications that my doctor put me on to combat my fatigue. But for some reason on halloween night I tried to take my life. I was tired of my friends, my school, myself, just tired of everything. I was adamant about this suicide so I took a bunch of my bipolar medication that my doctor had put me on. Don't know what possessed my doctor to put me on antidepressants and bipolar medication at the same time, but for some reason she did. I fell asleep pretty fast after taking the pills. I woke up several times in a fog like state. I woke up, but I did not open. I was sure that I saw a little light when my eyes were closed. It was like a small dim light at the end of a tunnel. I don't know if this was a hallucination from the overdose, but I know what I saw. 

I woke up the next morning feeling extremely dizzy and confused as to why I was not dead yet. I threw up some of my medication and read on the internet that about people experiencing Grand Mal seizures and heart attacks from overdosing on this drug, but all I did was vomit a lot. I vomited before class and though it was a good idea to go to class. So in my medically induced state, I stumbled over to my chemistry class and attempted to interact with my classmates as if everything was ok. I threw up in the bathroom of the lecture hall and I went back to class and attempted to pay attention and take notes even though my hands were shaky and I was in constant fears of seizing in class. I felt like if I wasn't going to die I might as well do something with my shitty life. I went back to my dorm after class and ate a bagel. Feeling slightly better. I went on a trip to the cadaver lab that a pre-med group I was in was sponsoring. My friend noticed that something was different about me and I told her about the pills. She felt my pulse on my wrist and felt my rapid heartbeat. I refused to go to the hospital and sat through the cadaver lab like nothing was wrong. 

Again, I vowed to keep this suicide attempt a secret from my parents and my psychiatrist, but the following week I could not handle my depression and broke down on the phone to my mom. I don't really think my dad understood how I was feeling and I don't think he ever will. I decided it would be best for my mental health to take the spring semester off from school and live with my mother. When my dad tried to pick me up to see family for thanksgiving break I told him I could not go. It was hard for me to get out of bed, how could I travel cross country and pretend to be happy around a bunch of people who search for my imperfections. I'm not as smart as the rest of my cousins, I'm not as outgoing or as pretty as my mother. My dad gave me the choice to either go to thanksgiving dinner or leave school that week and not take my winter finals. I knew I could not go, so I went to sleep and ignored my problems. At this point I was so past depression that I no longer cared about where my life went.

When my dad saw me I must have been so thin, pale, and sad looking that he let me stay at school over the break and he stayed with me. After break, school wasn't that bad, I barely had enough energy to stress about finals and I was looking forward to going home. Leaving school is probably more difficult than applying to school, but in December I packed my things and moved in with my mother.

When I came to my mother I was on around eight medications and most likely completely out of my mind. I barely remember this time. I remember the shocked look on my new psychiatrist's face when I told her all the medication I was on and how surprised she was that I was being treated for bipolar disorder and depression simultaneously. I hardly remember Christmas. I remember extreme headaches, nausea, and the vomiting that came a long with the addition of new medications and the withdrawal from other medications. I don't think I was completely stable until around June of this year. I was still tired, but I was able to get through my two community college courses without going into a depressed state. 

As per almost everyone's surprise I have returned to the same university to complete my degree. Most people thought I wouldn't return to college and some people think I will go down the same path again, but I don't really care about what people think now. During my time at home I learned to be a more organized person, express my feelings, not take these childish vows of secrecy. School starts next week and I am all moved into my apartment and I working on becoming a more social person while also taking care of myself. 

I don't know what exactly caused my depression. I like to think that it's a combination of environmental and biological factors, but honestly I don't care what caused it. Over the past 7 years I've learned that any sort of disorder- mental or physical. Does not define a person. I don't know what defines a person or if a person can even be defined in a word, sentence, story, or even a lifetime. All I know is that somehow there are billions of cells in my body with the common goal of keeping me alive and I think that's pretty rad.