It’s time to discuss the past year. Or more realistically, let’s call this blog the one where I discuss what happened this past year that made me not want to blog anymore. Because it’s a story worth telling. But in order to tell it, we’re going to have to back up. To last year.
Picture it: 2017, the world was growing accustomed to changes, and not all of them good. Little old me was graduating with a bachelors in cultural anthropology and I was headed to law school to complete a dual degree: a JD (law)/MSW (social work masters). That summer I threw myself into every money making scheme I could so that we could afford the move across 1000 (a little less, actually) miles of uncharted wilderness (well, America, really). I said goodbye to the people who had been there, for every hiccup and misstep in my life and trudged out in search of something new, in search of myself.
The first day of law school was postponed for the eclipse (which was overcast, so we didn’t actually get to see it). But surely, this was the sign I was waiting for…right?
Day one: the theme of the day should have been “You will probably want to kill yourself more than once, and we know that. It’s a sign you’re in law school. You’ll probably also develop a severe drinking problem. Also totally expected.” That’s honestly all I remember from the first day. And that should have been a sign in-and-of itself. But I trudged on.
Grades in law school aren’t like undergrad or most other post-bac programs. You aren’t graded on how well you understood the subject, but how well everyone else understood in comparison to you. Therefore, you could get a 98% on a test (you won’t) and normally, you’d see an “A” at the top. But in law school, if everyone else got a 99% or a 100% (they won’t), then you’ve failed the test. [Realistically, the highest score was a 35% and that’s an “A”).
So finals came around and I hit rough patch after rough patch (including taking a test so delirious from a food allergy that I was hallucinating) and grades came back. Talk about a hit to the ego. I took the break to reset from the havoc that was first semester and tried to throw myself into second semester. I did not go out, I did not engage in social activities. I stayed home and studied. I stayed at the school and studied. Every weekend (and I mean EVERY) you would find me, nose in a book, looking for nuggets of knowledge that I needed. I would get to class hours early to do more reading and prepping. And that continued for 16 weeks. I studied for finals 16-18 hours a day. For two weeks.
But by February, just six and a half months after the journey began, I no longer felt like myself. My major complaint (my presenting problem): I felt like a robot. No hobbies, no way to break myself away from the grueling gauntlet that was first year law school. No more being myself. Just torture. And that’s when I kept hoping that I would get hit by a bus. I wasn’t actively suicidal, I just wouldn’t have stopped it from happening. And as much as I knew that that was not okay, I just thought I wasn’t trying hard enough. So when second semester grades came in and I was placed on academic probation (for insufficient grades), the final straw broke.
All that hard work, only to be told “not good enough”. I received the notice on official letterhead that read more like “You should reconsider being a lawyer” than “you need to take these remedial classes”. I told myself that I would start my MSW in the fall and I just needed a break from law school. That was the first week of May.
June 13, I was on Snapchat with a law friend who asked if I’d talked to a 2L (second year) friend in a while. I said I had, and that she was excited about starting an animal law group. He told me to check my email. Sure enough, I had an email from the Dean, telling the school she’d died the night before. And as I read the obituary, I knew what words they weren’t saying. She’d died, but it wasn’t an accidental event.
I wondered if I would be next. I wondered what separated me from her. I wondered if law school was worth it. And ultimately I decided, no. I looked at my tattoo, the compass in my life. I didn’t sign up for four years of pain and torture and hating myself. I kept telling myself that if there was some way I could prove that “it” was worth it, I would stay. But I deserve to be happy, to value life and to wake up to a life I wish for.
I was so nervous about starting a new program (because of my experience with law school) that on the first day, I made an appointment with the on-campus counselor. I was a wreck, a shell of a person. No coping tools worked, I’d burnt through them all trying to just survive. I’d lost my sense of self.
I put off telling my parents until I had made up my mind officially. I’d still harbored a hope that maybe with time, I could be more ambient towards the idea of coming back. But each time I walked into the law school and it made me sick to my stomach. I knew I wasn’t going to ever go back.
And I couldn’t bring myself to write, to be myself until I decided what it was that I even wanted out of life. I had to stop blogging because I didn’t know who I was, figuratively.
I’m starting 2019 clean. I’ve got goals, personal and professional, and I know that I’m still turning into who I will be, but it’s a better life than I would have had before.
In 2019, I’m
-getting to work with undocumented victims of domestic violence, sexual violence, human trafficking and stalking
-publishing my book
-getting to work in the emergency department of a hospital as a student clinical social worker
-taking care of myself, as a complex, multi-faceted human being
-living (and making steps towards) the life I wish for
And I hope, with all I have to hope, that you find the courage to be yourself, to be authentically you. That you make the hard decisions because you know that you’re not giving yourself the ability to grow and thrive. You deserve it. I promise.