Free-thought Ramblings ahead. You have been warned.
Before I start, I'll apologize for being away. Not that I've been missed, mind you. It's plain to see that this blog gets peanut reviews, but I don't mind. In a way I like it better like this; this way I can write anything and nobody really knows. It's wonderful to have something that I can write freely in. My last blog on Adventure Time was a spur-of-the-moment fun blog, and it's ironic that as soon as I wrote it, I considered writing more like that on the same show, and then Doug Walker of Nostalgia Critic fame starts a video blog with his site. Needless to say, I continued watching the show and tuned in to see his impressions instead of jotting down my own. Ah well, like sand in an hour glass...
It's difficult for me to start writing nowadays. Even the little fanfic blurbs I write in private, never to see the light of day until their imminent perfection, are hard to continue. What's the hold up? Nobody will see them. I haven't posted them online like I used to do years ago. I don't carry around the hard copies in my school folder, dozens of typed pages stapled together like an important research paper. The font is so small and the margins narrow, clearly to show that I had an epic novel on my hands, when in reality I only wanted to pair Main character 1 with Side character 2 instead of his love interest on the show. And now, in 2014, they all sit on my hard drive, waiting to be clicked on and edited, waiting to be added to the Recently Opened category in Word. So many stories found with fleeting inspirations in the wee hours of weekday nights when I should be asleep. So many stories where creating drama was not only necessary, but fun! Because who wants to have a cast of characters that love each other's flaws and are accepting of their mistakes and shortcomings? Of course, I must be cautious in that this doesn't bleed over into my actual life.
With all this said, I have returned to college. I haven't been enrolled in a semester since Spring 2012, where in a disastrous turn of events of my own doing, I failed 3 of my 4 courses. Oh why, you may ask. Why would such a thing happen? Did someone in your family pass? Did you develop a terrible disease, or did all of your belongings catch fire? Were you kidnapped and whisked away and by the time the police found you, it was too late to turn in your Final assignments? Sadly, the answer is no to all of the above. It is here that I will reveal the answer twofold.
While I took all of my courses in stride, trying to take as many notes as possible and conferencing with professors outside of class, I remember the problem started with one small thing. For my British Lit class, I had ordered the wrong book from Amazon. It was 2,000 pages long, a monstrous tome of Chaucer and Shakespeare and... oh who am I kidding. I couldn't even tell you. But I found it impossible to use, as it did take a little extra time for proper citation and reading along in class. Especially Beowulf. I don't think I've come across anything more frustrating than Beowulf. Regardless, I fell behind in my work and eventually dropped the class. No matter, I've got 3 classes left. It was completely doable, no problem.
Poetry was fairly simple, right? I really enjoyed it for the most part. Of course, poetry can be very subjective, and I just so happened to have a professor that strongly disapproved or perhaps just disliked rhyming schemes. I really liked writing poems, even though the methods I had were rather... rigid, let's say. I found iambs and trochees and certain meters to be appealing more than the watery, flowing, "let's put full-stops in the middle of a line" kind of poetry that she encouraged. And yet I knew that to get the grade and to prevent harsh criticism, I would have to play the game. And while I did just that, it was a matter of the final itself. We were supposed to make poetry booklets, sewn by hand and decorated with art. A book of poetry? How could I possibly do that, when in class I had only written 4 poems. A book with 4 poems is barely a pamphlet. Clearly I needed to pump out at least 6 more, but I was overwhelmed with the prospect. I remember sitting in my bedroom, all electronics off, an empty notebook, the sun shining through my window, and not a single inspiring muse came for me. I felt locked up mentally. While she found the prospect of iambic pentameter and AABB rhyme schemes to be constricting and lacking freedom, I found them secure and comforting, leading my thoughts on exactly what to say. This was the only class I did not fail; however, I received a D and therefore did not receive any credit for the course.
Next was my English Studies class, which the department had just recently added at the time and made it mandatory for English Majors to take. Out of nowhere you had a class that was meant for sophomores, and yet it was filled with Seniors in their last or next-to-last semesters. It was terribly unbalanced and the professor that taught the course was a near-clone of my Brit Lit professor, at least in personality and class expectation. Although I tried to keep up with her, she had me re-write my papers until they were to her satisfaction. My final paper was supposed to be on Nabokov, yet another author that made my head spin with how confusing everything was. I think it's a common phenomenon that these types of books are better read outside of classroom reading lists, because otherwise you get someone like me: a person who feels very lost and confused at exactly what themes are presented, because the particular book we were reading was wrapped in layer after layer of "the meta" of itself. I managed to finish the rough draft summary and the citation page, but never finished the final draft in the end. I failed the course.
Finally there was Novel Writing. This one I was looking the most forward to. How could I not? Isn't this what writers dream of? It was a 400 level course that met once a week and we all took turns writing two chapters of our original ideas and by the end of the semester they would be honed into novel form and graded as such. Arguably the easiest and most creative of my four classes. It was extremely satisfying giving my classmates positive feedback as well as criticisms of the constructive type. When it came down to Finals week, I had a set schedule for everything. I had written down that my Novel Writing Final was my very last final, and therefore I had plenty of time to take everyone's suggestions and fix up my chapters to turn in. No problem right? Well it would have been, except that I had written down the wrong day entirely. It was to be turned in the first day of Finals, not the last. And like the procrastinator I am, I didn't realize this until 2 days beforehand. I had nothing ready. I remember being hunched over my laptop, desperately editing and backspacing and typing until 4 AM, when my final was due at noon, but I hadn't slept for 18 hours and then some. I hadn't even touched the other half of my final, where we had to write a 3 page review of a non-fiction book. And in the end, I gave up, turned off my computer and went to bed. Naturally I woke up at 11:50 AM and said "Screw it. Just... screw it."
Ultimately not my finest hours. I'll also be sure to mention that I was seeing someone during that same week, and I used that time to forget about all the school work that I had half-assed or skipped over. A week after Finals, I outright told him that I had royally screwed up and failed everything. I thought for sure he would be angry, but how could he be when he hadn't even finished college himself? Water under the bridge, but nonetheless I at least made it known that I had messed up, partially because of my stress, and partially because I was distracted by him.
Things are different nowadays. It's been almost 2 years since that entire incident. I've worked for most of that break at an Amazon warehouse, and that's an entirely different story for another day. Basically it wasn't satisfying working there, and so I knew I had to go back to school. I didn't come to that conclusion on my own though. From last May until the present, I had been seeing a therapist every 2 weeks. It was around the end of September that I started to really miss the prospect of school again. I was so unsatisfied with my job, not to mention that I had what is classified as "Suicidal ideation" or just thinking about suicide because of that job and my situation. I told my therapist that I needed some kind of guidance in life, something bigger than myself. So I decided that I wanted to graduate. It's something that I've been needing to do. I spent 3 months jumping around, filling out paperwork, making appointments, writing appeal letters, and corresponding with the Dean of Students, all to get me enrolled and taken care of.
My depression has taken over my life. I feel as if it's been deeply rooted and the only thing that I can do is move around when I need to, such as for school or for survival. For now it's just a matter of living with this heavy shadow on my back and a dark weight on my chest. I'm not on any medication, and although I've continued therapy, I'm not seeking help from anyone else. I don't believe it's any secret to my friends, and it's extremely easy to use my crippled financial situation as an excuse to not leave my apartment. Too easy, in fact. All I know is that when I do finally get this thing off my back and out of my mind, I think I'll finally be able to enjoy life. I'll be able to let go of my insecurities and fears. I'll be able to find purpose in life.
So until then, I'll be down, but not out. I may take the convenient paths, but at least I'm on them. And I'm still alive and still making attempts for a better life. Because every now and then, I feel like I could live without worry. Wouldn't that be wonderful?
