It's not often that I stop and listen to something that hurt my feelings, rather than automatically lash out and let my annoyance blind me from what the other person had to say. However, last night I listened.
My best friend hurt my feelings. Very bad, actually. But she had a point, as she always does. We were up until 6:30am (we accidentally had insanely strong coffee and couldn't sleep) watching three movies, the entire 5th season of Broad City, and talking about random things. Somehow we got on the topic of me feeling like a failure. I hadn't felt this way in quite some time--as I've mentioned, I've been suspiciously stable for a good year now--so it took me aback when I was suddenly sad and wanted to talk about it. I confessed that I'm embarrassed to be graduating college later this year as a 28 year old, barely earning my BA degree while all of my closest friends have Masters degrees and career level jobs. I'm unemployed and searching, but I've been avoiding applying places I think people may run into me. I quit a great career type job about a year ago, and now I'm floundering around without a solid job to sit on. I left the great job because of the bipolar disorder and the way it was affecting me. I could not do the job correctly anymore because of my mental illness, and I had to quit the best job I've ever had. But other people don't know this. My fear is that they'll simply run into me and wonder why I quit an amazing job only to wind up back in customer service or wherever hires me next.
I know there's nothing wrong with customer service. I know this. But last night I was getting too far in my head, and I started crying a bit. For just a minute I had the thought that I'd be better off dead. And in that moment, I started talking about how much I wish I'd been able to have the college experience like everyone else I know. I always hear my friends talk about how college was the best time of their lives, their amazing memories, the funny stories, great experiences. It just sounds amazing. It's the time when you're supposed to be free, explore, experience, grow, flourish, wander around until you find something you love and then start down that path.
For me it was hell. I didn't get those things.
I had some amazing friends, but the reason I know how truly amazing they are is because they're the ones who kept me alive. They looked out for me. They're the ones who did their best to make me eat food when I insisted my body could self-sustain on energy and happiness without food. They always made sure I was safe. They're the ones who talked me out of dropping everything and moving to another city with no money, no home, no job, and no way to pay tuition for a school I was not talented enough to attend. They comforted me. They're the ones who held me for hours while I cried uncontrollably during random times of random days, and nobody knew why. They didn't judge me. Not even when I panicked because of the dead body being dragged up the building that they somehow couldn't see, even though they were staring at the same exact building. They made sure I was okay. They're the ones who watched for signs of dangerous side effects when I started medication. They're the ones who convinced me I wasn't defective even though I was diagnosed as mentally ill. They're the ones who made sure I was home safe after nights of wandering the campus alone at 2am to explore. They're the ones who watched me curl up in a ball and sob for days rather than go to class. They're the ones who made sure I didn't run off to meet up with strange men in other cities I'd found on craigslist. They're the ones who saw me jumping, scratching, reacting to things tormenting me that were not there. They're the ones who gently told me they didn't hear those voices, too. They're the ones who told me it would be okay every time family came to visit, and I broke down crying the second the car drove away to return home without me.
They were my friends, and they were amazing. We had fun times but I don't remember most of those. The things that stick out were the hallucinations, the diagnosis, the suicidal thoughts, the constant begging to drop out and move back home, the nervous breakdowns, the weird looks, the sleepless nights, the sleep paralysis, the night terrors, the anxiety, the stress, the absolute hell that I couldn't seem to escape the entire time I was away at college. I have funny random stories to tell, yes. But my entire time in college was the worst of my life. I think everyone underestimates this. I'm always told "oh it wasn't that long" or "lots of people have a hard time" or "you tried and it wasn't for you" but what people don't understand is that I have no idea how I am still alive after my time in college, because I was so close to killing myself. I'm back in school now, but it's online from the safety of my home. I never got a normal person's college experience, and I will always wish I had.
Last night, I asked my best friend if she thought I was being a whiny crybaby because when I mentioned how it made me sad knowing I'll never get that experience, she kind of grunted and didn't respond. She asked how so, and I said she'd grunted without a response, which made me think she was annoyed. Long story short, she feels that I tried college and it wasn't for me, but that I did get the experience because I came away from it with funny stories, and I tried it out. And that I should move on, because everybody has things in life they wish they'd gotten, such as a personal example of hers that made sense (I won't repeat it because it's not mine to tell), and that I should basically get over it because there's nothing I can go back and change.
That hurt my feelings. So. Fucking. Bad. Because it is an understatement. The understatement of my life, basically. College was an absolute nightmare, and I don't understand why nobody else can understand. I did not get to do college like everyone else. Yes I moved to a different city, lived in the dorms, partied, went to class, made friends, etc. I also had an undiagnosed and extremely out of control mental illness that was fueling my life the entire time. I don't remember many of the good things. I remember the hell, the psychosis, the breakdowns, the yearning to either escape or be dead. I remember lots of funny stories because they somehow stuck in my head, and those are the main stories I tell. But I did not get the college experience, and I feel like I was robbed due to my mental illness. And it fucking sucks. And my best friend told me to move on.
But you know what? She's right. After I sulked, cried silently a bit (I'm pretty sure she knew but just let me have my moment), stared at a wall in the dark room while birds chirped outside because it was sunrise and we still hadn't fallen asleep, I realized she was right. I had, and still have, no idea how to feel about it. I felt like she was disregarding my experience. Because she doesn't baby me, it feels like this sometimes. But when I'm truly in distress she's the first one who's there for me, and always in the best way she possibly can be. I know she didn't disregard my experience to be mean. She had a point; there is literally nothing I can do about this, ever, in any way shape or form. I have no time machine, so why dwell on it?
I can't stop the sadness in my heart when I hear everyone's tales about the joys of college, but I can acknowledge the fact that there is nothing I can do about it. I can and will try to move on each time these feelings arise.
I guess the thing that makes me the most upset is knowing how hard I tried to enjoy it. How badly I wanted to just be and feel normal. Even before I was diagnosed and knew what exactly wasn't normal about me, I constantly wished, begged, and tried so hard to be normal. I need to stop dwelling and face the fact that I have no choice but to move on. As my best friend said last night, I need to take what I've done and move forward to pursue what I love, rather than dwell on the past and the things that went wrong.