While I originally felt compelled to craft some witty last words in an attempt to encapsulate my time at Bradley, I just don’t think comedy can convey my thoughts as a soon-to-be graduate. So to avoid another sugary story of the things I missed out on, or how I wished I had a different college experience, I’m just going to write the past four years as straightforward as possible.
When I arrived on campus as a freshman, I had those same thoughts that every student has when they move away from home. I wanted to shed my high school reputation, or lack thereof, make an incredible friend group and find my place in the world. Simply put: I wanted to find myself.
And I did the best I could to do that. I bought new clothes, I joined a fraternity, I met new people and made friends (tried to anyways). College was exactly what I expected.
As the years went on, I started to get more involved with the fraternity, even going on to serve as the philanthropy chair and the president. I started here at the Scout halfway through my junior year. I was making more of a name for myself and began shaping into the person I knew I could be.
But as I look back on the years, especially this one, I see one thing I couldn’t shake from the transition into college. A flaw I’ve had since at least junior high. A foe too many of us are all too familiar with: depression.
This isn’t to say I didn’t enjoy my four years at Bradley. They’ve been amazing, and I’ve made some of the best friends and memories I could have ever asked for. But the biggest regret I have is not acknowledging my depression sooner, and not asking for help. Like most people, I usually just use it as a punchline in dark jokes, burying it behind a quick-witted one-liner and a smile, acting as if I am totally unphased by it.
From an objective point of view, I needed help long before college. But even now, with a free counseling center on campus, I still don’t seek the help. I tell myself that if I continue to make self-improvements and keep making myself into what I want to be, that I’ll be able to overcome it, that I’ll just stop being depressed.
Senior year is supposed to be the best one of them all. A year filled with non-stop partying, doing the bare minimum just to be able to walk across that stage and grab a piece of paper. Yet this year has far and away been my most miserable one – granted, losing a parent halfway through doesn’t help matters either.
What should be my highest point with the best memories has been my lowest. I’ve basically forgone all classes, relationships and responsibilities entirely – just going through the motions to stay afloat, but still sinking. Simple tasks have been nearly impossible, lacking all motivation to even wake up when it’s so much easier to hide under my blanket, sleep and escape into a world where I’m not feeling like a failure. What I thought was senioritis has really been so much more.
Coming to college, I wanted to become something new, and I did just that. But I also neglected my mental health and let it fester until now, when it’s become too much. I’ve convinced a lot of people I’m fine, including myself.
And now I’m sure you’re all wondering how I can possibly drag myself out of this hole and have a happy ending. Great question.
I guess really the biggest thing to understand is that you can try to run away from the problems you have back home and the person you were in high school. You can reinvent yourself, become the person you’ve always known you can be and still end up unhappy.
It doesn’t matter how many positions you held, how many parties you went to or how many friends you made if you don’t take care of yourself and your mental health first. I owe college my utmost gratitude and my deepest disdain, for this was the best and worst four years of my life. It’s going to be a hollow goodbye come May 12, but it will hopefully lead to a brighter future away from this chapter.
