Inside My Mental Breakdown

Greetings, squadlings.

This past week has been…interesting, to say the least.

You may remember my last post mentioned that my mother’s friend’s memorial service was in Washington D.C. last Friday, and my mom and I couldn’t find a way to go.

Long story short, we did. But more on that later.

Let’s start with Monday.

Monday night, I had class. Every Monday and Wednesday, I have class from 5:00-5:50pm. This particular Monday, my professor asked us to do something a bit odd: He wanted us to draw how we were feeling. Why? He said he wanted to show us that most of us were in the same boat. So, I drew how I felt.

I drew a person with an anvil falling on their head.

As my professor went through our drawings, I realized something. I realized that I was miserable. 

I stood up and walked out of class, sitting in my own thoughts for a minute before calling my mom. Before my mom got two words in, I was sobbing and said, “I want to go home.” 

It’s true: I want to go home. I never thought I’d be saying those words, after I worked my ass off to get to where I am, but it’s true. I want to go home.

I actually spent my time out of class in a computer lab, looking up the application process for the giant university in my hometown. In that moment, I was 100% convinced that I was going home.

I don’t know what made me hit that point. Was it that three people I know had passed away in the past week? Was it because I was PMSing (sorry if there are any dudes who read this shit)? Was it that I was fed up with school? Why was I so suddenly desperate to get out of my school?

I ended up spending the night at my grandmother’s house. I couldn’t stay in my dorm. I don’t know why. I just couldn’t. I wanted absolutely nothing to do with anything involving my college at that point.

To make a long story short, since that night, I have barely set foot in my dorm room (although, I must admit, I’m sitting on my beanbag chair in my dorm room as I write this). I’ve been staying with my grandmother, ten minutes from campus. She drops me off at school in the morning and picks me up at the end of the day. WHY have I been staying at her house?

There is something comforting, in the midst of a mental breakdown, to be away from the place that is causing said breakdown. I feel more relaxed at my grandmother’s house. Yes, I’m living with a 78-year-old woman instead of my friends, but I actually like staying at her house. I get good food, I can shower without wearing shoes, I get to sleep on a mattress that’s not made of plastic…I don’t know how long I’ll stay with my grandmother, honestly. Probably until she kicks me out.

Nothing interesting happened on Tuesday, so let’s skip ahead to Wednesday.

Wednesday morning: The day before my mother and I would have had to leave for Washington D.C. if we were going to her friend’s memorial. I get a text from my mother around 9am: Thinking about D.C. again. 


Believe me, I didn’t mind the thought of going to D.C.. What I minded was the fact that, if we were going to D.C., I needed to know AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. I would have to buy a one-way plane ticket from Minneapolis to Chicago (my school is closer to Minneapolis and I would have no other way to get to Chicago on time), buy a bus ticket to GET TO MINNEAPOLIS, get back to my grandmother’s and pack, and get back to school to catch the bus, all before the bus left for Minneapolis at 3:30pm.

Long story short, I did it.

I spent the night at my aunt and uncle’s house in Saint Paul, Minnesota, and, at 5:00 the next morning, caught a one-way flight from Minneapolis to Chicago. I landed in Chicago around 7am, and waited for my mother to arrive for our 11:50am flight to Washington D.C.. My mom showed up four hours after I did, and OUR FLIGHT TO WASHINGTON D.C. WAS DELAYED THREE HOURS. 

Eventually, some time on Thursday evening, we made it to D.C.

D.C. was really cool! We saw the White House, Washington Monument, Smithsonian Museum of American History, the U.S. Capitol building…I’d always wanted to go to D.C., and though I wasn’t there for a good reason, we still made the most of the trip, just me and my mom. I was glad my mom was able to go to her friend’s memorial and speak to some people from her childhood. (I’ll post the full story in another post soon, I promise). 

When we arrived back to my hometown, BOOM CUE MENTAL BREAKDOWN ROUND 2.

On Sunday, I had to catch yet another bus to get back to the town where my school is. Before I caught the bus, I had the world’s most obnoxious mental breakdown.

I started sobbing, screaming that I didn’t want to go back to school. I was telling my stepdad how much I hate my school (I don’t) and how I didn’t want to go back (that part was true). 

Unfortunately for me, I didn’t have a choice: I had to go back. So, tears and all, I climbed onto the bus and went back to my school. When I got off the bus, as the driver handed me my suitcase, he smiled at me and said “Hang in there.” 

So, here we are: Tuesday night, sitting in my dark dorm room alone, wondering what the hell is up. Am I going to transfer home? I haven’t decided. Am I thinking about it? I hate myself for saying this, but…yes.

When I came up here, I never once considered that I would be thinking about going home. I do like my school. Do I love it? No. Was moving up here easy? No. It’s three hours away–for me, that was a big leap. It’s far, and I hate that. That’s truly the only part of it that I hate about it.

I’ll give you updates as they come.

Wish me luck, squadlings.



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