It is the end of another long week. I've always been one to love school and this year, though more difficult than ever before, is no different. In fact, after just the first two weeks of classes, this year has been quite rewarding.
But, the week didn't start out that way. Sunday night, only five days ago, I was frustrated. I was very very frustrated. I was finally admitting to myself that I was thinking of leaving. I even said the words out loud. As much as I wanted coming back to school to work out, I wasn't sure that it was. After a frustrating day of callbacks (callbacks that I thought went poorly, at the time) and unfinished homework, I had a mini meltdown.
Luckily, as you know, I have friends sent from heaven. So I spent a good hour and a half crying and spilling out all my frustration on my friend Alex. Alex knows me extremely well. We've been friends since freshman year and we spent a good bit of our friendship as a couple. I thought it would be hard to continue our friendship when we ended our relationship, and at times it was, but we've reached a great resting point. And he's still one of my best friends. He's seen me cry probably upwards of twenty times and he gives great hugs, so when I hit my wall of frustration, I knew I could talk to him.
While hashing out all my frustrations to him, I realized what was hurting the most. Even though I was back and I was with my friends and I was working on my classes and thesis, something didn't feel right. While talking it out, I realized that I wasn't excited to be back. I was waking up every morning and not looking forward to the day. My days were spent struggling with the chair across campus, barely managing to focus through the brain fog in class, feeling out of place in my new condition, and hitting bump after bump after bump (not only figuratively). I needed something, everyday, to look forward to. I needed to feel like I was moving towards something (other than the dooming graduation) and not just staying afloat. I needed a purpose that needed me.
Fast forward to yesterday. It was a long day full of work and classes. When I finally got to stop for a meal, I ate a fortune cookie. I cracked it open and read this fortune:
But, the week didn't start out that way. Sunday night, only five days ago, I was frustrated. I was very very frustrated. I was finally admitting to myself that I was thinking of leaving. I even said the words out loud. As much as I wanted coming back to school to work out, I wasn't sure that it was. After a frustrating day of callbacks (callbacks that I thought went poorly, at the time) and unfinished homework, I had a mini meltdown.
Luckily, as you know, I have friends sent from heaven. So I spent a good hour and a half crying and spilling out all my frustration on my friend Alex. Alex knows me extremely well. We've been friends since freshman year and we spent a good bit of our friendship as a couple. I thought it would be hard to continue our friendship when we ended our relationship, and at times it was, but we've reached a great resting point. And he's still one of my best friends. He's seen me cry probably upwards of twenty times and he gives great hugs, so when I hit my wall of frustration, I knew I could talk to him.
While hashing out all my frustrations to him, I realized what was hurting the most. Even though I was back and I was with my friends and I was working on my classes and thesis, something didn't feel right. While talking it out, I realized that I wasn't excited to be back. I was waking up every morning and not looking forward to the day. My days were spent struggling with the chair across campus, barely managing to focus through the brain fog in class, feeling out of place in my new condition, and hitting bump after bump after bump (not only figuratively). I needed something, everyday, to look forward to. I needed to feel like I was moving towards something (other than the dooming graduation) and not just staying afloat. I needed a purpose that needed me.
Fast forward to yesterday. It was a long day full of work and classes. When I finally got to stop for a meal, I ate a fortune cookie. I cracked it open and read this fortune:
Yesterday I had my first rehearsal for a senior thesis production, Running by Arlene Hutton. It's a two character show and I will be playing the female lead. Later in the semester, I will be in a student written play called Boxes. I found a way have fun, a purpose that needs me, and I'm so very excited about that.
Yesterday I also finalized my thesis topic. After a lot of back and forth decision making, I have submitted my research questions, sources, and one page summary. I don't want to bore you all with the details but I will be focusing on the effect of the Reagan administration on the relationship between the FDA and the pharmaceutical industry. I have a direction to go in (and I bought a dozen books online) and I'm excited about it.
I'm still sick. I can't deny that. My mom is super worried about the commitments I'm making but I can't explain how much better I'm feeling. Sometimes I wonder if having something to look forward to can be the difference between being chronically ill and feeling chronically ill. Maybe part of the reason I got so much worse in June was because I was forced to give up my internship and hit pause on my once exciting and purposeful life.
When I decided to return to school, I was deciding to hit "unpause" but I think I forgot to hit "play."
Maybe my luck is about to change now that I'm finally hitting "play." (puns!)
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