I’ve always been a good student and did what I was supposed to do, but I’m not sure why. Maybe it was because my mother was strict and didn’t tolerate anything less than academic excellence under her roof, or maybe I was actually smart, or maybe I wanted it for myself. I’m not sure.

Elementary school was hard for me. I had a lot of challenges. I would have temper tantrums so bad the principle could hear me from her office, and there were times my mom had to be called from work. She was always so mad, and sometimes she would say the meanest things. I didn’t understand then, but I get it now. As a single mom immigrant working to take care of two children, things were always tough, and it seemed as if I made it worse. I could never pay attention in class, and would be deemed as “talkative” or “eccentric”, even “cantankerous” (that last one was courtesy of my mother and father). After a little bit, my crying had gotten to a level where one day they threatened to call child protective services, something I didn’t find out until this year, so my mother had to sit with me for a year in class everyday, and that was the only time I would stop crying because she scared me, I knew she wouldn’t tolerate it.

I had always been a cryer, but I remember vividly when the moment hit me that no one in the world cared. Everyone always had stuff to deal to with, and my issues were no one’s priority, they just wanted me to be well behaved, so I was. I became quiet, and if I cried it would always be under the protection of my blanket late at night. It seemed as if I had gotten “better” to everyone else, but on the inside I was still struggling. It wasn’t until late middle school that certain subjects like math and science made sense to me, I remember I was sitting in Algebra when everything finally started to make sense. Eventually, I figured out that each classroom had it’s own set of rules, like a board game, and as long as you figured out said rules, you could win, so that’s what I did. I was getting A’s and B’s around the clock which continued throughout highschool.

Fast forward to college and everything went downhill my first year. I had a 2.4 GPA, and had no idea how I had fallen so low. Maybe it was freedom for the first time, or maybe it was the imposter syndrome, or the feeling that I belonged nowhere in this environment. My mother was disappointed but she didn’t yell, it was the first time I truly felt comfortable around her, or didn’t feel the need to lie. She told me she wasn’t surprised, and thought I should take a break from school, I didn’t want to. Not because I loved school or anything, I wanted my semesters of freedom where I made my own decisions. I couldn’t go back home.

I got my shit together and I started getting A’s and B’s, and eventually getting all A’s, raising my GPA from the ashes. I was proud. Then there’s this semester. This semester was the first time in about 2 years where I had fallen so low. I always had anxiety and stress when it came to school, fits of crying and rage where nothing made sense, and a feeling of helplessness because a letter and calculated number determines how valuable future employers see you, and failing was not an option. So I sucked it up and persevered. It always worked until now.

Right now I feel as I did back then. I’m struggling, bad. I was drowning and I thought I could save myself, but this time I couldn’t.

I always hear people saying, “reach out for help” as if it’s so simple. I grew up with a culture that frowns on that. A culture that doesn’t believe in mental health, that shoves things so far down you forget they are even there. I tried explaining to my dad, but he said that I don’t know stress, I don’t know struggle, and he’s not entirely wrong, but that doesn’t make my pain go away. My mother is disappointed, again, and she thinks I am lazy, with no ambition.

It took trying to write a research paper, at 5am in the morning with 27 missing assignments from the same class, me being behind in other classes, and damn near failing this one to realize I really was drowning and this time I couldn’t save myself. I tried to gasp for air but it was too late, I was already under water.

I reached out for help. I’m not yet afloat, just keeping my head barely above water

This post is inspired by OUMEKWE1’s post “Am I smarter than a fifth grader”. I had a comment to write but it was getting long so I decided to make it a blog post.

In OUMEKWE1’s post they talk about being smart in kindergarten and always getting As because it was “easy as hell”. I could somewhat relate to their post but when I reflect back on kindergarten it wasn’t necessarily easy as hell for everyone. The way I see it, kindergarten was all about knowing how to follow instructions and “behave”. When I was in kindergarten I would always get good grades and progress reports with a few caveats. I would always get an “R” for rarely in the listening comprehension category and one other category related to behavior. I was known in kindergarten for being a “smart kid who doesn’t listen”. I was known to be in my own world and doing my own thing instead of engaging with what the teacher was saying. I think part of it was that I was bored and I wasn’t used to school. At home you do whatever you want but at school it was all about following rules. Because I never really listened, I guess they assumed that I didn’t speak English very well?? I was placed in ESOL in kindergarten and was pretty much stuck in ESOL until I complained enough about it and I tested out of it. Seriously, it sounds kind of unbelievable but I was there for I don’t know what reason. I always had a high reading level and my mom tells me that when I was in kindergarten I was reading bigger words than most of the other students. English is my first and only language, I never spoke my native language. I believe I was placed there because I didn’t follow directions. When I was in ESOL I never felt like I was supposed to be there and it felt like a big waste of resources. There are a lot of reasons why a student may have a hard time paying attention, especially at such a young age, but the system always wants to label a child with something and tell them they’re doing something wrong. My parents are relieved that I turned out ok because they said my kindergarten teacher complained about me all the time and they were worried I would be bad in school. I think it’s pretty trash to start policing and labeling students at that age. There’s nothing wrong with having high energy, or being quiet and introspective, or being extremely curious and wandering sometimes. We all come in with these differences but get taught by school to conform. I find that in itself to be disabling.

            As a function of the mood disorder I have, I sometimes experience psychosis. After working with it for a couple years now, I am very aware of when I am experiencing psychosis. This awareness is called “insight” in the world of treatment, which is a cool name, kinda makes me feel like a wizard. The first thing I do when I know I’m experiencing psychosis is find something to focus my eyes on. This makes it easier to sit back and think without getting distracted by what’s going on around me. Then, I try and examine my mood leading up to my experience of psychosis. Oftentimes I find I was anxious or overwhelmed beforehand, and the psychosis I am experiencing is one way I have of understanding that. Much like crying is not a symptom of sadness, but a response to it that helps your body relieve stress, psychosis for me is not a problem in itself. Rather, it is a natural bodily response to powerful and difficult emotions. With an awareness of my emotions leading up to experiencing psychosis, I can understand and act on what my psychosis is telling me. I can feel better after my delusions and hallucinations than I did before.

I have an odd relationship with my glasses. I hated them at first, but at the same time, I do have to wear to see clearly. And it is my own fault that I even need them, as I have a bad habit of looking at bright screens and as a result, I ended up worsening my vision. And I dislike the concept of contact lenses, because they feel too alien to me. Imagine putting something your eye and not hating it. It couldn’t be me. I hate, hate my glasses, but now years later, I can’t imagine myself without. I guess this kind of a stockholm syndrome of sorts?

And I can’t help but wonder about others who also might share a similar sentiment, people who have grown attached, for lack of a better word, to the assistance tools they need to go through life normally. For instance, being attached to your crutches and your wheelchair if you can’t move without assistance. I have even seen people take pride in the fact in being disabled! Now, this might be close-minded of me, but I don’t see how not being to go anywhere without your tools is anything to take pride in. Acceptance, yes, but not exactly pride.

Then again, it might be because that they’re disabled that they view things differently. Just because they value their disability as part of who they are doesn’t exactly mean that society shouldn’t listen to their pleas to put fewer obstacles in their or anyone else who’s disabled, path.

And after all, almost nothing in life which is worth having is an unalloyed good. We’re all sometimes driven to distraction by our family, our friends, our hobbies, or our jobs, no matter how much we love them overall. Even people endowed with extraordinary beauty or talents will sometimes feel the downside of those blessings.

But on the other hand, a person valuing their disability doesn’t just mean that they can find some scrap of comfort in the way that they or others deal with their disability, as sometimes people find some comfort after a bereavement, by learning about their inner strength or deepening their relationship with friends. Plenty of disabled people value their lives with disability, not just despite their disability.

Within the body positivity movement, I am constantly thinking do I truly love myself? 

So after a long fight within myself and playing events in my head of my older brother freaking the F out, that didn’t even happen. It was like a normal conversation. For the longest time, I really thought that he would go off on me and freak out which is why I neglected to tell him but I feel SO MUCH BETTER. IT”S LIKE A HUGE WEIGHT HAS JUST BEEN LIFTED OFF MY SHOULDERS!!!!!! I Can FINALLY START BEING MY TRUE SELF IN MY HOUSE!!!! Like I don’t have to hide anymore! Like we were laughing and carrying on because of how accepting he was. At the end of it, He told me that he still loves me and will always love me because I’m his brother and he won’t judge me at all!!!! I still have my biggest battle with my friends and my father but I promise you that I feel soo FREEE!!!!!!!!!! I Love being in the LGBTQ+ Community and I can Finally say that I’m in the right direction on truly becoming Happy!!!

The first thing you need to understand is that in the United States, higher education is a business and they only profit when students attend. The university wants us to want to be there, but they also want to be just out of reach, satisfaction unattainable. If we find fulfillment we might not return, so they have to break us down, down, down, to leave us wanting more.

So that after you turn in that 10 page essay that your blood, sweat, and tears (oh so many tears) went into, that you now hate, because you spent the last hour tearing it apart to make it just right for them, despite the fact you loved it just a day ago when the idea was fresh and shiny, after you submit that wretched no good very bad paper to blackboard, you wait. Wait for them to tell you if you passed their test. Wait for them to tell you that your thoughts are good enough. That you’re good enough. That you matter.

Because my anxiety was made and manufactured by the school system, and they peddle the cure, too. Not a real cure. It’s only temporary. It’ll only last me long enough stay in the system. To want another dose.

And when you get that grade back, after living in the lowest low you’ve ever experienced, and it’s a brilliant shiny black 12pt Times New Roman ‘A,’ suddenly you’re riding high on the validation that you’re okay. And you wanna do it all over again. You want those “great work”s and “nice job”s, because you’re certainly not getting them from yourself. Because you spent your entire adolescence beating yourself into form so that an adult would give you a pat on the head. And now it’s an addiction. Your real life is filled with self-hatred and doubt, and then you have a weekend of papers returned and its like you’re on ecstasy. But then the next paper is due and you have to do it all over again.

And when you try to get real help. Long term help. Therapy. Accommodations. Medication. Then, the university turns on you. They’ll offer you three free therapy sessions in a 15 week semester and extended deadlines if you can get a professional sign off on it. So be grateful. Why do you want more? They’re helping you the best you can.

So you go to your professor and you say “I’m sorry for the inconvenience.” You say “I know this is my fault.” You say “I will do better next time.” You say “thank you” for the extension that you don’t have official accommodations for, because they’re really doing you a favor. How kind of them to extend you a little bit of undeserved grace. Because, really, you should be able to do this. Why can’t you do this?

And I love school. I really do. I love learning and talking and writing. I love exploring new ideas with smart, passionate people. But how much of it do I love because I’ve been trained all my life to find self-esteem in a teacher’s approval? I’m graduating this semester, and part of me never wants to go back. I feel like I’m standing in a doorway with one foot over the threshold but not sure of my next step. I had always planned to go back. Go to grad school, get a masters, maybe even a PhD, become a professor, and spend the rest of my life in this never ending cycle: write, edit, submit, write, edit, grade, write, edit, publish. Or maybe I could do something else for a little while. Be an independent adult, less needy of that praise, but also without something I truly love. Do I truly love it or do I just need it to be okay? I just want to be okay.

I don’t know.

Around a couple of weeks ago, I (well, all of us) received a very distressing email from UMBC reporting a hate crime. An unknown male ripped off the hijab of a female Muslim student in Commons. Not even a couple of days after that, we received ANOTHER email about hate crime on campus. Someone was saying racial slurs to another student online while in class/group discussion. IS THIS WHO WE ARE? IS THIS WHAT WE STAND BY??

As of now in the world we live in, commercials and advertisements are common staples of society that are everywhere no mater where we look or go, but most people normally don’t think twice about them or look into them deeper level. This is due to us being desensitized to surplus amount commercials and advertisements we have been exposed to over the years, to the point that we have created apps to remove them so we don’t have to see them as we surf online on websites.

But what if we step back and did an experiment? Lets say I was an alien lifeform from another planet, and these commercials and advertisements were the only medium I could use to learn about the human race and the male and females of it species. Without question, my image and idea of what humans would be highly likely and most definitely inaccurate and twisted due to such a small pool of (quiet inaccurate) information available to me. Even then, what do these advertisements say about the women and men of the human race, and what would an alien being from a foreign plane of existence assume about us humans just from looking through these advertisements?

From looking through a lifestyle and home magazine, issue: Summer 2019, there was a good amount of advertisements I could view through and observe. When looking through advertisements with men present in them, one would perceive that human men are influenced through the objects and activities that can allow them to feel strength and power that they themselves lack and how their ads can help any man regardless of ambition and ability. In this magazine, there is an enforcement of the idea around family and financial success involved as well. I took note that there is a noticeably low amount of male advertisement in the magazine, and because of that, and alien lifeform would think that men are not useful to convince sales in this sort of demographic in this particular kind of magazines.

Notably, when looking at ads with women in them (or as the star focus), there was so much more ads involving women in them compared to their male counter parts. In the magazine, almost all advertisements had women in them, even with the ones with men in them. Because of this one would have much more “information” they could work with. From what has been seen and shown in these ads, women’s concerns and ideals are much more detailed, and yet shallow in its superficial substance.

Information that has been given from these ads would say that women are much more focused on the importance of their physical appearance, even in the most simplistic of daily tasks such as the style of her kitchen, even though there was an ad with barely the bottom half of her face was shown but her body and frame took the majority of an ad, while the main point of the ad ,the oven, was just a small neat square in the center. As stated before, in these ads, women seem heavily focused on their physical beauty, especially the face. And from this, one would think a woman’s worth is based on their beauty, family life as well, but its is much more focus on how physically attractive.

It’s all strange when you look at these ads from an aliens’ point of view, huh?

[For anybody wondering what magazine I used, it was the “MAGNOLIA JOURNAL” (summer 2019)]

Before the pandemic, I was living on campus away from home, and I really enjoyed the freedom that came with it. But when the pandemic started, I was away visiting family in Arizona, so when I came back to Maryland, I had to quarantine myself at my brother’s apartment for three and a-half weeks before I could move back home with my parents.

During those three and a half week was also the last few weeks of the spring 2020 semester; so I had to take not only the last few classes in a place I wasn’t used to, I also had to take my finals there as well, which definitely had a huge effect on my mental health and grades.

Even when I was able to move back home with my mother and step-father, I wouldn’t be able to even hug my own mother for another three weeks.

Because of the COVID pandemic, I couldn’t see my friends, go outside, couldn’t go to a convention that I go to every year during the summer; and overall generally lost the ability to do the things that made me happy.

All of that stress had caused me to fall back into a very deep state of depression during the whole month of July; I stopped taking care of myself and spent most of my days sleeping because I couldn’t stand being awake, where as my dreams always seem more appealing to live in.

My depression at that time was eating me away till the point where there was almost nothing left, and I felt that the world around me had lost its color. Also, what didn’t help was the political climate/what is going on in the world, which made it hard to find any good news with what was going on during that point in time.

I had missed being able to do things and enjoy life, I missed having the freedom to go out and spending time with my friends; I missed being happy.

That summer of 2020 was, without question, one of lowest points in my adult life and I can only hope it can only go up from there.