I can’t believe it’s over. Looking back, my first term of university wasn’t as scary as I thought it would be. I have made a few really great friends who are really good genuine people. In fact, I met one during my very first engl 109 class (shout out to Christina)! I survived speaking English semi-properly. Most of all, I learned a lot about myself.

Let’s get started, shall we…


At the very beginning, I felt like I was on cloud 9. I had gotten into my dream University, one that I worked really hard to get into. Things were going fantastic. I would come home every day with a huge smile on my face, and always proudly wearing my SJU sweater when I could. I would basically re-give the lectures to my dear boyfriend who probably thought he didn’t sign up for this. I would call my parents daily and let them know I was spending their hard earned money very well.

A little before halfway though, I was bragging how easy everything was to some of my friends from back home. Ahh, how good I thought I had it. Then came mid terms, I was now more in depth in my courses and started to realize I didn’t like very many of them. I regretted some of the classes I had picked out, but it was too late to back down. Over all, things were not bad. I had some issues with my chronic illnesses, but I didn’t feel like I was going downhill at all. I studied hard for my tests, I worked hard on my papers and made sure to manage my time.

Lets now travel back a month ago. I noticed I was starting to have a problem on my hands. Mornings were spent trying to convince myself that school was important, that if I didn’t want to go, I should at least do it for my family. They nearly always ended in me crying myself back to sleep in the mornings. Nights were spent worrying about anything and everything that could possibly go wrong. I was wondering if I would fail my course because I could not even wake up to go to them, what my peers and professors whom I had made many connections with would think of me. This caused me to start having multiple panic attacks, and I avoided everything that would cause me any type of distress. I was at the point of dropping out. I didn’t care how far I’d already made it.

I thankfully realized that I should talk to someone about the way I was feeling. One day, I had enough, I didn’t want to continue feeling sad every day, crying myself to sleep and missing out on opportunities. I decided it was time to get some help.

I am still currently struggling with what I now know is depression. But I am confident that I will get better from this and be able to lead a less painful life.

Lastly, if I could give any advice to future students I would say, don’t be afraid to seek out help. If you are feeling anxious or depressed, the school has many resources available to help you out. Having a mental illness does not mean you are crazy.