“So, Lauren, how was your freshman year?” my friends from home and distant family members ask. Well, I’m nearly positive that it is the most expected and cliché subject for a first-year student to write about in her final Mind of a Freshman column, but I’m coming clean in plain terms this time, instead of writing in metaphor as per usual. I’m going to tell you, beginning to end, holding nothing back, how my freshman year started with golden, beautiful hope and excitement, tore me to pieces, and rebuilt me, entirely anew.
Now, in this past year, multiple facets of my life have had drastic ups and downs: my mental health, my physical health, my grades, my weight, my confidence, my view of my self-worth, the number next to the dollar sign in my bank account, and many more. So, sit back and relax, as I tell you a story, month by month, of my freshman year.
On August 25, I moved into room 628 in Jonas Hall with my roommate who I had become fast friends with over the summer. I was a tanned, toned, smiling, healthy, bouncing baby freshman with that golden gleam in my eye. I damn near glowed with excitement and hope for all of the possibilities in store for me and all the chances for exploring I would get to have.
On September 25th, I was 10 pounds lighter and had just realized that I had lost a part of myself that I had not freely given, and I began to decline — mentally, physically, and academically. I had thought I had made the best friends of my life — blindly trusting everyone — I always trusted someone until they had proven themselves untrustworthy, instead of the other way around. That golden gleam turned to a hollow, vacant stare.
By October 25, I was 32.7 pounds lighter, had lost a significant amount of my hair, which I have always thought to be one of my better features, and was later told that I looked like a ghost, a walking skeleton, during that time. I had welcomed the thought of some sort of afterlife, anything that would be restful or peaceful because anything had to be better than where I was. I found that I was amusing myself with whatever sort of entertainment I could find, and would mercilessly take advantage of people’s interest in me until I got bored of their company. I would have at least one panic attack a day and didn’t see a way out of the downward spiral I was in, spinning faster and faster and faster until I met two beautiful people who caught me.
By November 25, I had been thrown a life raft. I had fallen from that downward spiral right into the arms of people who cared about me and my well-being, including my academic career. They were a guiding hand, leading me back to myself. The rain, hail, and clouds from the squall I had been caught in began to dissipate; the heavens opened and let in a bright exquisite light, and my two feet gently touched the ground. Although I was beginning to kick to the surface of the depths I had sunk to, the toll the past semester had taken on my academics was irrecoverable.
On December 25, I started dating one of my guiding hands, a boy who has brought meaning and glorious joy back into my life, who has completely immersed me in a love that I never thought that someone as damaged and bruised as I could ever deserve. It was the first time I started smiling since that past August.
By January 25, two days before my birthday I may add, I took a positive swing in my life: I had gained back 10 pounds, my hair began to slowly grow back in again, and I found myself in a single dorm (still room 628 incidentally). I had a group of friends who had earned my trust after a long and lengthy “free-trial” process that I had created for the safety of my heart in order to not be hurt so deeply again, and I think about how lucky I am to have them every single day. I established a support group of faculty and staff throughout the school, my extended lifelines, people I am incredibly grateful for.
By February 25, I was falling more deeply in love, not only with the other half of my soul but also with myself again. The process of falling back in love with yourself after months and months of grueling self-hatred is something that I never wish anyone to have to go through. It was hard, and there were many tears, but it was only with the encouragement of both my best friend and my boyfriend that I was able to find that I deserve more than a lifetime of loathing myself, that I deserve happiness.
By April 25, I had gained back all 32.7 pounds that I had lost, even adding a couple extra to top it off, and I had completely stopped having panic attacks regarding the events of September. I was finally healthy again, both physically and mentally, and I had found it in my heart to forgive every single person who had a hand in my decline.
By May 13, nearly eight and a half months since I was forever changed, the day that I said goodbye to Stevens for the summer, I was finally happy…not just in fleeting moments, but consistently. I am healing. The scar is almost fully closed.
You may think that I still hold some hatred in my heart for those who have hurt me, or you may think I am going to say how I couldn’t be more grateful for the experiences that I have had. I say neither. I have grown and learned and experienced more in the past nine months than some have in their entire lives. I take each lesson I learned, hold them in my heart, and continue to grow as a person every day. And, I’ve finally decided that my future lies beyond the yellow brick road.
Mind of a Freshman is an Opinion column written by one or two first-year Stevens students to discuss life experiences during their time at Stevens, and other related subject matter.
Be First to Comment