You may notice the beginning of this post is rather similar to one that was published recently (I have since taken that post down). This is because the post you saw was actually an accidentally published draft. Here’s the real thing :) :) :) !
When I submitted my college applications, I was already mentally prepared to be pelted with rejection letters. In fact, maybe there was a little part of me who longed for that. I wanted colleges to deem me as unworthy for their institution, not because I wanted to discontinue my education, but because for all of my life I have seen myself as nothing but a housefly – annoying, bothersome, and a waste.
So when I got my first acceptance letter as well as a pretty hefty scholarship, I was in a state of shock. I had in writing that someone actually wanted me to teach me, to watch me grow, to watch me make something of myself.
It wasn’t too long after that, that more acceptance letters came rolling in and with each kindly written letter I read, the reality of the situation began to hit me harder and harder. It finally dawned on me that within a few months, my little ranch-style abode would no longer be my home. Instead my home would be a dreary, outdated dorm room with thin-walls allowing any noise to seep through.
Reading these letters was already stressful enough, but obviously my mom and dad didn’t recognize that. Instead of seeing that I needed a break, my parents insisted I visit one of the schools that accepted me. I agreed. Not because I wanted to, but because I have been cursed with the desire to please others before doing anything for myself.
Hesitantly, I emailed the admissions counselor and scheduled a visit to meet with a faculty member as well as the school’s pre-health track adviser. My mom happily got reservations for my dad and I at a hotel near the school and for the days leading up to the visit, my dad couldn’t stop talking about all the things we could do while in that area. I honestly just wanted to curl up in ball and cry until I had no more tears left.
When the day of the visit finally arrived, I held back tears as I threw a day’s worth of supplies into a small suitcase and changed out of my mismatched pajamas. By the time the clock struck 6:30, everything was packed and my dad stood in the living room with a smile on his face, ready to take me. He seemed to have this idea that the next 24 hours would be jammed with joy and memorable father-daughter bonding experiences. Yeah . . . because spending a day just thinking about nothing but my future sounds like an absolute blast to me (I hope you sense the immense amount of sarcasm there).
After 4ish hours in the car, we made it to the college. Now I am not going to get into the nitty-gritty of all that happened while I was there, but let’s just say I had some massive panic attacks . The bone-chilling fall air, the seemingly endless sea of students, and the very idea of my future caused my heart to beat wildly and my breathing to become shallow. As we drove to our hotel after the horrific visit, I begged God to show some mercy by getting rid of me. I didn’t care how God went about doing that, I just knew that this next stage in my life was a burden that I didn’t believe I could carry. I should have known better though than to plead with God because believe me, I have tried it before. Throughout my entire battle with my eating disorder, I have desperately asked Him to pull the plug on my life. Either He just doesn’t exist or the requests of a mentally-ill adolescent female usually go out His back door, because obviously I am still here.
Honestly, I wish I could write something better for all of you – something that will put a smile on your face. During this transition period of my life though, things have been beyond challenging. I feel like every waking moment of the day is a battle and to be quite frank, I am truly exhausted.
Maybe I just have to hang on and keep fighting.
Maybe all this emotional bloodshed will be worth something in the end.