Over the past month, as colleges have welcomed students back to campus for another school year, I have been thinking a lot about my own college experience.
People say that college is supposed to be the best four years of your life, but I find those words to be categorically false. For me, the four years I spent in college are among the worst of my life thus far.
When I went away to school, in addition to the normal items a freshman brings to campus — fresh bedding, Burnett’s vodka, a MacBook, and new clothes — I brought with me an anxiety disorder and ADHD (both undiagnosed), boatloads of repressed trauma, and a secret eating disorder.
On their own, anxiety, ADHD, trauma, and eating disorders are hard enough to cope with. Together, they were a recipe for disaster. And coupled with the external factor of my new environment? Forget beer kegs. I was a human powder keg. It wasn’t a matter of if I would explode, but when.
Of course, I didn’t see an explosion coming when my parents dropped me off freshman year. I was young and hopeful.
On the drive from Florida to North Carolina, I made my mom listen to Asher Roth’s I Love College no less than thirty times, loudly singing along as he rapped things like, ‘Time isn’t wasted when you’re getting wasted,’ and ‘Drink my beer and smoke my weed, but my good friends is all I need.’ In the driver’s seat, my mom scowled disapprovingly and turned the music down to remind me that I was going to school to earn a degree, not to party.
I couldn’t articulate this at the time, but in hindsight I can see that it wasn’t the partying I was looking forward to — at least, not exclusively — but the social scene as a whole.
In high school, I had an extremely mediocre social and love life, but I believed in my core, that I if I worked hard and got into my dream school, college would be my time to shine.
The long awaited best four years of my life.
And for a brief moment at the very beginning, I could almost see it coming to fruition. Sure, I was desperately homesick and on the verge of failing two of my classes, but I was having fun! I was making friends! And most important of all, a boy liked me.
A really cute boy who wouldn’t have looked twice at me in high school, who I really, really, really liked, liked me too.
Everything was perfect.
Only it wasn’t. It really, really, really wasn’t.
The rose colored glasses quickly fell off and what followed were four incredibly painful, lonely, and, at times, downright miserable years.
Four years spent drinking too much and too often. Ditto with other substances.
Four years filled with toxic and cliquey friends. Friends I couldn’t trust or rely on.
Four years wasted partying and ruminating on meaningless drama, when I should have been focused on my education.
Four years spent starving myself for weeks on end, only to one day eat everything in sight, then throw it all back up.
Four years I tolerated being repeatedly lied to and cheated on because I didn’t think I could do better. Didn’t think I deserved better
Four years of mental anguish because I refused to take medicine for my anxiety and panic attacks due to fear of the stigma.
Four years that my bank account was in the red more often than not.
Four years of avoiding my reflection in the mirror because I couldn’t stand the person staring back at me.
Four years of being a complete and total fucking mess.
I often equate my college experience to riding one of those gravitron rides at a carnival. Do you know what I’m talking about?
You start by stepping into a circular cage with bright flashing lights and enticing music. It looks a little dangerous, but so fun. Everyone lines up in an open spot against the wall and presses their backs firmly against it.
When the cage is full, the ride operator locks the door and fires it up. It starts out gently enough. Spinning you in slow circles. It might even trick the unexperienced rider into thinking it’s going to be gentle.
Then, it begins to pick up speed. Before you know it, you’re spinning around and around and around so fast, you start to lose track of the world around you. It’s all a giant blur of colors and sounds that you can’t make out. Nothing feels real.
You notice you can’t move. Can’t even lift a finger. You’re pinned to the wall, paralyzed by the force of gravity.
And just when you think things can’t get any worse, the floor beneath your feet falls away. Now there is nothing below you. You’re not wearing a seatbelt. Gravity is quite literally the only thing preventing you from falling to a very painful death
You are spinning so fast that the muscles in your face stop working. You’re just pinned to the wall, all droopy and frozen. Defying the laws of physics.
Around and around and around you go, and just when you think you can’t stand it for another second, and you’re ready to puke all over yourself, the floor reappears beneath your feet as if it were never gone. The spinning slows and eventually comes to a full stop. The world returns to normal.
When you get off the ride, there is so much adrenaline pumping through your veins and your mind starts playing tricks on you. Convinces you that it wasn’t that bad, that maybe you want to go for another spin. So you do.
You get back in line and go again. And again. And again. Swearing that each time will be the last, but deep down you know it won’t be. You know you’ll keep getting in line, keeping making the same mistake over and over, until someone kicks you out of the park.
Or until you graduate.
That’s what college felt like for me. As awful as it was at times, I was helpless to do anything about it because there was a part of me that was addicted to the drama.
It also wasn’t all bad — I certainly managed to have some fun while I was there.
Fun with a few amazing friends who helped showed me what healthy friendship looks like. Friends who saw me at my worst and loved me anyway. Friends who I am still friends with to this day. Friends whose babies I adore and whose weddings I was in. Friends who I hope to call mine for a lifetime.
I also learned a lot of very hard, but necessary lessons. Lessons on life and love and friendship and what it means to be a fully formed human being in this world.
And on laundry. Can’t forget the laundry lessons, nor the many clothes I ruined on the wrong washer and dryer settings. I don’t want the clothes to think they died in vain.
But all things said, I think it is clear college was not the best four years of my life.
Far from it.
You are probably wondering why I am telling you all of this? Why am I sharing all of these extremely unflattering things about myself on a public platform for the whole world to see?
Valid questions.
I think it comes down to the fact, that of all of the emotions I experienced during college — and I experienced the full range — loneliness was the worst. The idea that everyone around me was living the best four years of their lives while I was so unhappy, made me think there was something wrong with me. Made me think I was broken.
And I was absolutely terrified for my future, because if these were supposed to be the best four years of my life, well. What the fuck was the rest of my life going to be like?
Better.
The rest of my life was going to be so much better. Of course, I had no way of knowing that. But perhaps, if I had come across a blog post like this back then, I would have felt just a tiny bit less alone. I think it may have helped to know that at least one person on the planet understood what I was going through.
So to anyone who is in college now and not having the best four years of your life, this is for you.
I want you to know that there is nothing wrong with you. You are not broken.
But most of all, you are not alone. There are thousands of other people who have been in your shoes, who understand what you are going through, and they all want you to know that it gets better.
It might not seem like it now, but I promise, you are still so young! You are a baby, just learning to stand on your own two feet!
And you have so much life to live after college; there are so many wonderful years to come.
And you certainly don’t want the best four years of your life to be behind you at twenty-two.
XOXO,
Maddie
College is a hard (and a secret eating disorder makes it even harder - I know from experience). I’m only two years out of college and felt so validated reading this. All of my friends from college continue to talk about how badly they wish we could go back and I feel so isolated in my inability to relate to that feeling. Thank you for being open and sharing your experience 💌
As a current college student (also in North Carolina lol), I really needed to read something like this. Thank you for sharing!