Confessions of a Struggling Undergrad

It's been almost a month since we first launched The Story of Consent. I mean, look at us. Ali and I were babies back then. 

I remember the day before we launched so vividly. I obsessively checked the site to see if it was looking okay. I couldn't sleep that night because I kept checking the site. I couldn't stop looking at it. I imagine this is what parents feel like when they first meet their kid. I know it's not the same thing... but I'm a 22-year-old whose closest experience to parenthood was that day at my old camp counselor job when all the kids thought it would be funny to call me mom. This experience was completely new to me. I helped make something. I spent months working on this. I probably annoyed Ali with my obsessive texting about this project. But, I couldn't stop. I suddenly had this beautiful thing I helped make and I loved it with all my heart. 

I'm not saying that I haven't been this proud of other work I've done. I'm very proud of my speech career and my other academic work. I've gotten the privilege of doing some pretty cool things with some very smart people. The Story of Consent, however, marks a very different chapter in my life: this is the first time in two years that I've felt like myself. 

It's been a little over two years now since I came to terms with my anxiety and depression. I held myself together very well throughout high school and early college. My anxiety activated the part of me that was terrified of failure and that kept me motivated for 20 years. However, that could only last for so long before I snapped. And boy, did I snap. For the first time since middle school, I wasn't doing well in school. My speech success was not where I thought it should be at this point in my college career. The people I loved seemed to all be leaving me at once, either because of graduation or growing apart or simply because I cut them out because I didn't think they could understand the pain I was in. And so, I snapped. I frequently skipped classes to lie in bed all day. In the rare instance where I actually showed up somewhere I was supposed to be, I avoided people and spent all of my energy trying not to have a panic attack. I lied to my friends and family about getting help because I thought this was all my fault... and, therefore, my duty to fix it myself. In my heart, I believed that I was a complete and utter failure. That I truly earned this misery I felt. 

This breakdown led to me leaving my university for half a semester to go home. After my junior year was over, the liar in me convinced my family, my friends, and my coaches that I was better. I wasn't. I wasn't quite done hating myself. But, I fought to come back to school anyway. Nothing was different. I still couldn't keep up with my classes. My speech success was still not up to my standards and I couldn't fathom why. I couldn't see that my depression took away all the motivation and passion that used to drive me. I kept telling myself that once I got success, I'd be happy. But, I couldn't get the success I wanted until I found a way to be happy. I was stuck. And I hated myself for it. I didn't learn my lesson. I thought I outsmarted my mental illness. So, I spent what was supposed to be my last year of college flailing about, wavering between anxiety-driven hard work and long episodes of hiding in my apartment as I lied to everyone I cared for about how I was doing. I finished off the year by crying in my parents' house while the last of my close friends graduated on the day that I was supposed to graduate. But I didn't. Because I didn't take care of myself. 

I spent this past summer hearing a lot of "everything happens for a reason" speeches from anyone who failed to notice my lack of graduation photos on social media and then found themselves trapped in an awkward conversation that was supposed to just be small talk. I've never believed this "everything happens for a reason" nonsense. Then, I met Ali.

On the first day of school, I was sitting in a Women's Studies class. The class was introducing themselves. Ali was next to me and started listing off her major and minor and hometown and year in school. And all I could think was: this girl just stole my intro. For the past five years, we've been at the same school with the same major and minor. For most of our lives, we've lived in the same county. And I had never crossed paths with her until now. I wrote it off as weird. Then, I walked to my next class for the day... and Ali was there too. I had never met or seen this girl in my life despite having every opportunity to have done so. And now, all of the sudden, I have two back to back classes with her. And I liked talking to her. I'm not a person who generally likes talking to new people. So, I set out to make her my friend. And, amazingly, it worked. I had a friend. And this was a friend that was passionate about the same things as me.

We'd engage in intense conversations about rape culture in our Women's Studies class, then we'd walk together to our next class, and we'd finally panic together about our Capstone Projects. We spent most of September using our in-between-classes time to throw out ideas for this project. These conversations would be what I looked forward to all day. I finally had a reason to get up and go to my classes. I had a friend that would care if I was there. Then, one day, lightning struck and we had a conversation that led to the creation of this website. 

My entire demeanor changed. I was... happy. I had this project that I was passionate about and I had someone to share it with. I had a reason to get myself back together. 

Creating this site wasn't easy. It was exhausting. Months of research. Days of website designing. A lot of nights where I couldn't sleep because I couldn't stop wondering how you all would react to this site. And it was all worth it. 

On Tuesday, Ali and I presented our work to the class we did all this for. 

Our professor teared up because she didn't expect us to come up with a project quite like this. Ali teared up, probably because it was a very touching moment. I teared up for a very different reason. If everything had gone according to my original plan, this might not have ever happened. If I hadn't struggled through the last two years, I wouldn't have met Ali. We wouldn't have come up with this website. I wouldn't have had this experience. Sure, I went through a lot of pain to get to this point. And every single second of it was worth it. That pain brought me to this moment. It brought me to this place where I now know exactly what I am capable of. And in this moment where we were all stifling back tears, I remembered those words that haunted me just months before: everything happens for a reason. 

I still don't entirely buy this mantra. However, I can't deny its accuracy here. Ali, this project, and these classes reminded me that there are causes worth fighting for. Further, this experience taught me that I'm not the villain in my story. It might sometimes seem like that, but, that's only because I haven't turned the page yet. 

I've told you this story for two reasons. First of all, it's been a very emotional week for me. I've had lots of dramatic realizations about my life. Ali is graduating next week. It's finally hitting me that I'm finally going to graduate in a few months. I just needed a place to get all my feelings out so I won't turn in papers next week that have damp spots from my tears.

Secondly, I hoped some of you could get something from my story. It's not technically about consent. Those posts will come later, don't worry. Anyway, this is a stressful time of year. A lot of people get depressed around the holidays. If you're having feelings that you're struggling with, you're not alone. But, acting like you are alone won't help you. I can't tell you how to deal with whatever battle you're fighting. However, I can tell you my story. I can tell you that sharing this story has been cathartic for me and has taken a lot off my chest. If this site can be a place for you to talk about what you're going through, use it. If it can't, please don't let that stop you from opening up. At the very least, my inbox is always open and I care about you. 

Some things happen for a reason. Some things happen for no reason whatsoever. Regardless, you happened for a reason. The reason might not be clear today. The reason might change every now and then. The reason might not be what you thought it was. But the reason exists. 

XOXO,

Alex

PS. All of you should congratulate Ali next weekend on graduating. She's one of the best people I've ever known and we should all be super proud of her.