Another Manic Monday

So when I was thirteen, I was sitting at home one Saturday afternoon playing Soul Blazer on Super Nintendo. My sister’s friend Dominic was over, and he said, “Shouldn’t you be outside, playing with your friends?” I thought to myself that I didn’t have any friends, and I cried myself to sleep that night. When my parents moved away from Fort Worth that summer, I was more than ready to make a fresh start in another city.

My first year of high school was pretty hard, because everyone already had well-established cliques from middle school. I managed to work my way into one, just by following around the only person that I knew in my own grade. It also helped that I joined Math Team. Yes, it sounds really dorky, but everyone in my high school was really smart and it wasn’t as big a deal as you’d think.

One night during my freshman year I walked to the kitchen, and picked out the biggest knife I could find. I held it over my chest for a while, thinking how terrible my life would be if I missed my heart and had to just go to the hospital for stabbing myself. I put the knife back after that.

My life got steadily better over the years; I became closer to my friends than ever before, and was able to talk to them about almost anything. Unfortunately, during this time I also sealed my fate for the next year. I was still brainwashed into thinking that the only important thing in choosing a college was prestige, and I avoided all public schools. I was pretty ambivalent about gaining admission to Carnegie Mellon, and accepted the admission immediately.

My freshman year of college was one of the worst years of my life. It rained everyday, and sometimes the rain was frozen. When it didn’t rain, it snowed. Hail started as early as September in Pittsburgh, and ended as late as April. Covering up didn’t really help, because the wind would find a way to blow the precipitation into your clothes. The only thing more depressing than the dark, is being wet and cold. More than this, I hated my school because there wasn’t anything to do there. On Saturday morning, my friends and I would have to go into the computer lab and play Starcraft. But the worst thing of all was the girls: our school had a 3:2 guy/ girl ratio when I started there. Not bad in and of itself, but the girls were so bad-looking. I guess it’s hard for girls up north to stay fit, since there’s nothing to do all day except sit indoors and eat. And, it’s more acceptable, since they’re always bundled up. Girls in the South constantly have to show their bodies off, so it’s really more important here for them to stay fit. Anyways, a year at CMU really lowered my standards in women.

Amazingly enough, I was actually more miserable the following summer. My parents had just moved to Houston, and I hardly had any friends here. Not only that, but I couldn’t find an internship, and it was too late to sign up for classes by the time I got here. So, I had almost no way to meet people my own age. I was lucky enough that my parents were sympathetic (meaning that they were afraid of my temper tantrums), and my dad took me to see a counselor. And then a psychiatrist. While neither of these were actually able to help me, it was nice to at least have someone to talk openly to. It was probably also one of these two “professionals” that said that I might be chemically-imbalanced. “Might” because the brain is a black box (the first thing they teach you in Psych 101), and can’t actually be understood except by observation.

Summer finally ended (Thank God; I mean, me). I had signed up to be an Orientation Counselor, for no other reason than my own OC had suggested it to me. My roommate and I had also decided to build our own loft – with his dad’s help – and so I had to head back to school two weeks early. OC training was terrible: everyone seemed so happy. As for myself, I couldn’t even figure out why people dragged themselves from one sorry day to the next. Half-way through the first day of training, I couldn’t take it anymore. And then it occurred to me that the “Tower of Learning” at the University of Pittsburgh was over forty-stories tall. I had always thought that falling would be the best way to die (possibly second to a drug overdose), so I just started climbing stairs. Life found a way to thwart my plan, however, and I was unable to find any window or balcony access on any of the higher-numbered floors (somehow, building maintenance has anticipated my suicidal scheme. You bastards). Frustrated, I slunk back to my dorm room and took the remainder of my anti-anxiety pills (there were about twenty-two left). I threw up pink a few times, and then started to feel feverish. Not wanting to panic my parents, I called my sister and told her everything that happened. To her credit, she flew down immediately and spent the weekend to me. To Paxil’s credit, I did not feel depressed for the rest of the weekend.

The school counselor, while being extremely annoying, was able to point me out to an exceptional psychologist. The man knew when I was lying to him, and in my weakened mental state I honestly believed that he could read me mind. Nay, I thought him to be a guardian angel sent down to protect me. At any rate, the man narrowed down the cause of my depression to be sexual frustration. We both knew he was right, because it was the only thing that made sense.

I stayed in school for two weeks, but I was unable to sit through class without having to leave the room to cry. I withdrew from the University, and had my dad take me back “home.” My psychologist recommended one of his former students to me, but he was useless and I didn’t spend much time with him.

Coming back to Houston was hard: I still couldn’t persuade myself to work even part-time for more than a couple weeks at the same place. The only thing I had to keep myself busy (other than spending time with family) was my cat. Oh, and I was taking a class at the University of St. Thomas, but I didn’t interact with any of the other students there. I was interested in attending Rice University, but they only accepted Fall transfers. And so the following Spring, I started at the University of Texas.

Can you understand what I felt at the time? Everyday I saw new people, it was always sunny and warm – this was heaven for me. Again I was at a new school, and didn’t have alot of friends. But I more than made up for that, by meeting people. Sometimes I got bored on weekends, but I would just drive a few hours to see my parents. No, I don’t think that I got depressed again until I started dating my first girlfriend.

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