“Maybe there's a galaxy with a planet that's just a little more tilted, with a sun that shines just a little bit darker, and that's where I'm supposed to be, where it somehow makes sense to feel this broken.” Amy Reed
I didn’t know if I wanted a single or a double dorm room. I could go into college knowing at least one person if I was in a double. In a single, I would start this whole college experience without knowing anyone. And if I was in a double, I would have to inform my roommate of everything that’s wrong and all my possible triggers. It wouldn’t be fair to her to just break into an episode without warning her that it could possibly happen.
Ultimately, I could go into college with complete anonymous or I could go into college with one person knowing exactly what goes on in my day-to-day life. Having someone know is the logical choice, because it’s always good to have someone who knows what is going on in my head and with my moods. But, it’s hard to find someone who understands and is sympathetic to what I'm going through. People hear the word and it’s like a tattoo on my forehead that says, “Stay the hell away, too much to deal with.”
And I can’t be with anyone who has a disorder, because their episodes will only trigger and worsen mine. I can only imagine what it would be like with someone who fed into my episodes. My episodes aren’t all that often anymore, but if I had someone who was feeding into them, I don’t think that I would be okay at the end.
While the school knows, so my professors can know, the people in charge of housing assignments are not going to go through all four thousand incoming freshmen to find me a suitable roommate. So, after a ton of debating and making lists of the pros and cons, I chose a single, because people either lie on the personality surveys or they change by the time they’ve finished their first week of college.
So, I chose a single.
And while being alone scares the crap out of me, living with someone who doesn’t understand me and instantly judges me seems even worse.
I know that it won’t be all that bad, because everyone on the floor is in a single, and that means we all have to get out of our rooms and congregate in the floor’s lounge if we want to meet people. And I want to meet people. I want to make friends and not be all lonely the entire year. And by next year, I want to be able to have a friend who I want to room with. That sounds so fantastic.
It also sounds extremely doable because I'm not looking for everyone I meet to be my friend.
“Are you going out tonight?” She sounds hopeful, excited for me, and I want to tell her that I am, but I haven’t really met anyone yet and I haven’t been invited anywhere. The clubs are all in the student center, promoting themselves and giving us a chance to sign up, but I don’t really have anyone to go with just yet. “I saw that there are a few things going on. You can go to the club fair or they have all of those games going on.”
I want to smile because she means well, and she just wants me to have a good experience. But, honestly, I need to figure all of this out on my own and on my own terms. “I’m going to try to meet some of the people on my floor and hopefully I’ll met at least one other person to go to the club fair with tonight.” Glancing at the wall, I realize that I feel happy when I look at all of the pictures of me and my family. I miss them, I do, with everything that I have, but I can do this.
“I think that would be a great idea. I know that you had done your research and found a club that acted as a support group. If you don’t want to check it out when people are watching you, can you email someone in the club and ask to be put on the emailing list?” I know she means well, and I've already emailed the president of the club. It’s scary for her, especially since high school was so hard, and I was able to escape to my house, where my parents and brother were. And now I have no one, and I think that worries her more than it worries me.
“Mom, that sounds great. I’ll make sure to do that right after I hang up.” I'm okay. I don’t walk around afraid of triggers. It’s been a while since I've acted like this, conscious of every little thing that happens. Hell, I knew that I would be like this in the beginning. A transition like this calls for a little bit of a freak out. And really, I know that I’ll be fine, it’s just something that I can’t help but worry about. I think that’s human nature. We all want to be self-preserving.
Before this, before leaving for college, I was okay. I didn’t walk around afraid of someone saying something that I know would upset me no matter how hard I tried to tell myself that it didn’t matter. Really, I was happy. There were days that were harder than others, days that I would spend hours ruminating, but I've really been doing well. It helps that my family is so understanding of what’s going on with me. It’s genetic, so they knew that it was possible for it to happen to one of us, it was going to be me or my brother, and I was the one who had all the bullying in grade school to set it off. I think that without them being there for me and without them forcing me to go to therapy and making sure that I took all of my medications, I wouldn’t be here today.
And I mean that literally.
It’s nice to know that I have that support system. It’s also hard to know that I owe so much to other people. I owe them my life. And that’s a lot to keep on my shoulders, knowing that while I went through hell, so did they.
“Hey, Grace, do you want to walk around campus with me?” Someone stands at the frame of my open door, and I look over to her from my bed. Her name is Bethany, and we met when we were doing those corny icebreakers with the floor. She’s nice, from what I can tell. And she’s pretty, but not conventionally pretty. She’s short, I don’t even think that she’s five foot, and she has short blonde hair that ends at her chin with really dark brown eyes.
Nodding my head, I smile at her, letting her know that I'm interested in her offer, but I'm still on the phone. “Hey, mom, I have to get going. Can I call you later tonight?” It feels good to tell her that I'm busy and actually mean it. I was worried that I was going to have to lie to her.
I swear I hear her sigh happily, and I smile, wanting to laugh at how something so little makes her so relieved. “Yes, Grace, it’s perfectly fine. I love you.”
“I love you, too, mom.” I hang up the phone, sliding off my bed, making sure to put my phone into the pocket of my jeans. Maybe, just maybe, this is the start of a friendship.
