Perfection.... Or Something Close

Earlier today, I read an article about the pressure put on teenaged girls to succeed in high school, both in their studies and their social lives.

Earlier this semester, I wrote about my own struggles with depression/mental health, some of which has most likely been brought upon me by the society that we live in: the incessant pressure that I faced (and still do face) to be a high-achieving, personable, athletic, empathetic, involved individual (read: perfect).

Do I agree that teenagers live under an immense amount of academic and mental pressure? Yes, especially where I'm from, but these pressures are not the only ones that I faced in high school. My younger sister is currently a senior in high school, and most of her friends are on our school's cross country team, a team which has a reputation for excellence, whether that be winning cross-town meets, dominating state championships, or having the largest team in the district. Out of the group of maybe six of them, four of them have gotten knee or hip surgery in the last two years, and the orthopedic surgeons consistently tell them that their joints have deteriorated because of overuse, overtraining, and not allowing their bodies to recover enough between workouts. The girls are unfazed. As I was talking to one of them, two weeks after her surgery, her biggest concern was that she wasn't swimming. She's on a club swim team during the cross country off-season, and she was fearful that both of her coaches (cross country and swimming) would be unhappy that she couldn't train during the time that she was recovering from her surgery. She also is a soccer player. She pointed out that six to eight weeks is a long time to take off from sports, and she couldn't wait to get back into everything.

My sister has undergone extensive injuries (broken bones, torn MCL, concussions) with her ice skating career, to the point where the receptionist at the orthopedics office knows her face. She's been yelled at by her coaches for getting injured, and frequently throws herself back onto the ice before she's ready to, because she can't afford to miss a practice.

Excuse me, what? The coaches of the sports teams of these injured girls are getting upset that they can't participate in the same sports that injured them in the first place? And the girls are thinking that this is normal? In my experience, knee surgery was not a normal event in my circle of friends, and to have it be such a standard thing in my sister's close group of friends? Because these sports coaches are overworking their athletes, and training them to an unhealthy degree?

That's not even mentioning the hours that are required of cheerleaders, dancers, the rest of the athletes, the theater department, the show choir, and all other activities. My senior year, it was not uncommon for me to get to school before the sun came up, for a pickup choir rehearsal before school, and leave after the sun went down, as drama/show choir practices frequently kept me at school until nine or ten at night. One week, my choir director pulled us out of class for three days to do extra practices, and I brought my laptop so that when I wasn't on stage, I was writing my three papers that I had due in my academic classes. Not once, but twice I fell asleep on the floor of the dressing room during our lunch break, because it was the only time that I could take a break. I was spending 15 hour days at school, going home to a pile of homework, and getting four hours of sleep a night, if I could even manage that.

Need I remind you that all the events I'm speaking of are happening to students 18 and younger.

This needs to stop. The culture of perfection in high school so badly tarnishes people into college that I've seen people break down, emotionally, if they got a B on a test. I watched a floormate of mine relapse into her anorexia because it was the only form of control that she felt she had over her life. I live alongside girls that average 3 hours of sleep a night, every night. Girls are killing themselves to pad their resume, and to what end? We continue to derive our self-worth from external numbers, such as our weight, race times, GPAs, SAT/ACT scores, ratio of college acceptances to the number of applications, number of positions held, amount of money we're making, and more.

This is such an unhealthy habit. Society, there's something wrong about turning a blind eye to those that are drowning in the pressure to succeed. And sadly, I don't have a solution.

Depression

I suffer from depression.


http://www.upworthy.com/this-kid-thinks-we-could-save-so-many-lives-if-only-it-was-okay-to-say-4-words

I strongly encourage you to watch the above video, because what I write here is both inspired by and sub-par to this speech.

For the last five years of my life, maybe longer (my mom would argue for the last nine), I've been sick. And this isn't a visible sickness that I can easily medicate, nor is it something that I'm comfortable talking about or admitting I have. Because sicknesses have a cure. That, or they have sympathy. If I were to tell everyone tomorrow that I have cancer, I would get incredible sympathy and support from 100% of the people in my life, of that I have no doubt. But if I were to tell everyone tomorrow that I have depression, some would support me, but many would be confused, and conflicted, and uncomfortable because they're unsure of what I mean when I say it.

Whenever I openly talk about my struggles, I get a slough of positive feedback from others saying that I'm strong, and that they look up to me, and that I inspire them. But I never share my story to be an inspiration, and every articulation of my struggles is less of a motivational speech and more of a plea for help. I want to be understood, and I want others to see beyond the stigmatized lens through which depression is viewed. I don't want to be treated any differently because of what I suffer from. And you may be thinking to yourself that I have a very clear identification of my problem, and you'd be correct. What's more, I know that I should be seeking help and accepting this aspect of my personality. But I'm not, which is sad. It's sad to me because I think of all the people that have told me that I inspire them, and I know deep down that saying that I have a problem and believing it are two completely independent things. I don't want to admit to myself that I have this problem, because I don't want to view myself as a broken person. What's more, I don't want others to view me as a broken person either. I don't want my teachers, friends, potential employers, and peers to know that I suffer from a sickness that is not yet embraced and understood by society. I don't want my medical history to include antidepressants, because I don't want the information shared with those that have access to my medical records. I don't want my depression to be included in a list of facts that others know about me before they know me. I don't want others to think that I'm mentally unfit to hold certain jobs or positions simply because I have depression. And I know that by hiding it, I'm making it worse.

By hiding it, I'm not getting the help that I need to become a more balanced and stable person. By hiding it, I'm not combating the stigma that surrounds it. By hiding it, I'm contributing to the stigma.

I would like to say that my depression is not something that embarrasses me, but I would again be lying. There is obviously something about my depression that I feel is shameful, unfit for society to know. In all aspects of my life, I'm an open book. All aspects that is, except this one. I only share this side of me to those that I'm close with situationally, but not necessarily personally. Of my close friends, I can count on one hand the ones that know I suffer from this. Neither of my roommates know, nor do 12 of my best 14 friends at school. This means that instead of seeking help in my times of need, I retract myself from my life and I hide from those who could help me most.

I try to justify my feelings of depression in every way possible. It's hard, because there are days, weeks, and months that I'm completely fine, and I don't feel this way at all. But there are also days, weeks, and months that I feel so consumed by my sickness and my attempts to hide it that I start cracking at the seams. I blame my feelings on stress, on my lack of a good diet, my changing exercise patterns, the hormones in my birth control, my workload, my body image issues (which aren't even something I really struggle with anymore), the fact I'm so far away from home, and every other conceivable excuse. But the truth is, regardless of how my life looks on paper, there's no telling what my mental and emotional state is.

Depression is not sadness. Being sad when things aren't going okay is a completely natural thing. I know that there's a difference between when I'm feeling sad and when I'm feeling depressed. Depression is being miserable even when things are going fantastically in your life. About five months ago, everything was going right for me on paper. I was close to finishing my year out at school, and although I was stressed with classes, I had just been on spring break and so was refreshed. I had been to see my close friends the weekend before, and my mother, sister, and friend from high school were all up to see me this particular weekend. I had just closed a show, where acting is one of my favorite things to do. My friends were present and supportive. My birthday was the following morning. My sorority life was going well, I wasn't dealing with any rough friendships, and I should have been content, happy even.

But I was miserable. And "sadness" does not explain why, two hours before my nineteenth birthday, I was sobbing in the shower, so people wouldn't see me cry, with a razor to my wrist, looking for something to numb the pain. "Sadness" doesn't justify my desire to physically hide from everyone close to me, as I knew they would find me at midnight to wish me a happy birthday. "Sadness" doesn't quite explain why I almost asked my floormate to hide my bottle of Advil from me because I didn't trust myself with it that evening. Because I don't suffer from "sadness", I suffer from depression. Which is so much scarier, and so much more misunderstood.

I don't want to scare those around me, because I don't want them to worry. And as sad as it is, dealing with depression alone scares me a lot less than trying to explain my irrational feelings to those around me. Because for the last 5-9 years, I've been coping with it alone. It has become routine, normal for me to deal with mild to moderate amounts of depression to the extent that I barely notice it anymore. And aside from a few concrete instances of severe flares, I don't even tend to consider myself depressed because I don't know what it is to be normal. Depression is my normal.

And despite the stigma, despite whatever preconceived notions you have, and despite my refusal to admit to my problem, I'm incredibly secure with who I am. I know that I'm an incredible person who is empathetic to a fault, who works hard in school, who knows what she wants in her personal and professional life, and who is incredibly motivated and driven to achieve goals. I consider it awesome that I joined a boxing gym this summer, that I rock climb and mountain climb, and that I'm a certified SCUBA diver. I don't dwell on failed personal relationships because I know objectively that I don't need other people in order to feel secure in myself. And I know that my leadership and passion and drive inspire those around me.

You may be thinking I'm going to finish with a "but". There is no "but". I'm an incredible person and I suffer from depression. It's part of me, regardless of whether or not I choose to include it in my idea of self or not. It is as much a part of me as my talents, my desires, my dreams, my insecurities, and my flaws. It is part of what makes me who I am. It has taught me a lot about adversity and about the value of talking about subjects that are societally "taboo". It has taught me that I am my own worst enemy, and that I can use this knowledge to my advantage. It has made me more secure in myself. It has made me stronger, bolder, wiser, and has made me a fighter. It has also made me a survivor. Every day I win against my depression is a day of wisdom I gain about the battle I fight, and is another day that I'm strong enough to say that I'm winning. Being here today means that I've beat two suicidal periods in my life. It means I'm empowering myself to speak about my struggles. And it means that I'm continuing to live an incredibly full and fulfilling life, which happens to include depression.

What up?

Hi again! It's been literally five months since I've last posted, but it's been a hell of a five months. Let me lay it out for you, in the briefest terms I possibly can.

The rest of March was really kind-of boring. I started seeing a therapist at the urging of one of my friends at school, and it helped a little bit. Academia was still stressing me out completely and I didn't know what else to do. I can't remember if I told my parents, I don't think I did. My spring break was the final week in March, and it was pretty uneventful. Then, I visited some friends for Easter, was shamelessly hit on by one of their friends, cooked dinner for them, caught up with my friend, and then went back to school. The following week was absolute hell.

The first week in April was a really rough one. I was not ready to combat the school demands, and I was barely staying sane. Unfortunately, my birthday was the following Monday, and I was wearing myself thin just by doing life. The thought of all the added attention on me was totally stressful, and I almost broke down crying in the shower the night before. Then, I tried to hide and was totally ambushed by my floor. It was actually really sweet. The rest of April was a cluster fuck of academics.

May meant dead weeks and finals. This was nothing too much to write about.

June I spent at home in my bed, sleeping my summer away.

July I spent working 45 hour weeks and being boring

And here we are!

This post won't serve much use other than to update you generally what I've been up to, and to tell you I haven't forgotten you! It's just been kinda stressful.

Best,

AG

Void

Everybody's looking for something.

This was originally said by the Eurhythmics, but hey, it's applicable to life. I feel that, personally, my subconscious quest lately has been to fill the holes in my life as I notice them, sometimes even before. Let me explain.

I miss my friends from home, so I'm growing closer to my friends at school. I suppose this is the most natural and fitting of them all, but it still is a replacement of something with something different, so it was worth mentioning, if only to start.

I also, and I'm hesitant to say this, miss the presence of a guy in my life. I figured out that drunken Friday nights lead me to be lonely. I've never been at a loss for male attention (not to be conceited), and so it's relatively strange to me to be in an environment where I haven't been on a date in a solid six months, with the exception of one date that I got friendzoned on. Joy. But the fact of the matter is that this is the longest that I've been single in the past three years. Three years. That's a long time, and I think for the personal development of me here at school, it's overall been a positive thing. It was just a long step from high school to Fratland. Where the guy(s) you make out with on the weekend don't think to call or text you, except to booty call you again. And if they do, they aren't the type of guys you want to be in a relationship with, long term. Let's be honest: the real thing I miss here is cuddling. Someone to listen to my problems unconditionally, and to give me a hug and a kiss whenever I need one. The fact of the matter is that when I was going through many of the most difficult points in my life, I had a boyfriend to fall back on when I needed. This sounds completely horrible, and that I'm a bitch who uses guys, but their support through my tough times was really a blessing and a joy. Even my best guy friends provided invaluable support to me back home. And I miss having a circle of close guy friends around me.

I guess it's also a very stressful time in my academia, and the season has never been a positive one for me in terms of mental health. Oh well. It'll be spring break soon, and then at least I'll get a break from all of this.

The Limitless is Becoming Limited

I'm at a point in my life where my boundless sense of possibility has not yet been destroyed by the demands and realities of life, but where I realize that it's soon going to be.

I go through my life thinking that I can do any number of things. I've considered being a triple major at Berkeley, for goodness sakes. You and I both know that there's no way that I'm going to do this, but it's still incredibly amazing to be able to look at my future and not see a set of constraints. In my optimistic imagination, I'm still limitless. There is nothing in my life that's telling me that I can't do the things I want to do.

But there's a large part of me that knows that life isn't like that. That I have to pick what I want to specialize in now, and then live my life out as a means to an end. That doesn't sit that well with me, because I can't imagine a time in my life where I'll be tied down. Part of the reason I'm planning on going to so much graduate school is because I can't imagine not being in an environment where I'm learning new information daily, and have the opportunity of a lifetime ahead of me.

It's actually rather depressing, knowing that now, at eighteen, my life's possibilities will simply decline as time passes.

Sex Pt. 2

I was watching the Breakfast Club last night and it got me thinking. Why do so many people use sex as a weapon?

Sex is probably the most personal thing that two people can do together, and society treats it as a huge power trip. First of all, everyone is judged as to whether or not they have ever had sex. Many men are looked down on for being virgins, while women are celebrated for being virgins. However, the judgement doesn't end here. Then, it becomes all about the circumstances surrounding the sex: I overheard one of my friends say, in a very condescending tone, "yeah but I've only had sex when I loved someone. It's different." Literally what the fuck? You have zero right to judge anyone else based on how she prefers to have sex. Then, people are judged on the number of people that they've had sex with. Then, they're judged on how good they are in bed. This is just the beginning of the list, by the way.

Seriously? What the actual fuck is going on here? Using this post to judge is highly hypocritical, but I think that people shouldn't judge other people on the amount of sex they are having in their lives, and in what capacity. End of story.

I have friends in every position. Some have drunkenly lost their virginity to strangers. Some want to wait until they're married. One of my best friends had her virginity taken when she was blacked out, aka rape. One girl I talked to about the matter said that she lost her virginity to her best friend, and it was one of the best decisions she ever made.

Personally, as the author of this, I don't think it matters that I tell you about myself, but I will anyways, for those of you that care. I'm a sexual person, but I'm a virgin. Some of my best friends have doubted the fact, and I've had to seriously convince one person in particular that I haven't ever slept with anyone. I think that sexuality is an aspect of a relationship that is important, and also completely up to the two people in that relationship. Everybody's sex isn't anybody's business but theirs, and the person they're having sex with. If that other person is their right hand, then all power to them.

I just don't understand what the big fuss is about sex. Everybody's entitled to their own choices, and everybody has the right to be unjudged by those around them. Thanks for listening to my two cents.

Overpacking

I'm notoriously bad at riding public transit, traveling, and getting around in general. Not that I'm late, although that does happen sometimes. Also not because I get lost or anything like that, because I can generally figure out where I'm going and not look like a complete tourist while doing so. I can transfer from busses to trains to other trains without too mug stress, but there is one problem I always seem to have, and that's that I consistently overpack. There really isn't a time where I don't. Now, some of you may argue that if this is my biggest problem taking public transit, then I'm doing okay. And you'd be correct in saying that! But let me just give you an example of what I'm talking about. Today, as we speak, I'm on a train to see my friend who lives a little bit away. It's a trip solely for pleasure, but it's bookended by essentially a two hour commute either way. I had to take a bus, a train, then transfer to another train and he's going I meet me at that platform (I did actually buy the wrong ticket for the second train but that's really beside the point). When I was preparing for this trip, I figured I might as well bring something to do on the train. I have a math final on Thursday, so I figured I would bring my notes. Simple, right? No. I ended up bringing three notebooks and a folder (since apparently my notes are just that scattered, and I have my friend's notes as well), as well as Plato's Republic. Which no, I don't even need to read. Have I looked at any of this once since I started on my journey at 8 am? No. I've played Flight Controller on my iPod.