“She’s so self conscious. She has no idea what she’s doin’ in college. The major that she majored in don’t make no money, but she won’t drop out… her parents will look at her funny..”

I hate school. Wasn’t always that way when I was younger. Actually, it was the complete opposite. Out of all my sisters, I was the most eager to go school supply shopping, staring at my new book bag, pencil boxes, and labeling my dividers for my binder three weeks before school started. I was the kid that sat at the front of the class, loved the class introductions and Do Now’s. School was my thing.

Until it cost.

“The concept of school seems so secure”

But I had never felt more uncertain. Juggling classes, a job, extra curricular activities, and of course the socializing HAD to happen… I was a wreck. My freshman year of college was fine. Though stressed, it was “normal” the kind of stress that was expected. It wasn’t until my sophomore year of college that I was bombarded with my thoughts.

Yes, my mind was the reason I dropped out.

I couldn’t stop analyzing my life as a college student. Who I was living for? I wanted to write, I wanted to be a public speaker, I wanted to make an impact. But taking out loans, losing hours of sleep on science papers with content on it that I would forget as soon as I turned it in to the professor…was this college thing really worth it?

I started to look at the idea of higher education, bitterly. This was not for our benefit, but a business. A system developed to, in the long run, put us in debt with the country. Paying them for something “necessary” in order to get the job of our dreams. In order to be able to tell your family you “made it”.

“Tell me that ain’t insecure…”

Though I had all of these thoughts, I couldn’t drop out. Not after I would be the first of my family to go to college and graduate. Not after the fact that I was EXPECTED to come home. I had something to prove. I already had a mother who scared me lifeless about my major, telling me journalism wasn’t in demand. “Be a nurse, a lawyer; you know, something with guaranteed money.” Not to mention my father, who was the dreamer of the two parents, encouraging me to follow my dream, but pressuring me to be perfect in every class.

I was bombarded. I didn’t know where to turn. Who would understand me? I became depressed. I started to feel like everyone else had this college shit handled: known on campus for their accomplishments, being well-rounded students and also managing to be excel in classes.

I had never felt so out of my element.

So once I came back from Thanksgiving break, no assignments completed for the start of class, I looked at my book bag, which was now tossed in the corner, my binders with no labeled dividers, and untouched books. I found myself shrugging, crawling into my bed and going to sleep.

Every night, I found myself alone. No one knew, true… but no one asked either. I began to self loathe, feeling like it was me. I wasn’t fit for college…so I wasn’t fit for success.. in my mind, I wasn’t fit to live. Yeah, I went that far. But I didn’t want to take myself out. No, I wanted God to. I would find myself praying to him every night.

“Lord, I think you made a mistake: me. I’m gonna go to sleep now. Please, don’t wake me up tomorrow. I don’t think I can live another day.”

I would fall asleep, and of course, wake up.

When I realized He didn’t listen to me and that I was up yet again to another day… I would cry.

How could this be my life?!

Well eventually, it all fell down. Like security and former Alumna coming to my dark dorm room to check on me and make sure I was safe enough to be alone. It fell down to the point I had to meet with the school psychologist to diagnose me with clinical depression. It fell down to me being told I had to withdraw. I was not fit for school.

… just as I had felt all along.

Aaminah