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Unfiltered Story #215107

, , | Unfiltered | November 10, 2020

I did not handle college the best I could have. I had a lot of unhealthy habits, and as I later found out, had developed a severe anxiety disorder that culminated in my becoming agoraphobic and having to take a leave of absence in order to deal with it.
During the lead up to that, I was having a bad time mid-term. I had run out of money, and being too timid to inform my (very supportive) parents of this fact, I had subsisted on noodles for the last few weeks. I’d barely slept, and was stressing constantly about my mid-term projects. But I’d just finished the last of those, and my new meal plan allotment had come through, so I was headed back to my apartment to eat my first protein in weeks and then finally pass out for a solid day.
My little study-area was in the kitchen due to some space-allocation chicanery between one of my roommates and I, and my other roommate was quite used to hearing me curse over an art project from my little corner while she watched TV in the living room. She’d jokingly ask if I was okay and I’d just laugh and tell her what I’d messed up.
This time, I came home and collapsed my desk – the motion of which sent a pencil rolling off of it. I reflexively caught it with my knees, having my precious lunch in my hands still… only to realize that it was NOT a pencil. It was a brand new and (stupidly) UNCAPPED XActo knife… the blade of which was now sunk entirely into my inner thigh.
I was too exhausted to do anything but curse softly and stare at my profusely-bleeding leg.
My roommate heard this, and as usual, asked lazily if I was okay.
But this time, my response was ‘No. No I’m not!’ – which she actually took a minute to process before leaping into action to see what the problem was.
Though at least she did act, because due to the combination of sleep deprivation, poor nutrition, the stab wound and a chronic blood pressure issue, I passed right out.

So instead of eating my lunch, taking a nap, and turning myself around after a terrible few weeks, I got a nice, expensive ride in an ambulance, hours in a waiting room, and a lovely new scar.

I decided on my LOA a month or so later – for all of the aforementioned reasons, but also because after that ordeal I think I was convinced that trying to be optimistic was just going to end in horrible disappointment and bodily injury.

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