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Why I'm Celebrating Missing Class

I just missed English class for the third time in a row. Most college students would view this as a sign of failure, but I’m proud of myself, at least for today. Instead of going to class, I stood in line in the dining hall, walked back to my dorm, ate a chicken salad, and took my meds. This morning, I got out of bed, took a shower, brushed my teeth, got dressed, and brushed my hair. I haven’t been able to do those things in so long. A depressive episode has held me hostage for the past month.

Yesterday, I had the worst panic attack I’ve had in years: I sat in place for two hours, disassociated, didn’t eat, and felt my limbs and mouth go completely numb as I tried to breathe my way out of fainting and stress vomiting. I felt like a ghost leaving the earthly realm for some unknown place. But right now, I’m human again. I’m here.

The world may not understand how my doing basic tasks is reason for victory, for writing with the intent of sharing, but I do. As someone who has trouble functioning because of mental illness, today’s small steps towards normalcy make me feel strong.

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Thinkstock photo by grinvalds

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