Why is college so fuzzy?

Something else we talked about was my overdose at age 18 and whether or not that was my first suicide attempt. I don't know if I'll ever know, but it was out of character for me to mix meds and illegals. I just never did it. And then suddenly I do? I don't remember that morning at all, but I remember everything about that day from the moment I started to feel weird until I passed out, and then when I woke up till the moment I got home. I don't think it was an accident.

Anyway, we were talking and it occurred to me: in the five years between one suicide attempt and another, I didn't get any significant help. Imagine, your kid is bipolar, angry, and obviously has drug problems, and all you do is make her get a job? And then let her move out and in with some boy she's known for 2 days? What in the hell was my dad thinking? Why didn't he immediately get me help when I got home?

We went back to get my meds later, but what I remember was we went to get my allergy shots (and then left them in the car). But there was at least a few weeks there where I wasn't allowed on campus and so didn't get my lithium. Did I just stop taking it? Was my last day of lithium the day I overdosed? What happened next? Apparently there are no withdrawal symptoms for lithium, so there's nothing obvious I can try and think of. So what happened?

The next time I think I got in touch with the mental health community I was in college and probably 21 or 22. I could call the University and get my records. I was taking drugs from them for a while, but all of college is kinda fuzzy.

So, really, since 2003/2004 I've been on continuous meds, but have had a lot of sketchy periods in-between. What was I doing all those times? 1998 - 2003. Well, I know I was using a lot of alcohol, cigarettes, and sex with strangers to make me feel better. I was moving in with people and making really rash decisions. Those were my college years, so I know I was taking something....

We all share it

When I overdosed I went home from school and pouted in my room for a while. About a week later, after graduation, my roommate from school called and said she was on LSD. I was so offended. I wouldn't even talk to her. I just hung up. I couldn't imagine that after watching me almost die, she would immediately go back to doing drugs. It just seemed counter-intuitive, you know?

Drinking in school

I was thinking, when Niki was talking about boarding school, that I haven't told a lot of my boarding school stories here. I got in to trouble, but they always seemed to let me get away with it. I was expelled twice, once because I was pregnant, and once because I overdosed on LSD and lithium. Hey, at least I was taking my meds.

Yep. Overdosed. Did I tell you this already? I think I did. So I won't until later when I forget that I told it already.

I was a drinker in high school, too. I was definitely an addict. I couldn't get enough drugs to fill my system, but I was beginning my foray into drinking. We (the ladies and I) used to sit around at night and smoke and drink. We would hide in the forest after lights out and play around with drugs and alcohol. My roommate and I hid a bottle of Jack in my desk and would put a little into our diet Coke's during study hall.

There was always drugs and alcohol in school. You would think being underage, 4 miles from the nearest town (where everyone knew us - it was a really small town), and far from anything else (50 miles to the city) that it would be hard to get those things. But it wasn't. Someone always had something, and it was usually me who brought in the drugs. I'm so lucky no one else ever overdosed.

So when you think you're saving your kids by sending them to boarding school, just remember that they have all the same opportunities to fuck up there as they do at home - they're just watched more closely.

It's my blog and I'll cry if I want to

I tell my stories without any emotion, says my therapist. I just tell them like they are: facts, and nothing but the facts. But for the first time, today, I told a story and really felt my resentments creeping in. I suppose maybe it has to do with being sober enough to recognize them as feelings. So let me tell you a story.

I was kicked out of high school. Yep, I'm the proud owner of a GED. Yeah me.

One night, I had some acid left over from a concert I'd been to. If you keep acid in a peanut butter jar in your dorm fridge a) no one thinks it's acid and b) it keeps fresh for a really long time. I gave my roommate one, and took the other. What I had forgotten was I had taken my lithium that morning, too. I usually didn't take it when I knew I was going to take drugs. Those things interact, you know! I was a smart drug abuser.

We went off to an art program where we were painting these gigantic art murals for use in a program the next day. It was two weeks till school ended. I had taken all finals except one, and passed with flying colors. Suddenly in the middle of coloring, I felt a little sick. I started to get the spins, and told my roomie we needed to get out of there and off to our outdoor sleepover for astronomy club (I'm a dork, too).

After leaving, I made her go solo into the dorm to get our stuff; I didn't think I could face the people in there; I was freaking out. I saw a friend, and quickly jumped into the backseat of her car. "Just tell me when Gena comes out," I said. As soon as she reported Gena's approach, I turned my head. I remember turning it ALL the way around like the kid in Poltergeist. And that's all I remember until I woke up on the ground with Heather sitting on me shaking my shoulders and crying.

I was barefoot in the lawn of my advisor, the Dean of Students. Uh oh.

"We thought you were dead!" Said the girls surrounding me. "You've spent the last half hour shaking, foaming at the mouth, and your eyes were rolling back in your head!" Wow, that must have been scary for them! A bunch of 18 year-olds watching their friend have an overdose. No wonder they looked for an adult. I don't blame them one bit in this: I would have gone for help, too. Just watching overdoses on TV make me think just how frightening that must have been.

At the hospital, I felt fine. Minus the not being able to go inside because of the bright lights. I sat on the cool pavement in hospital slippers awaiting my fate. In the middle of the night the Head of School had to come out and give me the bad news. "I have to kick you out, you know." she started. "I'm not going to call the police, but you have to stop trying to destroy yourself, Anne. You've got everything going for you." If I had had any feelings, I would have cried. In fact, just recounting it this time, I do feel like crying. It's sad, you know? She loved me. She really thought I could succeed and what did I do? I almost killed myself looking for a high.

Oh, and then my father showed up. He's the nicest man in history. His idea of a curse is golly. I'd never seen him mad in his life. Till that night. He kicked the construction wall at the hospital and didn't speak to me the two hours home, nor for the next few days.

All of these people reacted in perfectly acceptable ways. So why am I bitter? Someone who got kicked out for booze two weeks before me got her diploma later in the year. Why? Cause she had money. At least, that's what my resentment says. Scholarship kids don't get forgiven. I still talk to the Head of School and the Dean of Students, and they still love me, but I'm still mad, deep down. I want to petition them for a real diploma. I want to be a real graduate of my school. Not that a GED is bad, but I worked really hard for that degree, and I threw it all away.

And now, I can finally feel this pain. It hurts. Look how stupid I've been? Look at what danger I put myself in, and the situations I exposed young girls to. They never should have to see that kind of stuff. No one should have. I am so thankful I didn't end up in jail, and I should be thankful I'm alive. I am thankful. I think what I need is to acknowledge my pain over this, and cry it out. I need to feel it and let it go.