How I got my diagnosis + some.

I became a part-time college student the summer after I turned 16. It was a fall semester—this would turn out to be my favorite semester compared to spring—and I was registered for an American Music history class and an Intro to Sociology class. The perfect introduction to college on paper. General education courses with a broad scope, and I had an inquisitive interest. I’ll save you the long, stressful finals nights, listening carefully to curated Spotify playlists to be able to recall the artist and title within the first 30 seconds, or staying up late to finish an 8-page paper. I ended the semester with a B in Sociology and a D in American Music. To me, in the moment, that semester was a loss. When it was an eye opener, but I wouldn’t realize that until 7-8 years later.

            Now I know what you’re probably thinking—how can you fail American Music? And it’s the first time I’m admitting this, but it requires effort to fail. I didn’t speak up. I didn’t ask for help when an assignment seemed impossible. I didn’t ask my classmates when I had no direction. I waded in the water for the inevitable tsunami, and when it came, I had no choice but to fall on my sword. This initiated my pattern of failure in college. In the beginning, I passed my courses. Repeated information I had learned in my formative years at school, but semesters were still stressful. Getting through by the grit of my teeth. It wasn’t until now that I knew the struggle of being a Chemistry major. Embodying the characteristic of a whole Plutonium molecule about to undergo nuclear decay. I was defeated, and I had just begun.

            At my peak, I balanced 12 credits and over 20 hours at a part-time job, making around $20k annually. Nowadays, I haven’t taken Chemistry classes in 2 years. I struggle to find my center, juggling 3 credits—it’s as if I have lost the way. Even though I was a student who lived multiple lives in high school, a member of clubs, sports teams, and honor societies, it wasn’t until college that I found to struggle in a lack of structured environments. I would be remiss to not mention the mental illness that erupted in my late adolescence. Being diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder has been a rocky road to say the least. It’s the hardest modification to the game of Life that I have yet to reach past my annual goals. My full disorder is somewhere along the lines of schizoaffective manic depressive, with mania episodes and periods of peace. I was lucky enough to get diagnosed because of an initial stress-related psychotic break in 2021. Academically, I failed 3 courses. Personally, I was acting erratically—oversharing online, overpurchasing, and being overly sexual. I had also developed parasocial connections through overuse of TikTok, and it started to affect my daily actions and decision-making.

            Ever since becoming Bipolar and with every psychotic break, my circle has gotten smaller. Now I mainly talk to family or listen to music. I tend to make at least one friend a semester at school. I just have a retention problem. My social and love life are inadequate to what I think I deserve to the point that I repress those feelings, and they appear in my work/collegiate interpersonal relationships. For me, at least, the work-life balance is like the protein moisture balance in haircare. Only through trial and error will you find the best fit for you. Learning from trial and error is my fatal flaw. I can’t help but try to be so analytical when in reality it’s a remedial approach.

Reflecting on my educational experiences, I took the unconventional route. I started at community college, I am a part-time student, and now I’m considered an adult learner. So far, I’m 23 years old. I’ve been in college for 8 years. I’ve been to 1 college and 1 university. And I’m 88% done with an associate’s degree. I was a dual enrollment student at my local community college until I graduated high school and became a part-time student there. I earned over 50 credits, where I then transferred to an in-state university for not even a full semester before having another “psychotic break”. This one in quotations because as I age, the more I realize that was just another moment in my 20’s. I would then have a run in school with a series of 3-6 credit failures, and the last involving another psychotic break in 2025.

            The curriculum at my college is not standard for every course. However, I have always found myself envying those who thrived in the rigor. I refuse to let struggling to find a balance between coursework, family duties, chores, and personal maintenance dictate the rest of my 20’s. Ideally, I would be interested in studying Chemistry and specialize into my 30’s. I’m a chemist at heart, in love with ideal conditions. My reality is I’m facing more debt to continue school right now, and I’m on sabbatical until my next job. I have no insight into how to overcome defeat in academia. After multiple institutions and countless mental breaks from reality, I have yet to balance managing my disorder alongside coursework. Obtaining a college degree would validate the insecure scholar I have inside of me.

Gaining a degree would allow me access to social acceptance. Potentially healing that inner child that was more focused on wanting to be in the top classes with the popular kids rather than paying attention to the content on her level. I was also always interested in learning the entire course material at a slow pace. One to two major lessons a day, filled with activities and recess. I sometimes still feel like it is dismissal time at my elementary school. And I’m walking down the southernmost staircase toward back campus, ready to walk through the woody pavement path to my childhood home. I’m by myself. It’s sunny outside. I can’t tell the weather, but I’m comfortable. My childhood made room for memories like these to stick. It’s a blessing and a curse. I know I’m stuck. It’s so hard to move pass it. And I don’t know what “it” is. I blocked it out.

I remember my grandmother’s spirit being in the car with us a lot growing up. We needed the guidance from an angel. My grandmother was a sweet person. Sick most of her life, and she didn’t even know it. 3 pieces of chewy Werther’s and a hug if you’re lucky. She died when I was young, but her wind chimes still ring in my ears. My other grandmother was sick too. She smoked cigarettes and was an alcoholic. I’m grateful for her nights with the Serenity prayer because I saw my hardcore college drinking nights as just a phase from the beginning. I never wanted to become the girl who made someone an alcoholic, gave someone an eating disorder, or ruined the trajectory of someone’s life—but I fear I have fallen to a level society won’t let me recover from.