Time to Talk
On the first day of the Frosh Week activities that I begrudgingly was a part of, a girl who lived in a dorm room down the hall from me interrupted whatever lame ice breaker had us standing across from each other in a circle, to say, “I used to be just like you. Then I had a mental breakdown. Like, put me in the hospital breakdown. But, I’m not like that now. I’m better.” I had looked at her, to see who the target of this ridiculous, Day One insight was and saw that that person was me. Starting university generally, and Frosh Week specifically, was overwhelming for me. I am an introvert, so this makes sense. Aspects of all of that that make some thrive and be thrilled made me recoil. Meeting so many new people. Being forced to play so many inane games. Fielding so many ‘opportunities’ for going to the bar, parties, sports events where I knew no one. Exhausting. These were the first words this person had spoken to me, besides our exchanging names. From the less than 24 hours that I ...