Why is it so hard to call my family? I can feel how much I miss them. Why is it so hard for me to go to CompSci office hours? Or to schedule meetings with my therapist? Or to just go to bed instead of watching another episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine? Or to talk to my friends about my fear of failure? Why didn’t I publish this letter with my name on it?
I guess I wouldn’t necessarily call this a letter, but when you post your thoughts online where a bunch of people can read it, I don’t know that I would call it a journal entry. But I don’t know how my ramblings could be called an article either. I guess it falls somewhere in between.
via: The Sacred Science
Why since I have gotten to Duke is it so hard to ask for help? Or to prioritize things like sleep and my relationship with people close to me? I know your answer is probably “effortless perfection, blah blah blah” but I can’t figure out why on earth that would make me do things like putting off calling my family when I can feel myself missing them. Or why I’m worried that you seeing the word “therapist” at the top of this page would make you think that I’m an “other” of some sort, that nothing in this letter applies to you because you don’t need that.
Related: An Open Letter to Society, or Maybe Just a Rant
As much as we talk about destigmatizing mental illness or even asking for help here at Duke, it just doesn’t fit into our “work smart, play hard” attitude. The need to be completely independent, to let nothing phase you, to not only exist on your own, but to thrive there—asmany times as I encourage other people to go to CAPS when I can see they’re struggling, I never go there myself. I don’t share my most pressing problems with my friends, because I don’t want to burden them with my shit, to force them to split my load when then they never asked.
via: PFP Energy
But what are friends if not there to support you? Why do we tell ourselves that at Duke, you should be able to do everything on your own, always? Even as we insist on destigmatizing these issues, we all sit on the bus with our headphones in, eyes down and for the most part, avoiding conversation. In West Union, we take up one table for ourselves and spread out so other people know that, no, you can’t sit here. We sit at our desks that feel like islands swimming in the middle of Perkins, and if there are no empty spaces, we make sure we choose a chair at a communal table that is at least two spaces away from others. One if you have to. We tell ourselves that we can’t be lonely, and yet we force ourselves to be alone all the time. It seems like a recipe for failure if you ask me.
Related: Reflections of a Proud Duke Woman
And as much as I see the effects of this recipe, I still do all of these things. As I sit here and write this, I wonder what I’ve done to change it. I wonder if I ever could change it. But then I think, maybe it’s just my problem. Because that is what happens when you don’t ever tell people you’re struggling. You never hear about their problems, and all of the sudden you’re the only human among gods because you are suddenly the only person who feels things that are deeply saddening or angering or any kind of emotion that isn’t whatever you call that state here where you have an easy smile all the time and nothing ever seems to phase you. You become stranded on an island. But oh how scary it is to jump into the water and swim when you can’t see mainland.
Sincerely,
A confused person who probably just needs to be brave enough to admit that she needs other people