Mental health on campus is something many universities attempt to address and create support systems for, yet there is still an alarming amount of college students struggling with mental illness while the “resources” provided seem to be lacking in real help. I say this as a first-year who is struggling with mental illness and living on campus in a single dorm. As there are a large variety of mental illnesses, there are plenty of ways to make a person feel better or worse on a given day. Everyone has their triggers, their limits, and their level of functionality depending on the severity of their illness. In my first month of college, I have come to recognize the one place that should feel safe and comfortable: my dorm, as a trigger.
I suffer from an eating disorder, which to clarify, is a mental illness and not just about looks. My eating disorder has brought about depressive episodes, which is hard for me as a person who generally loves what life has to offer. I take joy in the small things and tend to be a very sunshiney, outgoing and independent individual. In fact, I pride myself on these qualities. However, with my eating disorder and subsequent depression, all of these things which I love about myself seem to just fade into background noise. It’s damaging to know that you have the ability to see things in such a vibrant perspective, but you just can’t at the moment because you are consumed by your mental illness. I know that I am fortunate because, for the majority of the time, my illness doesn’t cast a shadow over my day-to-day life and allows me to functionally be me.
When triggers do appear, it can be very daunting and limiting. I don’t want to be hyper-focused on my eating habits or body dysmorphia when I am still adjusting to the new environment of college. I should be able to come back to my dorm after a difficult day and feel safe, not like I am confined to a box of triggers. This is why when I found out about my housing assignment, a single accommodation at the YMCA in Hastings Hall, both myself and my parents became concerned for my well-being. I had requested a random roommate with the hopes of a traditional dorm experience; instead, I was met with the disappointment and isolation of a single.
The idea of living alone seemed so detrimental to my mental health because I thrive on stimulus and social interaction. I love being on my own but only by choice. I have discovered things I can do that make it easier to avoid falling into a depressive state, whether that may be occupying myself with people, activities, schoolwork, or anything for that matter. I can count on myself to do these things when in a positive frame of mind, but I do not trust myself to follow through once things get tougher — which is why living in a single felt so alarming for me.
After attempting to express my concern for my own well-being to University housing, I was sent to the Disability Resource Center (DRC) for an evaluation. The evaluation consisted of a Zoom meeting in which I had to tell a complete stranger, albeit a very nice stranger, that although I may appear cheery, I am at risk of falling into a depression. You can imagine how uncomfortable that was for me. After a thorough letter from my therapist and speaking with me, the Disability Resource Center got in contact with University Housing to essentially measure to what degree I was a risk factor. Then, I was met with a cordial, “we are not able to approve your request at this time,” and told I could reach out to the DRC anytime for support.
Upon arriving on campus, I have found it strenuous to cope with my eating disorder. The dining hall food is, let’s be honest, lacking in flavor. Thus, I leave feeling unsatisfied and as though I have just eaten an empty meal. Without a kitchen, I am left with limited options back at my dorm to aid my satisfaction and help me deal with my eating disorder in the best way I know how. There’s also the social aspect of figuring out how to tell people you met less than a month ago that you have a very serious illness, and their behavior can sometimes be incredibly triggering. I recognize, of course, that this is my own illness and no one else is responsible for it, however, those triggers only add to the strain.
I have recently been exploring new ways to cope and adjust to my new environment, but it does not change the fact that at the end of the day, I return to my home of stressors. I’m writing to publicize the reality of being a (first year) college student actively living with a mental illness. Being a first year on campus after two years of remote learning is hard enough without the added bonus of feeling like your one safe space is occupied by negative thoughts. Yes, we have options and resources, but I think most administrations and people don’t quite grasp that a small number of people suffering are able to admit they need help and subsequently reach out. Mental health resources need to be more than just suicide prevention hotlines, and “we’re here if you need us.” I’m not quite sure what it is that we do need in these systems, but honestly I don’t think it is up to those who are already struggling to also have to find the solutions. We are already battling so much.