TW: This article contains discussion of mental health.
Kenyon has its flaws, but there is something I have to give it credit for: this school has awesome resources for students who need help with mental health.
In case you’ve never been there, the Counseling Center (designed by our lord and savior, George Gund) is on the second floor of the Health Center. There’s a waiting room, therapist offices, and one or two conference rooms. One of the conference rooms is where depression small groups meet every Tuesday. There’s a counselor, a PC (peer counselor), and a small group of students.I joined because my psychiatrist told me I needed a weekly therapy session, and one on one bookings were getting inconsistent. When I started going, everyone else was pretty much a regular. I couldn’t help but feel slightly cut off; however, I shook off my initial uncomfortability and convinced myself I was bettering my mental health, which was in a fragile and recovering state. This was a safe space, right?
I tried my best to make every single meeting, but soon Monday lab work picked up, and I just can’t heat something for less than three hours; in other words, I was slow and I had to finish anything that I didn’t get done in lab the next day. Whenever I had to make something up in lab (which was often), I had to miss small group meetings. Of course, I was never required to go to these meetings, but I always felt like I was obligated because I hadn’t been there as long as the other members.
I hit a very dark place in March, when the prescription for my anti-depressants was filled with a new generic one; not all meds are made equal, and this one made me feel worse. I got very sick and very sad, and I started relying a lot more on my therapy to get me through the week. I started to go because I felt like I had nothing left.
I opened up about some of my worst moments to these people who were essentially strangers. I felt even worse, knowing that they were probably suffering more than me, that they had just as many problems that they had to deal with. I felt like a drama queen. I felt bad when other people opened up, because my problems felt lame compared to theirs. I couldn’t believe I was feeling shitty in a place that was supposed to make me feel better. It kept me cut off from those people.When the cloudy skies cleared, however, going to small group felt like when my mother would make me go to church. I never wanted to, but I kept going because I thought I had to. And, when I missed meetings for lab, I couldn’t help but wonder: were they relieved to not have me there?
I never felt like I was a core member of the group, since I joined so late. And when I didn’t have myself to worry about, I started looking around and wondering if I should be worried; Did these people like me? Do I belong here? Is my presence a benefit to anyone in this room?
Reflecting on it, I definitely think I was more harm than good for the people in group. It takes a lot to admit that, but I have to admit it. I often didn’t realize when I would say something hurtful or harsh because everyone had so many problems that I could never understand. I was also going through my own problems, which made me a lot more numb to other people’s pain in those moments. What may have been no big deal for me may have been a way bigger deal for someone else. I like to think I’m empathetic, but sometimes I just screw up and say or do the wrong thing, and it usually means that other people suffer; sometimes, I’d realize I had said something wrong as soon as I had said it. I think I was making the place unsafe, and even I realized it too. I wasn’t leaving because I wanted to, but because I had to, and we all knew it.
I like to think I suffer from something a blogger named Maddox calls well intentioned idiocy. Basically, it means I do things that end up being detrimental to others, but it’s never out of malice. I don’t ever want to see people get hurt, but sometimes I’m the one who does the hurting, even if my motives were good. To quote Maddox: “Good intentions cloud judgement.”
I knew I had to leave the group because this well-intentioned idiocy was starting to make the others feel unsafe, and that just isn’t fair. This wasn’t just for me, and a lot of people needed this more than I did. I realized that the reason I didn’t feel safe is because with me around, no one else felt safe. I was like the problem child at school who always got the entire class detention because he/she was misbehaving.I hope that people will at least feel better going to Small Groups because I am gone. It’s selfish of me to think that they will miss me, but I know that me leaving was for the best. I believe that me leaving will actually make things better for the people who rely on the Group the way I did once.
To the people in that group: I’m sorry if I ever said anything to hurt you, or did anything that upset you. It was unconscious, impulsive, and never out of spite or anger. I never believed your problems were less than mine; I often felt the opposite. I truly am a compassionate person, but sometimes I am impulsive. It’s something I’d like to work on, and I am trying to, but I definitely don’t think I’m ready to go back to Small Groups. Maybe I’ll never go back, because it’s too late for me to fix the damage I believe I’ve done.
And even if it’s not true, and no one felt unsafe because of me, I still don’t feel safe myself. I think safe spaces work a little differently; I think i just need to create my own.
Image Credit: Feature, 1, 2, 3