November 2013 - February 2014. The worst and darkest era of my life thus far. I was in the midwest. I was at a predominantly and historically white institution in a very white college town. I was profoundly alone. And though I’m from diverse metropolitan areas and accustomed to white people being around, that’s all they ever were. They were background characters but I actually didn’t have many or any lasting close relationships with them. Maybe I wasn’t as comfortable as I thought?
There was a polar vortex and it snowed at 3 inches every week. The wind was brutal all the time. I didn't have the right apparel for a midwest winter. Winter can be very hard for people with Seasonal Affective Disorder anyways. I absolutely hate the shorter days of winter. I hate the cold gray weather that mimics the cold gray feelings.
Another hurdle is the set of festivities associated with the chilled months that bookend the year. I don't assign much value to any of the days. I only recognize that they are approaching because of the dress of a store or the activities of those I interact with. Still, the notion that everyone else is busy celebrating warm and cozy sentiments with their close friends and family while I am not feels pretty bummer. What is worse, is that even if I am with friends or family, I still feel pretty trash. I laugh, I smile, I joke, I eat but on the inside I feel detached and pretending while keep the despair at bay. As soon as the party ends, as I make my way to the car, the darkness rolls in. I can sink, recover, and recuperate from the performance.
Winter melancholy aside, I was also deeply unaccommodated. More than I knew at the time. The campus counseling services were giving me the run around and ultimately denied me medication and services. I had to find a provider off campus.
The program itself was also just not a good fit. I didn’t care about being there and didn’t really want to do the process. I JUST wanted the PhD as a credential or credibility for people to easily trust me in my pursuit of starting a school. As the vision became more clear and my passion for this grew, I realized also that the program was a waste of time and would not actually prepare me. They’d be teaching me things rooted in the old ways. Things that I was trying to fix. My heart wasn’t in the program. I withdrew from classes because I just couldn’t force myself to do the work.
Money problems compounded. After withdrawing I needed to return the fellowship money but also didn’t have the funds because I was staying in a nice apartment that was above my means. My car broke down at night in a snow storm and needed major repairs. I had quit this painfully under-stimulating retail job that was driving me more mad with every passing day. Medical bills leftover from what insurance didn’t cover were being sent.
So there were multiple interacting factors swirling about making that time of my life truly dismal and I really didn’t have much anything to live for. It got to a point that I was ready to end it all and trying to figure out the best method. Fell a sleep while ideating and woke up the next morning a lot less distraught. Sometime that week I determined that if the only thing I care to do is start a school then I might as well try to pursue doing that somehow before I officially call it quits. And I suppose it’s good that I decided to at least try because about two and a half tumultuous years later, I was cofounding that school.