Why I Dropped Out of College

I attended Kent State University in Ohio for a little over a semester. I held a job in the nearest dining hall and dormed alone. I absolutely loved my job, and the change from my small and crowded home to my solitary dorm was relaxing for a while. However, my grades weren’t the best and my classes weren’t interesting to me. For a school that requires thousands of dollars to attend, that’s not okay. My least favorite class turned out to be American Literature, a bummer since my major was English. I used to adore reading and writing until I arrived for my freshman year of college. It stomped out any passion that I held for the subject, and when I came home for winter break, my room full of books that I would never read just depressed me. So I got rid of them. I’m talking hundreds, if not thousands, of books. But I felt better.

I got a puppy with money that I’d saved up, and returned back to school three days later. My doctor had been experimenting with my antidepressants over break, trying out new prescriptions and doses. The second I came home, my dorm wasn’t relaxing, it was lonely. I realized that nobody would notice if I never came back out. Or at least it would take a while. I struggled to sleep, and it was torture to get out of bed in the morning. I skipped classes and started calling off from work. I was doing the bare minimum in every aspect of my life, holding my head just above the water.

I couldn’t have kept that up for much longer. I had lost what little motivation I had to begin with, which is not something you can afford to lose when struggling through four years of school. I chalked it up to the different medications and made an appointment with my doctor. I told him how I was feeling, and he told me that I needed to come home. He advised me to book an appointment with a psychiatrist and a therapist so that I could resolve what was going on in my head. So I jumped on the idea. I moved out of my dorm a week later, lugging all my stuff to cram back into our tiny house, and I’ve been sleeping on the couch ever since. The psychiatrist that I saw could see the anxiety that floods my body, but she didn’t see the depression. That worried her. She put me on three different mild medications that are supposed to work together and sent me on my way.

I’m still trying to sort myself out. I changed my major to something that actually interests me, and I’ll start summer classes this July. I won’t be dorming anymore. I’m working on getting my license so that I can gain some independence. And I have an interview for a well-paying job on Monday, which also happens to be my birthday. I’m working it out. And once I figure out how to become happy, I’ll let you know. Wish me luck.