When I was in High School my #anxiety disorder and #bipolar disorder manifested in a lot of skipped classes and a couple of failed courses. I had to sign a contract before grade 11 saying I wouldn't skip anymore or I would be expelled. Of course I still skipped #class but I just made sure to hand in my work and show up for test days and I managed to muscle my way through the finish line and graduate. After my guidance counsellor couldn't find me at school and contacted my parents looking for me, my mom wanted me to talk to someone. I refused and wanted to figure things out on my own. It took me four more years of not being able to function properly for me to change my mind.
I moved to #Toronto after High School for University. It didn't go well and I flunked out and my #depressive episodes were getting worse. After flunking out of #j-school at Ryerson I went to Humber. The plan was to take an easier course load and then fix my shitty studying habits and re-apply to the journalism program. After my first semester at Humber I was cracking. I'd gotten through the semester without it being a complete mess but I knew at this point I needed #help and most likely #medication. A couple months earlier during a sobbing panic attack my guidance counsellor, with a wary look on her face, asked me if I was sure I shouldn't be on #medication.
The kitchen of my dorm had bright fluorescent lights that were making me nauseous. I remember walking wrapped in a blanket, dragging Christmas lights behind me so I could use it as lighting. With one of my best friends and a roommate with me I called my mom and said I wanted to try medication because I couldn't do this anymore.