When Anger Is Justified – Part 73: Campus Scrutiny: College Freshman Year – Section J

***The following post mentions suicide. If you or someone you know is in immediate danger, call 911 or go to the nearest emergency room. You can also call or text 988 for the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline.

Campus Scrutiny: College Freshman Year – Section J

After my suicide attempt, I tried to get back to normal. I tried to get myself the therapeutic help that I needed, and I tried to go about the college life to the best of my abilities. I did succeed, but it was not easy.

My school courses were easy … often too easy, but the emotional toll of narcissistic abuse made me want to quit school and life altogether. I struggled to make sense of the whys, but I tried to cope. I did cope but not altogether too well.

I was learning to breakaway from toxic patterns that I had maintained for most of my life, and those toxic patterns of coping were hard to undo. (Little did I know what more was ahead of me in life with other narcissists.)

Getting back to normal was tough because of the scrutiny I faced from some peers and some campus staff. I was “that girl that tried to kill herself”, and that made me a pariah outside of my other considerably known eccentricities.

My former roommate, the arrogant dormmate, and a host of other students all had their thoughts about me as a person. Many considered me to be weak way about the way I handled my life, but not one person had any idea about what I had truly gone through in my life.

No one knew what it had taken for me to get the point that I wanted my life to be over. No one knew what it had taken me to get to point of keeping myself alive either. Yet, even if I had shared with some of the campus scrutinizers my story, I am doubtful that many would have been sympathetic.

The campus scrutinizers had already made up their minds about me. If there was no sympathy because I wanted to end my life, there was certainly no sympathy that my life had not ended according to my plans.

The things people said to me were often very critical and downright mean. I heard things like:

“You don’t have a strong foundation.”

“You just want attention.”

“Only sick people kill themselves!”

“You need therapy.”

“You need Jesus!”

“People who take their lives go to hell.”

“Are you saved?”

“Do you even go to church?”

“Saved people don’t even think about killing themselves?”

“You can’t even do suicide right.”

“You should have done us all a favor and completed the job.”

“Just like I thought … you’re antisocial.”

“Who was worth dying for?”

“Are you gay?” (Because I wasn’t interested in dating.)

“What did you expect? You came to college and still have no life.”

But then there were some kind words too … like:

“I’m here if you need to talk.”

“My _________ tried to commit suicide too. They were suffering from depression.”

“I can relate.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s horrible what that nurse said to you. I was there and overheard her. We’ve started a petition. No one deserves to be mistreated by someone in a profession to help.”

“Are you okay?”

Sometimes there were silent gestures of kindness or meanness in stares, glances, frowns, and warm smiles with the eyes.

Then there were the professors …

Some professors did not know what to say me. Some had not heard anything, and that was fine with me. Some who knew treated me like I had a disease that they could not be near. Others were very sympathetic towards me with their eyes. Some even placed a hand on my shoulder as a show of affection, concern, and care.

I nearly flipped out when the hardest professor on the campus walked around the classroom (as was normal for her to do) and landed a firm hand on my shoulder as she lectured about our presentations. When I paused to look up at her, she smiled down at me.

That professor’s smile (which she never shared with anyone much at all) was perhaps the most memorable display of concern and affection I had ever seen from this particular professor because she did not emote. I wanted to cry. I sensed immediately that she understood me, and I aimed like never before to rise to the occasion to ace her class.

Then one of my favorite professors with his quirky sense of humor on the day I returned to class said, “What a way to try to skip a test!” I smiled. If it were anyone else, I might have been offended, but this professor was a jokester and the tone in which he said it was light-hearted and funny.

However, later, after class and privately, this professor said to me, “The first year of college can be tough to get your grounding, and I can tell you’ve been suffering through boredom. Next semester, buckle up so you can take more classes. You have the type of mind that thrives on information … that needs it. I’m not much of a talker, but I’m here to listen if you need to talk kiddo. I would not be happy not to have you in my class. You have a great mind. You’re one of my favorite students to teach. Whenever you’re feeling that low again, reach out to somebody. There are people here who care about what happens to you. I’m one of those people.”

The Cafeteria

The cafeteria was the worst. There was clearly nowhere for me to hide even though I always chose to sit at a table in the corner closest to the exit.

That area of the cafeteria where I chose to sit was a place for people watching when I was alone, but now it had become a place where I was being watched.

Some students would walk by where I sat and actually take the time to make nasty comments to me. “Self-murderer” was something I heard a lot of, and it was a phrase coined by the arrogant dormmate. “What person self-murders? You’re a strange bird. I knew you were anti-social, and this proves it. Anti-socials have murder on their mind.”

Even my former roommate joined in with the arrogant dormmate … always shaking her head as if to say, “What a shame it is to be you.” Once when she walked by the table, she said to two of her friends with her, “See y’all, I told you she was crazy! If I hadn’t moved out when I did, she might have killed me.”

All of these things were hurtful to a point, but mostly, I let the words bounce off of me and roll off, but there was a mounting anger turning into rage that was swelling up within me. The undercurrents were strong.

At one point, the comments became so bad that the dorm mother, the dorm reps, my newfound friend, and the young woman I met that night in the infirmary would all gather around me during eating times in the cafeteria as a show of support. I was thankful for those times, and I was thankful for them.

Yet, I knew I could not have been the only one on that campus who had ever considered suicide as a way out of pain. Maybe the worst comments were from students projecting onto me for fear of their own battles being found out. I do not know.

As an introvert, it was an awkward time for me in the cafeteria being surrounded by people since I regularly ate alone without a problem, but I found such comfort in the support that I made the effort to be open even when the social anxiety felt overwhelming to me.

After a while, when it appeared that the ridicule had died down and everyone’s schedules became busy, I found solace in being on my own again. Fortunately, all of the ridicule sparked an even closer friendship between my newfound friend and me. However, I never came to a solution for the root of my issues, but I was attempting to head in the right direction.

Stay tuned for the next post.