October 15, 1991 was a Tuesday. I was a junior at EIU studying Journalism. I remember waking up that morning feeling overwhelmed to a level I had never experienced. My roommate left for class and I sat there looking at the clock calculating what the last possible moment could be before I left for mine. The minutes continued to tick away until finally I put my shoes on, went out to my car, drove home, and walked away from it all.
I remember when I got home. I was asked why I was there and, now that I think back to it, my answer of "I'm not going back" may not have been the best statement to make. I was not on scholarship, yet I had enough grants that I was pretty much on a free ride. I was an honor student, smart and innovative. I pulled A's and B's with minimal effort. I loved learning and I loved the college environment. I had my educational planned out through a doctorate degree. It just could not be understood how I could walk away from a free education. It was ok, I couldn't understand it either.
Earlier that summer something had happened. Those kind of things that you "just don't talk about." By the end of the summer I was so messed up emotionally. It was ok, because school was right around the corner and I knew I would be away from the things that had happened. I would try to put it out of my mind - I took 18 credit hours and took on a job at about 30 hours a week. As long as I could keep my mind busy, I wouldn't have to think, feel, or reflect on what had happened. I was strong and I was tough and since I thought things were my fault, I just had to suck it up and move on.
By week three, my grades were slipping. Assignments were not getting done, I was failing tests, I could hardly concentrate. This was not me. I started skipping classes because I didn't want to speak, let alone interact with anyone. I felt this was my punishment, my consequence for what I had done. By the time October rolled around I was failing all my classes and couldn't seem to get ahead of it. I was one to stand strong and proclaim "bring it on" at life's challenges. The tougher the challenge, the more I excited in it. I could not be defeated.
I can still remember the moment I had the thought "this must be what failure feels like." I had put a lot of unhealthy labels on myself through the years, yet I had never called myself a failure. I didn't even know what the word meant, it was always a foreign term. There I was, 20 years old and a college drop-out. I had failed.
I did go back to school. In '94 I got my Associate's degree and in '98 I returned to EIU. Two degrees and a certification later ('99 and '05) I may have redeemed myself educationally, yet not so much emotionally. It would take over 20 years before I could start to make peace with what happened that summer. Sometimes it still haunts me.
I am trying to learn to let things go. I am realizing there is something healthy and freeing to my soul to do so. I look back on my life and can identify key moments where "things changed" and not generally for the better. It still feels like dropping out of school was the catalyst that set all the rest into motion - the first domino in the pattern.
I would not change things if given the opportunity, as the people who have crossed my path and the experiences have made me who I am today (and I am kind of liking who I am). No, I would not change things, yet I would like to put them to rest. And, for the first time in my life, I think I have the strength to do so.
