Grad School and the Beast

I was originally accepted into University of New Mexico’s Master of Public Archaeology program starting fall of 2018. I was extremely proud of myself because I felt that all my hard work in undergraduate university had paid off. At the same time, however, I was very confused and anxious about what I wanted to do or how I wanted to tackle the immense task of attending graduate school. When my professors and peers from undergrad would congratulate me for my admittance to grad school, instead of excited I felt… disassociated… like it wasn’t real. And not in a “too good to be true” kind of feeling, but in a nonplussed kind of feeling. I would even say things like “yeah, that ought to knock me down a few pegs”. I said this because during my undergraduate career I had been in honors societies, been the president of the anthropology clubs, assisted professors with their classes, mentored younger (and even sometimes older) freshmen, been an active member in local archaeology societies and clubs, served as a crew chief for my field schools and as a lead lab tech for my work study gig in the archaeology lab, and had even started working in cultural resource management before I graduated with a bachelors. All as a non-traditional student in my late 20s and early 30s, while working and taking care of a grandmother with dementia. But now, things were getting real. Especially the imposter’s syndrome.

Since early adulthood, I have suffered from Bipolar I disorder, a condition that causes prolonged cycles of severe depression and mania- a period of heightened energy, euphoria, and impulsive and potentially dangerous activity such as sexual promiscuity, sudden changes in life paths, and reckless spending. It also causes rapid mood swings and irritability. I am on the autism spectrum, though I am considered “high functioning”. And, on top of everything else, I have obsessive compulsive disorder and complex post traumatic stress disorder. Having these comorbid diagnoses means that I tend to struggle both with simple daily tasks and with bigger challenges. The symptoms of all the disorders combined are a lot like have ADHD on overdrive. All things considered; I have accomplished a lot. Many people with fewer disabilities have done a lot less. I am considerably privileged.

In the fall of 2018, I started my first semester at grad school. I became extremely close with my cohort almost immediately. We would study together, hang out at breweries, go do bar trivia, work out together, and would even invite the people from the cohorts above us to hang out with us. I felt extremely lucky I had made such a great group of friends so quickly. And, admittedly, I was the one who organized 99% of it, probably stemming from my habits from undergrad of being a leader and an organizer.

I noticed right away that I was far less motivated in grad school than I had been in undergrad. I worked hard all the same, but I couldn’t help but wonder why I was there. For whatever reason, I was wondering what the point of it all was. I honestly couldn’t focus on one single thing to research, while simultaneously taking on more and more tasks that I just couldn’t get jazzed to actually work on.

Something was wrong. Something was seriously wrong.

I had always been a headache sufferer and after being managed for a while, they started coming back. I went and saw my doctor, who prescribed me a very low dose of a medication that was supposed to help with headaches. And since it was an antidepressant, she thought, maybe it would help me mood slightly as well. Unbeknownst to either of us, the medication was profoundly contraindicated for people with bipolar disorder, because it can cause mania. And mania is extremely dangerous.

I began recognizing I was entering a manic episode later that fall. The beginning signs for me include a loss of passion for things I usually enjoy, coupled with newly found obsessions for things I didn’t used to find interesting. I also start getting delusions of grandeur, in this case a rediscovery of my interest in the occult (perfectly fine) and how I was somehow extremely knowledgeable and divinely blessed in the occult arts (definitely not fine). In the coming months bought a new car, spent thousands of dollars on trips, and told my husband, whom I had a perfectly fine relationship with, that I wanted a divorce. Unfortunately, there was no going back from any of these things.

I finished the spring semester of grad school and went on that summer to do my internship. While I was there, I started dating a guy who was a complete dumpster fire of a human, while simultaneously ruining my relationship with my best grad school friend because of my reckless and inconsiderate behavior. There were many things she did to me that were extremely unfair, so I don’t blame myself solely, but I am still so regretful of everything that happened between us. When I am manic I have a tendency to also get extremely paranoid, so I convinced myself that she had turned all of our coworkers and our grad school cohort against me. Maybe she did, but also, maybe she didn’t. Maybe it really was just my shitty behavior that did it. The guy I was dating violently raped me during a camping trip, which I was in utter denial about when it happened, and a fact that I still cannot even begin to wrap my head around. But I loved my internship regardless. It kept me going.

As the end of the internship drew near, I became filled with dread at the thought of returning to grad school. I decided to still return all the same. But in between the end of the internship and the beginning of school, and once school started, I spent almost all my time fraternizing with strangers. By fraternizing, I mean sleeping with. I hated myself so much that I absolutely was terrified to be alone, to have to face myself alone, to be alone with my thoughts. So, every day I began the task of logging into Tinder to find someone, practically anyone, to hang out with that evening. The details about the promiscuity are far, far worse than that. But I just couldn’t bare to articulate those in this narrative.

During this period, I was sexually assaulted again, that time fully realizing what had happened. And I began having a severe pain in my neck. I told my doctor and therapist what had happened and they both told me I should take a medical leave of absence from school to recover. Even though I knew that I was in terrible shape, I brushed the suggestion off. I had entirely too much to do, and I would be letting so many people down. Except I hadn’t even started any of the stuff I had to do…

The pain in my neck was accompanied by a fever and a heightened white blood cell count. Which was a complete mystery to doctors. I was in the hospital for the weekend but ended up being sent home with a shrug and antibiotics, and told I need to stay home from school for a week to recover. One of my friends in my cohort was nice enough to give me a hand with getting me food and even bringing me some things in the ER while I waited.

I was extremely stressed out by the fact that I had to take a statistics class that semester. I am terrified of math. I don’t hate math. I actually like math when I finally get it. Dealing with numbers scares me. After missing a week of classes I made the unfortunate decision to ask my cohort for help with catching up and I got my ass reamed by one of them. I was told that I was a burden on all of them, always relying on them to help me keep up, It was my fault for missing a week of class, etcetera. No one else in the group stood up for me, or even moderated the conversation to be productive. That was my sign. After I got that message I marched straight down to the administrative building and filed for a medical LOA. I talked to each professor, and I was gone.

To be continued.