It’s Not Me Talking, It’s the pill.
I had high expectations for 2017; new year, new me, right? And that was true; it was a new year and certainly a new me, just not the “new” I wanted.
3The year started off great. I was starting the second semester of my junior year, returning from Study Abroad with some great stories and way too many pictures; my boyfriend and I were moving into a house with friends (my housemates were 5 guys… but that’s another story), and in just a few weeks I would be the big twenty-one. Everything seemed peachy. It didn’t last long.
During this time of so much change and anticipated excitement I also switched my birth control pills. I got on one of those pills where you only have your period four times a year. Sounds great, right? Only having to be bleeding, crampy and moody four times a year…, that’s practically nothing, and all thanks to this little pink pill. Medicine is amazing, I thought. Wrong, so wrong. It took me a little over four months to realize that these little pink miracle pills were actually not a God send, but rather little shards from Hell. But I didn’t know that at the time.
I lied to myself a lot during this time. I lied that I felt ok, that I was happy, that I wasn’t acting irrationally, that I wasn’t depressed, and that I was normal. None of these were true. I had been feeling differently ever since my boyfriend and I moved into our friends’ house. The house was gross. Boys, as we all know, are disgusting and for some unknown reason I thought agreeing to live in a house with six boys was a great idea. Once again, wrong. So, living in a pile of filth, always surrounded by guys doing whatever guys do, I begin to blame my feelings on the house, on friends and on my boyfriend. This blaming began to cause problems as I began to lash out at people. Unfortunately, my boyfriend took the brunt of that. How he possibly stuck by me through all this crazy shit is unbelievable. In hindsight, I see he was being one hell of a guy, but at the time that was another thing I didn’t consider.
I’d lash out at the dumbest things; things no one in their right minds would get mad at, or cry about, but I did. This really should have been a big hint something was wrong, but I didn’t see it that way. In my mind, I was right and everyone and everything else was dead wrong. I have several clear memories of days where I went particularly over the edge; days during which I was at risk of losing the people and things I love most; days which seemed like nightmares and which I try to forget, but just can’t. And these memories, no matter how much I wish they’d never happened, might be important to hold on to; to reflect on my actions and the actions of others and to be thankful for those who were there when I needed them most. Still to this day I can learn and grow from these reflections, and make sure they never happen again.