Hacked: Artifact of a Depressed College Student

I wrote this pitiful piece when I was a Bachelor's student at Washington College. Unfortunately, no one knew how bad my mental health was at the time, or I hope they would have intervened.

I'm publishing this, not because I'm proud of it or even because I enjoy reading it, but because I want to track who I was and where I came from. I want to see how far God has brought me.

I hope you get something out of this essay. Enjoy it. Or don't.

Life hacks, they say.  “10 Ways to Optimize Your Schedule!” the poster blares.  “Here’s why you procrastinate and how to stop,” a Pinterest meme instructs.

Scrolling through Instagram, an ad from V-shred tells me that I’ve been exercising wrong.  “I have tailored, for every body type and person, the fastest way to get that body you’ve been working for!  I know how to get you the results you want.  Click below to take the quiz and get shredded!”  Pictures of weak women and swole men flash onto the screen and I sigh.

Maybe the most disgusting thing is that I’ve taken all this advice to heart.  I work out five days a week.  Don’t overeat, but make sure you eat enough protein to gain muscle.  My planners and reminders and calendar notifications keep me “on track,” because without them, I may forget an important due date or meeting or work appointment and become flaky. Or people might think I’m flaky or lazy and I don’t want that.  The three jobs I have may collide, schedule-wise, so make sure they don’t.  The MMA Club has a budget meeting tonight and I don’t know if I should even go.  Do I want the Club next year?  Maybe it should die.

I used to say that I didn’t care about “success” the way that “society” or “the world” does, but every action I’ve taken would suggest otherwise.  Why do I work so hard?  Why does keeping my 4.00 matter so much?  Why can’t I let go and just relax?

Endless tasks.  Wake up at 7:00 A.M., instead of 5:30 like I used to; it’s such a treat to sleep in late, read my Bible, get ready, no makeup, you don’t have time, go to the gym, eat breakfast, feel tired, shower, no makeup, you don’t have time, pack my book-bag, hurry to study in the library or studio, look at my schedule for the day, check my planner, shit, I forgot that was today, complete readings and assignments, sigh, two-minute Instagram break, start more assignments, study with Gabi, eat lunch, oh no, we’re going to be late, hustle to class, skirt out of class, find a quick homework spot, Julia; don’t waste time, not much time, I’m unhappy, another class, I want to graduate, DM everyone about MMA tonight, administration has sucked away my love for martial arts, text my boyfriend that, “I love and miss you and am looking forward to seeing you later,” email my clients their appointment times, distribute the Collegian, realize when I go pee that my paper topic is too broad and that’s why it’s not “flowing,” also realize my UTI isn’t gone yet, don’t forget why your paper topic is ineffective, maybe I should write it down; no, I’ll remember, start hating school, finish homework, do MMA, shower, drive over to hang out with my boyfriend (hugs and kisses and cuddles), I shouldn't have to beg for cuddle-time, he knows I can’t stay long but won't meet me at school unless I’m letting him into the gym, too tired, sorry; say bye, drive home, unlock apartment, lug backpack and gym bag in, change into pjs, brush teeth, my back hurts, I need to start doing yoga again, and, DAMNIT I forgot what I need to change about my paper topic, I knew I should have written that down, and sleep.

I’ve been saying lately that I feel more like a robot for work than a person for joy or life.  Maybe God wants me to work this hard.  I don’t know why I have the capacity to do so much, to get so much done.  Is there such a thing as too much efficiency?  Because I’m pretty sure that I have that disease.  If I can get a 4.00, then that means I probably should.

My parents don’t care.  I want to make them proud.  “You’re doing such a great job, Julia.”  They are helping me pay for college, I want to show them how much I appreciate it.  “You’ve done so much better than we ever would have expected or required.”  If I stop, I’ll lose my 4.00.  “No one expected you to get a 4.00.  We just wanted you to do well and get opportunities.”  I want to lose my 4.00.  “You know me, I just care about you being set up for success.  You’re going to do well, no matter what.”  Obviously I don’t want to lose it or I wouldn’t be trying so freaking hard.

Hack your life.  Hack your schedule.  Hack your brain.

My brain is hacked.  It’s broken into and ripped wide open.  The hardwiring is exposing its wires and I don’t like that.  I used to be hard-wired, but now I’m wired out.  Wearied out.  Beaten down.  Broken down.

My brain crashed for a while but it didn’t help much because we rebooted it and I hacked it all over again.  Counseling, medicine, and a little less, but it’s just a little time before it crashes for good.  I have no time.

I hacked my brain.  There is only so much hacking one brain can handle.

Unhack my brain or hack me up because I can’t life-hack anymore.