Fall Fears

By this time next week, the letter asking Hartwick to allow me back as a student for the fall semester will have been sent. With that comes multitudes of emotions-the principal of which are joy and fear.
I know I have not written about what happened that made me leave the school of my dreams in January, and don't hold your breath for a post about that. You'll die. Those of you who know me well know what happened and those of you who don't, well, have fun speculating.

The joys thinking about returning to school brings me fill me with bubbles. Yes, bubbles. I feel like fizzy soda, which is a sharp contrast to how I have felt lately. Without Hartwick, I feel like I just brushed my teeth and then drank orange juice which I proceed to spill. But the next week or two of not knowing, I think, will result in me doing my hamster impression. The equations are quite simple, really:

and 

but

A quick thanks to Jenna Lowry for assuring me the ± meant what I thought it means.

See? that's not too hard is it? It can't be; I (mostly) figured it out and I didn't even finish Algebra 2/Trig (usually second [but sometimes third] year of high school math)
The proofs behind the first two are so easy, I won't do them. But allow me to explain the third equation. That's what this whole post is about!

First, there are the fears that all people in my place would have regardless of major.

1. Will my friends have replaced me in my social group?
2. It's not my first year, so I'm not a freshman, but I also don't have the academic credits to be a sophmore. What does that make me? A freshmore? That sounds like a bad brand of deodorant. A sophman? No, that's not good either; it makes me sound like a guy who can't get it up. There is a poll to the left-should I say Sophman or Freshmore when people ask what year I am? Vote :3 <3
3. Do people think I died? Are they gonna look at me like I'm a ghost? In my defence, this has happened to me before. After I came back from a month and half of being in a hospital in 2011, some of the people in my school actually thought I had killed myself. Yes, I killed myself and there was no funeral or anything. True story, bro.
4. Does everyone know what happened? Are all the returning students gonna think I'm psycho or something? Were there rumours after I left?
5. What to do if people ask what happened and I don't want to tell them. Well, that's not a worry. I'm going to tell people that I went travelling with the Doctor and he messed up the return date.

Then, there are the questions unique to being a psychology major:

1. Will my peers in the major try to analyse what happened to me?
2. I declared my psych major at the end of the fall 2012 term, and haven't taken the basic level psych classes (psych 110 and 111) yet. What will my peers think of a [enter class name here] in their freshman level psych class?

Lastly, (and my biggest concern) there are worries unique to the theatre arts major.

1. When I left, I had to drop out of the play. Am I ever going to get cast in a mainstage again, or will the directors worry that I'll have to leave again?
2. I failed my Intro to Theatre class last fall (a fluke) and wasn't there to take it in the fall, so I will probably be taking it this fall, and last time I checked the department head was teaching the class this time. Will he judge me? I don't want to mess up what is pretty much my first impression with him.
3. In jTerm, I gave my all to the class I was in. I wanted to prove to people that I am serious about being in theatre and the like. I fear that may have been my last chance to show that I'm not a joke and I may have ruined it.

~Conclusion~

Many of these may sound irrational, and maybe they are but, they are real and legitimate concerns I have. They may all revolve around what other people think of me, but let's face it: no matter how much we may say that we don't care what everyone else thinks of us, it does change the way we think of ourselves and our cognition in general. I had a high-level idea of how things were going to be when I came to Hartwick last fall, because no one knew really anything about me. But now I may be about to enter an environment where my reputation proceeds me, and that reputation may be based on he-said-she-said things that went around seven and a half months ago. It may be true that I can't wait to prove my rep wrong, but what if I prove it right not even knowing it. I really have no idea at all what lies ahead of me, and that scares me more than AMC's The Walking Dead, which really scared me. But it probably was not the best idea to watch it at night home alone in a large-ish house right before bed. At least I had the lights on.

It Could of Been Worse

Hey there! I come bearing good news: I am conscious! This may seem like a given, and it usually is. But I went all syncope Tuesday morning. Take note: eating, in general, and especially when one takes 522mg of medication in the morning, is invaluable. Having hot chocolate with said 522mg does not count. Wearing one's glasses is also an important thing. If these instructions are ignored, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur.
I really love my jTerm class, Puppetry in Performance, taught by local professional puppeteer,  John Ryan. I literally give the class my all. And then some.  I woke up on Tuesday at 9:10, and class is at 9:30. Challenge Accepted. I threw on some clothes, took the afore mentioned 522mg, and was on my way to class. I got there, a little late, and got right in to the warm-up. After that, we grouped up for the activity that day (making animal puppets out of newspaper and tape), and that is when my hunger and lack-of-food induced headache came. That kind that's right above the eyebrows. I couldn't quite mask it that I was in a bit of a hell. Malissa noticed, and so did my amazingly spiffy friend, Etta. Etta gave me a CliffBar, because she is so spiffy, and I went outside (the class is in the Lab Theatre) to nom on it, and got a drink from the super-cold water fountain, too. After about three minutes of upwards-spiraling anxiety, I realized that I was probably about to vomit. I ran through the Lab (the shortest way to the closest bathroom), and pretty much right as I got in the stall, yes-sir-e, I puked. The next thing I know, Malissa is patting me, "Ley, can you hear me?" I let out a light groan, and heard three sighs of relief. One belonged to Malissa who was kneeling just behind and to the side of me, one belonging to Sarah, who was standing above me, and the other belonging to John, who was sitting in front of me. It's pretty lucky that the stall doors in the Lab bathroom don't lock anymore, because I had passed out. Malissa said that campus safety was on the way, and moved to the side as Sarah, who has a fair amount of medical training, found my pulse, because she knew that the EMTs (who were also en route) could use the information. She and Malissa went to elsewhere-that place that I don't know or care about-and John stayed with me, and he let me hold is hand, and reassured me even more, saying that it would be okay. Malissa and Sarah returned from the land of elsewhere and helped me walk out of the bathroom and into the dressing room (remember that this is all in the Lab). Pretty soon after, Campus Safety arrived, and Sarah and John went back down to class. Malissa stayed with me until the EMTs arrived, when she stepped aside to let them take vitals and blood sugar. I rejected the ambulance, but the EMTs went to the hospital to start processing my information. Campus safety took me to the ER and waited until they took me. I was almost petrified at the prospect of doing the ER alone. Just after they left, Brandy, the social worker I see at the campus health center came in. She knew how scared I was to go it alone, and decided to be there with me. Isn't that awesome? It did make the whole thing a lot easier. They did an EKG (I'd had that done once before--but this time they put sensors on my ankles--apparently that's not a new thing...) took blood (I surprised Brandy with how calm I was), had me pee in a cup (one of the things that I absolutely detest most), and did chest x-rays (I wonder, boobs must look quite...interesting on those). Brandy and I chatted while they processed everything. They gave me saltines (of which I am quite fond of) and ginger ale (its a highly advanced medical treatment), and since I was there through the time when normal human beings eat lunch, I had lunch too (which was surprisingly not bad). After four or so hours, they decided that my body is just weird and likes to faint and let me go.

At least a chandelier didn't fall on me.

Me and My Generation

THERE IS A STRANGE PHENOMENON with my generation: the Maskbook phenomenon. My peers and I have an exoskeleton that is so opposite to ourselves. 
The therapist who I started working with on September  3, 2003 didn't realize the severity of the depression I developed over that that time until February 14, 2011, the day I was first admitted to a psychiatric hospital for what ultimately has been diagnosed as borderline personality disorder  
We, as a generation, can be off the radar until we crack. Sometimes the crack is just cleavage in the rock, like me, and sometimes it is earth-shattering, like Adam Lanza. All of us 90s kids and the millennials have been able to present a different version of ourselves online: the version we want to be: the version we can't be. 
I hid an eating disorder for over ten years. In July of 2007, I was 5'4" (just a tad shorter than I am now) and weighed 90lbs. The only reason I was able to break the cycle was because I was put on a drug that was also an antiemetic. 
Adults see the media that we do, the Victoria's Secret models, girls think they should look like, and boys think they should look like Taylor Lautner or Eminem. They don't realize how much it affects us until their daughter gets knocked up, or is too light that they no longer menstruate or their son has one too many sports-related concussions, or gets shot in the street. 

Every member of iGeneration is at war with their sense of self.

I Think I Almost Died of Fear...

H'okay, h'okay. Maybe not died, but it sure was scary!

My work-study is Technical Theatre and Stagecraft. From time to time, we have to go up on some pretty sizeable A-frame ladders. The one in Slade Theatre (the bigger proceneum space) is like 18', with the fixtures at 20'. In the Lab Theatre (blackbox/flexible space), the ladder is like 14' and on wheels with the fixtures at 16.5'. So you really have to get up there. I'm not afraid of heights. I love climbing trees, indoor rock climbing, rope adventure courses, all that stuff. But A-frame ladders, well those are different. I can totally do your normal built-into-the-wall ladder, but get one that is self suppourting, and thats a whole different matter. What if I tip it over? Yeah, I'd fall and die.

Today, I had to reterive a source 4 parkane from up in storage (on the electrics, but offstage). This involved going up very high on the one with wheels! I was literally dripping sweat. It turned out that I got the wrong light (hey, I havn't taken lighting design yet!) Then, I had to hang it at an angle, not just straigt down like it was stored. This required going up even higher on the ladder...I braved it. I was at the top-okay, well two steps away from the top. I was sure I was going to die. I needed to be at a different angle, so I thought of what I'd seen others do. I was going to straddle the ladder. Woah. Having one foot on it for a prolonged period of time. And with the deep desire to let my supervisor know that I'm not useless to have around, I did it.
And then, in the end, I had to take the light down. And it was hot. So I could only hold on to the C-clamp. But I did it.

Yay for conquering fears!