On Pride and Failure

When I came home from a 72-hour stint in the hospital following a string of anxiety attacks and depressive episodes, those close to me asked if I wanted to take a break from school. It was the spring of 2015 and, although it had officially ended, I hadn't yet finished the semester. I was also struggling to find a new place to live and was running out of time before I had to be out of my apartment. By all accounts, my answer to their question should have been yes. I had just (well, almost) finished my fourth year of college and I wasn’t graduating, but I felt close. I was almost there. Now was no time for breaks.

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