I've been asked multiple times why I decided to leave Bachelor in Multimedia Arts despite being in it for almost three years. And every time it's brought up, I smile and say random things to hopefully end the conversation. Why? Because I don't really know how to explain it. I'm not sure how I can tell someone that I was suffering from things that no one can see and only I can feel. And there's actually more to it than just being tired of fighting my own mind.
Everything started on the day I was on my way to enroll in senior high school. My parents decided to drop me off at a jeepney stop since it was on their way to work anyway. I remember clearly that my mom asked me what strand I decided to sign up for. At that time, I was planning on taking a psychology program after high school, so I told her I'd be taking HUMSS. Then, she proceeded to ask me if I was sure of it and if I didn't consider choosing STEM instead. But I told her that HUMSS is a much better fit for my preferred program in college. She did not push me to choose STEM, but what bugged me was the tinge of sadness in her voice as she said her words of support. One of my weaknesses is my mom's sadness and I can't bear hearing it. So, when I got to the university to sign the papers needed, I put my name under the STEM strand. I remember standing there for a hot minute and weighed the pros and cons of my sudden decision. I justified it by telling myself that my favorite subjects are science and mathematics anyway and that I'm afraid of public speaking so choosing HUMSS would be a difficult road to take. I also tried to assure myself that psychology is a branch of science, so taking STEM is not that badβit was.
I almost did not make it out alive, literally. Along with the problems with my peers, I constantly questioned the subjects within the strand and how they relate to the program I want to take in college. It's not helping that the curriculum was too focused on engineering. A lot of my classmates who wanted to take medical programs were also having the same questions as I did. But I did it. I graduated regardless of having to transfer schools and constantly falling into relapse. I even made it to the honors list. I had my research awarded as the best research among our batch despite having to present my defense twice since my first attempt ended in me having a full-blown panic attack.
And then came the college enrollment. Due to the circumstances beforehand, I did not go through my original plan of applying to my dream universityβthe University of the Philippines Baguio. In fact, I was hesitant to even continue my studies. Don't get me wrong, I love studying. But I was too exhausted from battling my mental dilemma. Back then, my parents were still glued to the idea of how time is of the essence. They were asking me about my college plans which at the time, my plans were nonexistent. They asked me what programs I was considering. I told them I still wanted to take psychology. But my mom was overly against it, and we would constantly have arguments. It was a back and forth of what jobs would it get me and how I could take it as a second degree instead, etc. I'm not sure if I explained to her then that I didn't want to take Psychology for the fun of it and that I wanted to be a doctor. I think I did. Nevertheless, she wouldn't hear me out. So then, I told her about the other programs I thought of which was Multimedia Arts and Information Technology. She printed out a list of schools that offered the former but all of them were either finished with their enrollment period or the tuition fee was too expensive. I also looked for those that were offering IT, but some were not really that good in terms of their curriculum and the others were of the same reason with MMA.
That's where Architecture came in. In 12th grade, I briefly worked in a construction company for my Immersion subject. The owners are a family friend of ours and they taught us the ins and outs of the industry. Not going to lie, it was a delight. I loved the technicalities within the job and for some time, I saw myself actually pursuing the field. But I did not really fall in love with it, I just love the idea. I still prefer helping people overcome unseen illnesses and understanding more about the human mind. However, it was the only program I at least found tolerable that was mostly available in state universities.
I took an exam with one university; I did not try to apply for more. I just wanted it to be over. I want them to get off my back. Fortunately, I got in. During the interview process, the dean told me that the program was nearly full and filled with applicants and the chances of me getting accepted was low. She asked me what I had that will make me stand out among the others. I don't recall my answer to that, I just remember trying my best to stay alive for that time being. I think I answered along the lines of having a background within the field and all that. Then she started browsing my credentials and exam results, and she asked more questions like am I capable of handling pressure, etc. I half-heartedly answered all of that. In the back of my mind, I was hoping that I wouldn't get accepted so I could be sent to the psychology program since it was my second choice in the form. At the same time, I was trying hard to answer well to be accepted and please my mom. Can you imagine how much I wanted to die in that moment?
After the interview process, a drawing assessment was also required. While doing so, I did not know what to pray for. I want my mom to be happy, but I also want the program I want. God must've been confused about how to answer her feeble daughter. Hence, I took my sweet time to finish that drawing. My perfectionist ass won't let me get up anyway. I was also thinking of just ditching the whole interview, but then where would I live if my mom throws me out? The stress was too much. Even as I'm writing this and trying to remember the events of that day, it is stressing me out. Like how did I not jump off a bridge or something?
Anyway, long story short, I got accepted anyway. My hopes and dreams of pursuing psychology were crushed that day. I'm still curious as to how I made it home alive.
You know the sad part? I did not even last for a semester. I was gone after the midterms. I was too depressed to go back. I locked myself in my room. I had a hard time speaking with anyone. When my mom asked me why I stopped going to school, I simply told her that I didn't like the course. That short sentence even took me a great deal of strength to say. It wasn't even true. I do like the course. Like I said earlier, I like the technicalities. Even if it wasn't as fascinating as psychology, I still find it interesting. My classmates were fun to be with. I had no problem with the facility. My problem was more of a personal one which included the stressors in my life, imposter syndrome, and apparently, I have ADHD and OCDβthat I would not be aware of until two years later.
At that time, I didn't know that I was suffering from those. I was only sure of having depression and anxiety as the physical symptoms were obvious. It was a constant battle in my brain. Every day was a bloodbath in my whole system. I wake up, I dress up, I walk to the jeepney stop, I watch people struggle to get on jeeps while I just stand there watching them because I fear that I might get a full-blown panic attack with that much crowd. I remember one of my friends being in awe while she watched me nonchalantly watching commuters fight for their lives to get on. Look, I was mentally exhausted. I was not risking being an anxious mess and bothering all these people trying to make a living. Plus, I had a long-ass T-square with me that I was afraid of getting broken in half from all the pushing. I usually ride habals or book Angkas when I feel like it's taking too long for the crowd to lessen.
Every drafting work was taking a life off me. Every mistake was killing me. I can still see the look my professor gave me while we were doing an activity in freehand drawing. I felt the judgment and amusement as he silently watched the way I drew. It made me feel small and insecure. My mind started planting doubts in my stupid brain. I started comparing myself with my peers. Suddenly, I didn't want to be there. I wanted to hide. Do I really have what it takes to be one of the best architects out there? What if I design a building poorly and people would be in danger because of me? Was I doing too much? Was I not doing enough? I didn't think I should be there at all even if my friends from that program told me otherwise.
Fortunately, like a blessing in disguise, the pandemic started when I left. Nothing changed; I still refused to leave my room, and I had a hard time speaking. The only time my family would see me is when I had to pee or poo. And yes, I did not eat. It helped that I wasnβt expected to run errands since we werenβt allowed to go out anyway. However, my parents didnβt think that what I was experiencing was serious. I remember being pulled from my bed; mind you it was a bunk bed, and I was at the top bunk. I resisted; I didnβt care if I got bruises. I didnβt want to see anyone; I didnβt want to speak. All that came out of my mouth was, βAyaw ko. Ayaw ko,β while crying from frustration and despair. I think thatβs when it hit them. After that, they didnβt force me to go out anymore. I also broke up with my ex of two years since heβs one of the stressors that made me hurt myself from time to time. Thatβs when I gradually started getting better. Saying that I was relieved is an understatement. It felt like I was exorcised.
Fast forward to about a year and a half later, I got a bit better. I gradually began to speak and be my old self. However, it never felt right. It always felt like I was floating. It was like I wasnβt there. But I wanted to get better. I wanted to continue my studies. I didn't want to be stuck crying and praying I was dead every single day. So, despite what I felt, I tried my best to look into programs and colleges that I could enroll in. My mom became more lenient with my choices this time around, but she was still skeptical about the whole psychology thing. I got in on the same train eventually. Thatβs why I decided to take Multimedia Arts instead.
I wanted to be able to do everythingβdesign, illustrate, animate, photograph, produce music and films, direct movies, write screenplays, and publish my own books. I forgot to consider my initial dilemma with my first take on arts. Back then, I wasnβt that much aware of how intense imposter syndrome has on me. I only assumed that I have a very low self-esteem. I was doing well at first, but eventually, it took a toll on me. Hence, my parents decided to let me see a psychiatrist. I have multiple diagnoses, but I was mostly treated for my depression and anxiety. I was also monitored by the schoolβs guidance counselors.
I decided to transfer school, again. This time, I hope to finally take my dream program. Rather than staying in my hometown, I decided to go back to my original planβto study in Baguio City. But God has other plans. While I did get to study here in Baguio, I wasnβt accepted in psychology. I was devastated, but also, I was too numb to feel anything. I wanted to defend myself while the dean told me I couldnβt be accepted due to my poor standing with my previous program. I wanted to tell her that my illnesses are not limitations, rather it gives me the capability to understand and empathize with people more. But I didnβt. She had a pointβit was a board program, and my recent standing reflects my wobbly mental state. I was stunned.
Nevertheless, it didnβt stop me from wanting to continue my studies. She told me I should find a plan B. So, now, Iβm studying Music. I really keep coming back to arts no matter what, do I? Anyway, while I was there, I heard their choir singing. It reminded me of the joy I had back in my high school years. And upon looking at the courses they offered, I noticed nothing really grabbed my attention. Thus, I am here.
I wonβt be telling you my plans for the future. I just wanted to relay how I got here. And if a first-year student would be reading this, I just want to tell you:
Your journey is your journey. Not one is the same. Donβt be too hard on yourself. Never compare yourself. Itβll be hard, but itβs going to be alright. Just do your best. If you think your best is not enough, then think again. Most importantly, donβt forget to ask for help. Youβll need it here.