Life & Other Sciences

In 8th grade, I excitedly told my mom about the squid I dissected at the aquarium as part of a field trip I took with my marine life science elective. My best friend and I took the class together and we loved it. Our friendship that year involved a lot of Grey’s Anatomy, a show that was still in its early seasons, and how we wanted to be doctors. I mean, like, we were really cool, definitely not huge nerds. It was a year later though that I ditched a class for the first time ever-- Freshmen biology.

I don’t know who thought showing a film about the spread and mutation of drug resistant tuberculosis in Russian prisons to a bunch of fourteen-year-olds was a good idea, but it wasn't. We were learning about how diseases can mutate, a way of applying evolutionary principles to more than just human evolution. It all made sense to me, but there was something about that movie and that day, that changed how I felt about science forever.

Biology took place on the 3rd floor of our school's academic wing. The classrooms there were long, with desks in the center and lab stations lining the walls. The way in which most of the classrooms sat left little natural lighting. Science classes were a period and a half long, and unless we were in lab the time seemed to trickle by so slowly. My class was full of my nerdy friends, and all of us were excited by school. We were all on the accelerated track of most classes, and knew each other from having all our classes together. Imagine us as the kind of kids that wanted to sit in the front row. I always chose the seat closest to the door; easy to escape that way. This particular day, the day of the stupid film, I remember so clearly. Biology was my first class, and the cloudy October sky made the room glow only with florescent lights. Those lights were quickly turned off, we spent the hour and half class watching this creepy film and filling out a incredibly detailed worksheet. 

I sat next to Delaney, my buddy and confidant about all things anxiety. I was so lucky to have her nearby. She saw my feet began to tap as the worry filled my brain, and wrote with pencil on the inside of my binder, “U ok?” No, I wasn’t but I nodded back "yes." I tried to remind myself that TB isn’t a threat for me. However, the 1980’s film was really convincing me otherwise. Drug resistance, mutation, poor living conditions appeared on the screen and then sprung at me like a pop-up book of nightmares. I tried desperately to focus on the worksheet but the clock looked like it wasn’t moving, and I started to get that cold but hot feeling in my face, and my heart beat fast enough that my arms and legs felt like they were full of jelly. So, I got up, shaking, and asked to use the bathroom. With a sigh the teacher said no, but I made a beeline for the stairwell anyway. I sat there for 20 minutes completely not caring that I was breaking rules, something I did not do, I never wanted to go back to biology or any science class.

I did go back. I took my three required years of science, somehow staying in the advanced track with all my nerd friends, despite my deep disdain for the subject. Equations of covalent bonds in chemistry made me happy, but I still didn’t want any part of the medical information we were sometimes applying our knowledge to. In my little anxious mind knowing about something meant it could happen to me, and hearing any information about a disease or disorder made me need to know everything about it. I was cursed with curiosity. Even though I loved science, and went through the motions of it all, I let my dream of pursuing it as a career quickly go. If I could barely sit through a class without grinding my teeth down to a pulp, how could I ever be a doctor or a nurse?

Recently, I mentioned to my therapist that I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life. I knew being a writer would be first and foremost, and I would write a novel eventually. That has always been the biggest dream and the goal. However, I mentioned that there was this huge hole in my heart that needed to be filled with purpose. What that purpose is, I’m not sure. I said something to her that I have thought again and again for years but never said aloud-- it seemed too far out of reach to even admit, “I don’t know what I want to do but I know that I am the kind of person who could sit up all night with someone, and understand their fear. Sometimes I think I’m supposed to be a nurse or therapist or something. Honestly, I wish I could be a psychiatric nurse. But, I can't.” We talked about why I thought I couldn't become this, and how loans will always hold me back, and I even mentioned how I don’t trust my dreams very often because I’ve had so many over the years. At the end of the logistical discussion she said, “Come join this profession. This is where you need to be.” She was talking about psychiatry and psychology, and something in me felt that she was right.

I’m not going to go to nursing school right now. I’m not going to make any moves right now, but I am going to continue to find my place of being the person that can sit up with someone all night. Here’s the unfortunate thing about life, sometimes there is something out of your control that gets in the way of what you are meant to do. I believe though, there is always a way to break through. Does that mean I’ll eventually be a nurse? Maybe. What it definitely means is that I’ll always find a way to help others. Advocating for mental illness in college was my start, and it won’t be my finish. There is something each of us are meant to do, or to be, and most likely there is something that is going to get in the way of that. If you’re lucky you’ll find a way to ask for enough help to become what you know you are to be though. Maybe, if I’m lucky, I can be that person you ask for help.