I was in denial. Very strong denial. telling my parents I was doing fine and that I was okay, but they were slowly figuring out that wasn't the case.
Covid really destroyed my work life balance. like, completely destroyed it. I had no joy left. Spring of my sophomore year was really hard, but I powered through.
I wasn't so lucky junior year.
I have a bit of a mental block from one of my teachers, sophomore year during my storyboarding 1 class. I think it could even be a bit of PTSD. Don't get me wrong, I actually really like this teacher, but she did not like teaching storyboarding and took it out on her students. As a result, I can't storyboard without feeling panicky and sick, and most of the time i just avoid it entirely, which creates a thick miasma of shame and guilt for not being the student that I once was. I failed storyboarding 2 because I couldn’t address the issues I was facing.
Then, my grandfather died December 9th, 2021. He was only 75. Covid took him from me. I still cry about that frequently, in fact, I'm choking up just writing this.
Still firmly in denial I told myself that the spring would be different. A reset. A fresh start. But again, I was wrong. I never took the time to address why I was so fucking empty and hollow.
I wallow through the first half of the semester, doing my best to keep my head above water. Then, my doctor puts me on Wellbutrin, and I feel truly alive for the first time in four years. And I realize what I mess I made for myself. And that I'm not going to be able to clean it up in eight weeks and come out okay.
Now, it's midterms week. I'm failing all my classes. I'm fucking terrified and desperate and so incredibly guilty and failing. I emailed my academic advisor, Tom Bancroft (former Disney animator, best known for being lead animator for Mushu!!), and he told me: "Zoë, you are too good of an artist to be getting grades like this. I know you, and I know you're capable of a lot more than this. I think it would be a good idea for you to take some time away from school."
And so I called my parents, because fuck. I graduated high school with a 4.37GPA, for Christ's sake. I have never failed this hard. I told them that I want to take the rest of the semester off, I needed time to find who I am again. Get to know the me I rediscovered last week. They both (individually) told me that they were proud of me for making such a mature and difficult decision, and that was the breaking point.
I realized that the only person I was ever failing was myself.
So today, I'm marching my butt down to the registrar, finding how much of my tuition I can get back (if at all), seeing if my scholarship carries over (I'm pretty sure it does) and then dropping every single class.
I know I need a break. And I have a job. And a potential living situation that's actually affordable.
A weight has been lifted off my shoulders.
I'm so happy I could cry.
