OPINION: Take care of yourself, please

Recently, I’ve found myself resenting how I harp on about the pandemic as if it’s novel to complain. I don’t fully blame the pandemic for any mental health defects I’ve developed. I think it certainly exasperated them, but I’m sure the goblins in my head would’ve reared their heads sooner or later.

So, when I tell a story which took place four years ago, I want to at least clarify how unreasonable it is for me to still be fixated on it. But I find this story important to me and worth the time in telling.

In fall 2020, the University of Iowa, my college, attempted to get students back on campus. It was a valiant attempt, but two weeks after the semester began most of my classes were pushed back online.

I pulled out of my housing agreement and moved back to my hometown of Ankeny where I completed my fall semester coursework and Zoom lectures over the internet.

The next semester, in spring 2021, things were a little different. Some classes were now mandatory to be on campus. Ankeny to Iowa City is a two-hour drive one-way. I had a problem.

At the time, I had also started a part-time job to save money for my tuition. Combined, I was managing more responsibilities than I should at a time when I wanted to be focused on studies.

On some days, I would wake up to make a two-hour drive over to Iowa City for a 45-minute class, drive two hours back home, go to work because it would be around noon, then get home late in the evening to do my college assignments.

One day in March 2021, a massive blizzard hit Iowa. Snow was dumped overnight and was still in full force by the morning. I went to bed, expecting my classes to be cancelled, but knowing there’s always a freak chance my professors would think it’s a fine day for learning.

I woke up to an email, as if sent to taunt me, that my French Cinema class would take place as scheduled. In-person attendance mandatory. I finished the email and heard a particularly strong gust howl outside. I was doomed.

I remember looking at my mom before I left and even she thought I was crazy. This was crazy.

At some point during the drive, I couldn’t see two feet in front of me. I watched as the lines in the road were covered in sleet and the headlights of the semi I had been tailing disappeared into the white of the storm.

When you’re in such a remote location and lose all sense of where you are while driving in what might soon be a metal coffin, there’s a disconnect as if you’ve entered a different reality.

I made it to campus, albeit about 20 minutes late. I thought to myself this delay was understandable as I walked into class, covered in snow from the short walk from lot to building, and immediately got chewed out for not respecting the professor’s and my fellow student’s times.

I sat there, getting scolded as a grown man in front of my peers, who were still essentially strangers in this six feet apart, masked world of the pandemic, and wondered why this was happening. I didn’t argue, it’s not in my skillset, but I felt my frustration build.

Twenty-five minutes later, I was back on the road and angry, my foot like a rock on the gas pedal. Stupidly, I didn’t notice how fast I was going. I looked to my left and saw multiple police lights and cars stuck in ditches on the other side of the interstate. Those who tried and failed.

I never noticed until it was too late. My Honda Civic was now drifting. It skidded too far to the left, and I corrected to the right. Too far.

I overcorrect again to the left, and the most incredible motion occurs where my car spins far too fast and finally locks back onto the road, backwards. I am now facing oncoming traffic, still skidding.

Oh no. For a moment, I realize the possibility of ceasing to be. I tug on the steering wheel enough to spin back around. No car was close enough for me to hit. Another possibility. I could have hit someone, and the unthinkable could have happened.

I limp over to the closest off-ramp and I break. Cars who saw my rendition of Honda on ice stop to check in on me. Bless their hearts. I’m too stunned at the time to even know if I’m okay.

The feelings from this incident would subside eventually (I made the drive home, described mildly as exhaustingly stressful) but I still remember that moment. It encapsulates a lot of feelings I had at the time.

I felt alone. I had to deal with the idea that not only could I have been killed, I could have hurt or killed someone else. Over what? I was mad at a French Cinema class?

The fallout would lead to me intermittently missing various classes over the next few months, eventually dropping one class I would miss the attendance policy for. I lost my scholarship because of the wave of depression strengthened by this incident.

What I pull away from this story now are the dangerous consequences for not taking care of yourself. There are times when things are too much to handle. Times when people don’t know what you’re going through. That extends to all of us.

Please, take care of yourself. Know when things are getting too crazy. And, find help. This incident made me realize I needed medication for whatever was going wrong with me.

I scheduled a doctor’s appointment the other day, the first one I’ll have in three years, because I know my mental state now is not where it should be. There’s a lot of uncomfortable feelings I deal with to admit that. But, I won’t leave myself behind.