Why English 156 Wasn't Easy, Part IV

"If you were spending that much time on one class, I don't think you should take three classes next semester," my mom comments after I finished my final essay for English 156, which I spent days reading and reading and doing more research for, only to be confused and grossly aware of my own ignorance toward my subject.

We got into a minor argument over that.

As time went by during Summer Semester, I begin to slowly feel odd and old (which is a relative term). A few of the students were eighteen and straight from high school. Many worked while going to class. One girl had night shifts, but still manage to show up some days for nine o' clock morning lecture.

I remember being eighteen and at the University, starting Summer Quarter 2001. It was then that I realized I needed help, and went to the student health center for my depression. I was struggling already and just beginning my college career.

Despite the mood issues, I loved the University, even though I knew I wasn't a good fit for the Animal Science Department because they focused on agriculture and mostly food animals while I believed, and I was often alone on this, that horses should be considered "companion animals," and I was a haughty animal welfarist.

Even though back then I was too liberal for my major, I danced around and took whatever courses spurred my interest, many of which were not part of my degree.

But I failed, as early as Fall Quarter 2001, and throughout the years in college, I would fail more.

Despite the fact that I felt a lingering sense of superiority over my fellow English 156 students (I took AP Lit my senior year of high school and also attended multiple English courses at the University--plus I'm older and have been writing for personal enjoyment most of my life), I couldnt help but recognize that many of my classmates would succeed where I did not. They would go on to complete their Bachelor's in a reasonable amount of time even if they needed an extra step to freshman composition.

Perhaps they wouldn't make the large, hindering mistakes I did--like binge drinking instead of studying the night before a midterm.

I started taking college classes when I was thirteen or fourteen years old. My mother was worried I would fall behind the other students and forced me to attend community college classes over the summers.

Why, if I've spent all this time in college, am I taking a basic reading and writing course?

I was hospitalized a few weeks after my last ECT in July of 2015. I tried to play Scrabble with a fellow patient but couldn't spell simple words like "world." I was reduced to a drooling, soft baby, learning to play with small blocks.

After that, even as my cognitive abilities improved, I had little confidence in returning to any level of college.

I was essentially starting over. All those courses at the University? I don't remember them.