Decisions, Decisions

My therapist and I had a phone conversation on Tuesday, even though I'm still inpatient at Stanford's G2P.

"Can I be honest? I think you need to move out of that house. It's too isolating for you on that ranch. You need to be around people your own age." She offered the example of living on the dorms back at the University. She didn't make the conversation about my parents (how are they okay with disconnecting themselves away from the rest of the world and not because of COVID?), and their psychosocial problems, but I wondered.

I don't know how difficult it would be for me to re-register there.

I shied at the notion that I could ever be stable enough (again) to carry a full load, which would be required, in order to live on campus (the disability department maybe able to step in at this point).

I brought up the idea (if I would ever have my symptoms manageable enough to finish school) with my psychiatrist here, and he thought it was totally a possibility. "Yeah, sure," he said, nodding his head enthusiastically.

What would that look like? For a few years, yes, I did it (the period of 2016-2017 is a good example), but I would need an extra pinch of something magical to boost me through the rigors of the stress that comes with full time university-level work.

Is Ritalin just that magic?

If I wanted to be a nurse, I wouldn't go back to the University (they don't have such a program). I would head off to either an easier target like Fresno State for a BSN or if I wanted to really stretch my wings, there are other options.

I could delay these decisions longer by getting my RN at the local community college, be able to stay at home with my dog and horse but that is a lottery system, and I could be waiting years, even with good grades.