Last year, I walked in with nothing.
I had no idea of what to expect, so how was I to properly arm myself?
I nearly drowned under piles and piles of papers and books that never could seem to properly fit in one pack, or at least stay where I could see them. I lived in a tiny shoebox of a room – its size unable to contain my belongings and my lack of motivation to keep order – in a madhouse of seven total med student occupants. I can still see myself sitting at the kitchen table (the kitchen was about 8 times the size of my room, so I favored it) in those very quiet, sad hours after midnight, eating ice cream and wondering what the hell I was doing with myself. I became so caught up in giving up pieces of myself, playing the oft-praised role of the martyred medical student, that lost sight of who I was and what I deserved from life and the people around me. I was constantly beset by storms – from the many un-done things on my To-Do lists, from the people I gave to that couldn’t give back, from books and notes I slaved over with words that just refused to stick. As luck would have it, it was also the longest, coldest winter the East Coast had ever seen. It seemed that the year was trying to ensure my surrender. Near the end, it had devolved into an outright battle for survival. I thought of nothing but finishing. I ate whatever was near. I wore whatever was conducive to sitting for extraordinarily long periods of time (yes, that is a euphemism for leggings and sweatpants). I pulled out the largest weapons I had, without even bothering first to glance at the size of the beast I had to slay. It didn’t matter how tired, malnourished, pale I became – I just had to finish.
I return after a summer, ready to start once again. This time, it won’t be a desperate, last-one-standing, no holds barred death match. I hope to be able to ditch the “battle” metaphor, actually. This time, I will just be…studying. Studying, going to class, practicing the skills I’m learning. I will be a medical student, not nervous, confused, overwhelmed, and constantly doubting my ability to become the person I’ve always dreamt of becoming. I will no longer refer to myself as a "mess." I refuse to hide behind excuses, the bare minimum, the back corner table of the classroom.
I will be present.
