phdblues

[phdblues]

Here are all the things I need to do in the immediate future...

Listen. I want to preface this to say that getting a PhD in English Literature does not make me better or more hard-working than anyone else. I’m sure there are people within and outside of my field who both work harder and less hard than myself. That is obvious. However, in my despair of the past few weeks of being overwhelmed, I have started to notice that people who either work in the “real world” or have completed or are completing Master’s degrees think that what PhD students are doing is either a cake walk in comparison to their own lives or is the same as what they are doing. No sir. No ma’am. When I was in my Master’s, it was the hardest thing I’d ever done (particularly my thesis). And then I got to my PhD and hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha at least that MA got me prepared. And as for that idea that my job is not the “real world”: oh, please. I work 12-hour days, 7 days a week for below minimum-wage. I do not have “time off” or a moment or get to punch out at the end of the day. My life is “real” enough.

And here’s another disclaimer: I know that my experience in my PhD is not everyone’s. Some people do not have to spend as much time working to achieve the same results. Some have to spend more time working. Some people are far smarter than I am. Some people get into higher-ranked or better-funded schools where they don’t have to scrounge as hard for opportunities. Some people don’t like to vent and talk about their feelings so this is probably all just very annoying. Some people probably are better at setting boundaries and saying no to some of the things I should probably say no to. Some people want the PhD but don’t care as much that it takes them to a tenure-track job at a research university. That’s all fine. This is just my experience.

And you know, I’m not sure why I need to have all these disclaimers. Of course this tumblr reflects my experience. I’m writing it! So if you don’t like what I have to say, you do not need to read this!

Here are all the things I need to do before Spring Break:

1. A pedagogical presentation on The House Behind the Cedars, Paradise Lost, and ecocriticism.

2. A pedagogical presentation on Hagar’s Daughter and Paradise Lost.

3. A critical heritage on one of the aforementioned novels. A critical heritage is when you find, read, and annotate every piece of criticism ever written about a work with special emphasis on how you will use said criticism in your future seminar paper.

4. Read Reginald’s book and write a review of one of the chapters.

5. Re-read Milton’s Comus.

6. Write a conference paper on Comus and the origins of New Orleans’ Mardi Gras.

7. Grade a 50-paper-deep stack of freshmen comp homework.

8. Grade my students’ analysis essays.

9. Write, revise, and submit a formal proposal for an MLA round table.

10. Read ten books on my quals list.

11. Read two more novels for Reginald’s class.

12. Meet weekly with Reginald to discuss Milton and African American literature. Meet at least once with Rachel and Doug about quals. Be fully prepared for these meetings.

13. Take and ace two Latin exams.

14. Study for and pass daily Latin quizzes.

15. Attend various staff meetings.

16. Attend various talks with visiting scholars.

17. Clean my hoarder’s nest of an apartment.

18. At least fully draft a syllabus and rationale for a course on “Milton and the Literary Color Line.”

19. Try not to piss off people who want me to come to their readings or hang out with them when I say I do not have time to attend these events.

20. Try not to let my head explode as people run around screaming sexist and racist things about the current political climate.

21. Hopefully squeeze in going to the gym so I don’t look like a beached whale next to my model-esque friends at spring break.

22. At some point try to find travel-sized DEET bug spray so I don’t contract Zika virus during my much-needed holiday.

23. Find a place to stay during this conference I said I’d do for some reason that I am now whole-heartedly regretting in Boston.

24. Try to swallow my boiling anger when people treat my field of study like it is some sort of cake walk or it doesn’t matter.

Oh, and this is just what I need to do in the next 4 weeks. I have 4 weeks to do all of that.

The rest of my year will be spent hoping I get this grant to go see Shakespeare’s school this summer so that I can try to publish this Tempest piece and have some money to pay rent. I also have about 70 books to read by November. And I have to find a way to beg the English department to give me a lit course sometime next year as I only have four more chances for one and I think it somewhat essential for a competitive job market. And I need to find a Shakespeare conference for the fall. And I need to find out why I still haven't heard from Milton Quarterly. And I need to call my health insurance and find out why I’m getting billed six months later for all these wellness visits that I paid copays on. And I have to find time to change my students’ lives a la The Dead Poet’s Society or I’m an uncaring educator and they’ll give me bad evals which will affect my future job market because I am a woman without literature teaching experience. And I have to take exams in November that allow me to continue my program. And then next year there’s just the matter of that pesky dissertation. Oh. My. God.

Any other PhD students feel like you’re drowning?

[phdblues]

The Beginning and Year Two with a Healthy Dose of Depression

Usually I am not forthcoming (in print) with the details of my emotions, but I kind of think this will be useful. I have a tendency to say things out of frustration, anxiety, anger, depression, whatever, that I can’t take back and are hurtful to myself or others and are generally embarrassing. I feel like if I can keep a blog about these things, I might not say them in the moment. So yeah, this exercise is maybe about accountability.

It’s also about my difficulty in adequately reaching out and communicating how I feel. I can call all my friends as my depression sets in and say, “Oh, hey, I’m having a hard time and here are all the things I’m trying to do about it and it’s really hard and I hate everything, but look at me using all these self-care skills!” and everyone is like, “good for you,” and we just move on. I can even text/call/email some really trusted people and literally say, “hi. I’m depressed. I hate everything and I’m scared,” and evidently that is overused or something and they never respond. Or, I can wait until I am truly freaking out and nervous that a hospital visit might be a good plan and then call and everyone is just really freaked out and still unhelpful. So basically, I’m at my wits’ end on this communication thing, so here’s a blog about feelings (what a novelty!).

Here’s the sitch:

I’ve been feeling depression coming on since May or June. It creeps in, you know, kind of like a leak in an old ceiling that you think might be there, but the discoloration isn’t that bad and your landlords said they would fix it in the attic while you were out of town and you can’t be sure if they’ve actually done it or not. They may well have done. You can’t see any discoloration really, so you might as well just move on. I talked with some family and friends about anxiety and stress and what have you, but everything certainly seemed well in hand (mainly to them) and their confidence in me was bolstering, so I went to Europe in July and move on.

Except right before Europe there was a heinous trip to the Cape filled with embarrassing step-family and some (as I took them) unkind remarks. But you know, I was getting depressed and interpretation is like 90% of everything. So I went to England and was glad for the break and the adventure. (For more on that, see that other tumblr I made.)

I got home and threw myself into studying for my general exam. I felt good having that reading to do, because the break really hadn’t solved the weirdness I felt with my friends. I was second guessing everything and if I had too long to consider the matter, I was convinced people didn’t want to know me anymore and that they had found out how weird I really am and were just over it. So I read.

And I read.

And I read.

And I took my exam and I probably passed (the jury’s still out on exams).

And then school started. And it was miserable. My schedule is terrible--all day, every day, huge breaks of nothing to do or soul-crushing hours of student meetings, Latin (ugh), barely any lit--and school is suddenly so lonely with all of us English grad students so spread out all over campus and never seeing one another. Maybe this sounds like a dumb thing to be complaining about if you are reading this and you have a “real job” (thanks for the judgement you and me?) and you think my life is so charmed and I’m just a whining idiot. Fine, maybe this tumblr isn’t for you. But I’m experiencing the slow burn of onsetting depression and I am alone and not excited about my studies that are expensive and soul-crushing and by the middle of week two I suddenly can’t breathe.

So I reach out to some friends. That leak I mentioned earlier has become a trickle and I can see it and I can smell it and I am accidentally letting it into my lungs. I email and text and call a few people. Some do not get back to me, some do, but if I’m honest, I’m still trying to pretend the trickle is just a water stain and I’m not communicating things adequately. When I talk to people, I perform being ok and tell them all the steps I’m taking to build a dam against the leak, but I’m really not. When friends are unresponsive, I’m freaking out and maybe even actively tearing at the borders of the leak, letting more water in. Maybe if I drown, they’ll notice me.

By Thursday evening, I’m a mess. The water has filled my apartment and I can’t breathe. And of course I’m adding to the flood with my own lamentations about how much I truly believe everyone detests me. I mean, if they didn’t hate me, I’d hear from them, right? I go home and cry and cry and cry until I’m out of tears. My cat is cool with these developments because great news: we get to do some full-time snuggling.

I wake up Friday and I am immobile. I have to go to Health Services for some dumb shot and I do that, but it’s so exhausting that I cancel my therapy appointment and my car repair appointment. I know that by canceling these commitments, I am now technically able to attend the mandatory staff meeting, but yeah right. Jesus. I sit in bed and bawl. My psychiatrist calls me back and tells me to recommence taking my meds which is probably a fabulous plan, but the feeling of failure at not being chemically “normal” enough to live without them is crushing. I let the waves of the flood beat me down so hard into my bed I’m practically under it. I sleep most of the day and watch YouTube videos for the rest of it. My therapist calls and tells me to go to my Friday night plans even for an hour and I promise I will but I’m a liar. Since I napped all day, I stay up until 3 watching stupid movies on Netflix. At one point I Google painless ways to die, but those sites are fucking nuts, you guys, so I close the window as fast as I open it. Same with depression support groups on Facebook. Just no. I go to bed with a plan to quit my PhD program on Monday. I’ll just move home and get a part time job. I’ll hate myself but at least my mom will be forced to take care of me due to her southern values or something.

Today I woke up and had to leave the house because I had to fill my prescription. The pharmacists at RiteAid are horrible bitches, but I made it through the encounter without crying. I did, however, stand in the aisle in front of the EasyMac for maybe 25 minutes hyperventilating and thinking about going back to the pharmacy and yelling at them. The people at the RiteAid definitely think I’m nuts. (I bought like 75 boxes of EasyMac.)

I had made plans with a nice friend at 9, so I thought I’d try to go to Book and Bar to read for at least a while as a warm up. And here beginneth the most excruciating venture of this tale.

Driving to Book and Bar, parking, getting out of the car, walking to the coffee shop, ordering a drink, sitting down, reading, and not leaving after an hour felt like trying to run at the bottom of the deep end of a pool. My eyes kept inexplicably leaking tears and I had to take a full minute at every stop sign. At least five to just get out of the car. I do feel a bit better now; I’m home and I am going to go meet my friend in a bit and while that will also be a push, I am going to do it.

But depression is real and insidious. It comes both with a long warning period and out of nowhere, simultaneously. I don’t think I will ever be “normal.” I don’t think I am ever going to have a spouse or a partner or a long term job or a real home or a steady mood. From the evidence of my life experience, the depression I am feeling now will continue for several months. I am probably going to lose a friendship in the process (I have about 8762095806587637 guesses of who that might be) because someone is going to have just fucking had enough, and it is entirely possible that I might fail at my job. And you know what? In about two years, this will probably happen again. And it fucking sucks to be like this. It is not fucking fair that some of us have to deal with this shit. That some of us hate ourselves this much and think--nay, know--we are worthless, mean, terrible people who are a burden on everyone around us and have basically no real redeeming qualities. Sure, I’m nice and inclusive and I love my friends, but what the fuck is even the point of that? Everything, and I mean everything, is just filler. We’re just filling the time. And most days, I do like the thing I’ve chosen to fill my time with. But this depression. I don’t know. It’s not fair and it’s so useless. Today is a bit angrier than yesterday, so I’m hoping I’m rapidly moving towards the “devoid of emotion completely” phase. That would be nice comparatively.

I don’t know if this tumblr post helps, is illuminating, is depressing, is funny, is whatever. I don’t care right now. In five minutes, I’ll probably have an anxiety attack about it, but whatever. Gotta move towards that emotionless state if for no other reason than to be able to do my goddamned homework.