Are The Drugs Working?

Trigger Warning:  Rape, depression, PTSD

Within the first five months of the year, I have experienced many life altering events.  I graduated from law school.  I finished in the Top 25% of my cohort.  (Not too bad, if I do say so myself.)  I moved 500 miles from my latest residence.  Baton Rouge, Louisiana back to Nashville, TN, my hometown.  I was professionally diagnosed with major depression, PTSD, ADHD and insomnia.  I took the Tennessee bar.  I failed the Tennessee bar.  I moved back in with my parents.  I started taking antidepressant, ADHD and insomnia medicine.  I lost twenty pounds.  I reentered the Nashville social scene.  I had a failed fling.  I was made the executor of my cousin’s will.  (When did everyone get so serious? When did I become important in the family??) I reconnected with my ex.  I’ve been regularly hanging out with my ex.  I redownloaded Hinge.  I’ve spent days in bed.  I’ve gone days without showering.  I’ve unfollowed several people on social media.  I’ve cut ties with several people.  I started taking karate lessons again.  (I haven’t practiced karate since I was in middle school.)  I’ve been very active with my graduate sorority chapter.  I’ve felt like I should be committed to an insane asylum.  I’ve spent time with my family.  I’ve argued with my parents.  I’ve thought about running away from home like a child.  I’ve gone without weed for months and alcohol no longer interests me like it used to.  I’ve tried to rebuild my life after law school, but despite the effort, I still have found myself drawn to the drama that I hoped I left behind there.  Men still can’t plan dates.  The term “April showers” was too literal in April. My dog likes to slip through our fence and cause panic.  My dog prefers to sleep with my parents now, so I lost a cuddle partner.  I’m unemployed.  Nashville traffic is unreal.  More people from the Law Center continue to be added to my opp list and the new season of Bridgerton isn’t coming out until 2026.

I’ve had good days.  I’ve had bad days.  The scary part is, we’re only five months into the year.

I’ve come to the realization that I’ve been institutionalized for practically my entire life.  Since the age of 4, I’ve always been in somebody’s school.  Preschool, elementary school, middle school, high school, college, grad school and law school.  Straight through.  No gap years, and zero breaks.  After high school, I rarely had a “summer vacation”.  In college I used my summers to get ahead.  In law school, I used my summers to catch up.  Twenty-three years of my short twenty-eight years on Earth have been dedicated to academia, almost none stop. 

I’ve made majority my friends through the academic community that surrounded me at the time.  I made friends through clubs, communities and organizations within academic settings.  I curated my interests within academic settings.  I found my hobbies within academic settings.  Long story short, I found my identity within academic settings.

How would you describe me?

Jess always has good grades.  Jess the AKA.  Jess in WOE.  Jess in SGA.  Jess in SEC.  The SEC Chair.  Jess in HBA.  Jess is always on the school website.  She’s always in the know.  Jess who cheers.  Jess who runs track.  Jess who won the science fair.  The Symposium Editor.  The Treasurer.  The Outreach Coordinator.  The Barristers Ball Co-Chair.  Jess is in every club.  She is on Journal.  Jess is a Student Ambassador.  She has this award.  She’s on this committee.  She’s in this honor society.  She does this.  She does that.

Then you graduate and you look around like: “What do I do now?  Who am I now?”

When all the titles and accolades are gone, does that take away the friends to?  Were these people in these organizations and clubs and committees and boards, even my friends?

True friends.  The friends who remain even when the titles are gone.  The friends who remain even after graduation and everyone goes their separate ways.  Or were these people temporary?  We were friends because we shared a common community.  Remove the community and the friendship is now just a fond memory.

When I moved back home, everything felt foreign. 

My parents had their own routines that I was unfamiliar with.  Harlem (my dog) liked being spoiled by his grandparents, more than hanging out with his own mother.  Nashville was different.  All the restaurants that were “new” to me, had been sampled several times by everyone else.  My “new” places were “old to Nashville” now.  My elementary school was torn down and remodeled.  It’s completely foreign to me now.  The city has new skyrises and businesses.  Old neighborhoods have undergone gentrification.  Buildings and business that I knew growing up have been demolished.  They are unknown to a new generation of Nashvillians.  I saw a plethora of white people walking their dogs in North Nashville. (Once unheard of.) I felt like a time-traveler whose time machine broke down in the future.  I don’t know my own city anymore.

In Baton Rouge, I moved with ease.  I got to a point where I never needed my GPS.  In Nashville, I must use my GPS practically every time I enjoy a night out on the town. 

When I go out and see old faces from TSU, my alma mater, I perk up.  I’m excited to see a friendly face.  I smile and wave and people walk right past me.  Often, we were in a sisterhood org together or a common community where you would expect at minimum a simple “hey.”

Things are different now.  I have no more accolades to show.  What’s a law degree without a job or a bar number? 

Now, instead of people posting their end of semester grades, its trips to Punta Cana or a new promotion at work.  I struggled with how to balance this new dynamic.

How can I compete with trips and promotions when I’m living at home and stuck with studying for a test that determines when and how I can enter the job market? 

Is it a competition?  Is that what it is? 

The post-graduate journey is confusing.  I’m conflicted.  Where is my place in the community now?  Who are my friends?  What matters now?  What’s important now? 

Age also doesn’t help.  I’m twenty-eight.  Young to many, but also old to several.  Is this the age where I should be getting married?  I can’t even find a decent date most days.  Is this the age I should be having children?  The concept of birth still terrifies me.  Who truly wants to deal with a man for eighteen years?  But, also, I’ll be damned if I push out a kid, tear my vagina or cut open my abdomen just to care for a child by myself.  Is this really the age to have children?  Is this the age to be dating for marriage?  Men are kind of stupid when you actually talk to them, no?

Is this the age where I should be making six figures.  I have three degrees and minimal job experience, because idk I’ve spent the last twenty-three years straight in school.  What do you mean I only qualify as an entry level attorney?  Isn’t this the age where they say we should be making the big bucks?

Is this the age to buy a home?  Should I be striving for home ownership?  I’m stuck at mommy and daddy’s.  Am I behind?  Am I a bum?

Is this the age where I should be living in my dream state?  How do I make it to New York tomorrow with less than $200 in my bank account? 

What am I supposed to do? Who am I? 

An antidepressant helps regulate the serotonin in your brain to improve your mood.  Essentially it rewires your brain.  Imagine that.  Something playing around with your brain.  The organ that essentially controls everything in your body.  The first few weeks of taking my antidepressant, I felt crazy.  Scratch that, I felt insane.  I felt numb and druggy.  I was in a haze, and I did not feel in control.  So, I stopped taking them.  My psychiatrist persuaded me to give them a longer chance to work. 

I always wondered why people on certain mental health medications had to be reminded to take their meds or encouraged to take their meds.  I found out why.  Those things really play tricks with your brain, but I decided to give it a chance.

Truth be told, the diagnosis of major depression scared me.  “I’m not majorly depressed”, I thought.  That sounds too serious.  I’m just sad sometimes.  Enraged sometimes.  Emotional sometimes. Most times.  All the time.  But that’s just because of law school. I was raped.  It happened.  I had feelings about it.  Feelings I never really dealt with.  I blogged about them.  I ranted on social media about them. I talked to my friends about them.  I got them out.  Right?

Insomnia.  I don’t have insomnia.  Michael Jackson had insomnia.  He needed anesthesia just to put him to sleep.  I don’t have trouble sleeping.  I sleep all the time.  Right?  Everyone continuously scrolls on Tik Tok instead of going to sleep at a decent hour right? Sometimes we just have to count sheep, is that a crime?  After the diagnosis, I did find myself having trouble falling asleep.  Nights are the worst time.  The time where I can recall every decision of the day and I begin to doubt every last one.  The time where I feel guilty.  Where I feel crazy.  Where I wonder if people are right.  Am I crazy?  Am I pushing too hard?  Why did I post that?  What do people think of me.  Oh its 1 AM, maybe I should go to sleep now.

PTSD?  I don’t have that.  Soldiers who have killed people have that.  Soldiers dodging bullets in some foreign country have that.  “I said ‘rape’ during my psych consultation and she just ran with that diagnosis”, I thought.  It’s normal to scan people for what they say and believe in right?  To monitor what they say and cut them off if something sounds wrong.  If you follow my rapist on social media, it’s right to unfollow or block you right?  If you don’t speak out against abuse or rape, I’m validated in hating you right?  No one wants men to get too close to them, right?  No one likes when men hit on them, right?  Scanning rooms and feeling uneasy when I see someone who looks like my rapist is normal right?  Reliving moments in law school and beating myself up for past actions or being enraged at old memories is a part of healing, isn’t it.  I don’t have PTSD.  That’s too serious.  I can’t have PTSD.

I do have PTSD.  The truth is, I never dealt with my rape.  I filled my resume with internships, clubs, committees and organizations.  I pushed on with my degree, because I was facing a looming $200,000 in debt, I was going to get my degree, so I could land a job and pay them off.  I worked out six days a week because it filled my brain with dopamine.  It gave me two hours to escape the horrific and doubtful thoughts that filled my head every day I walked in and out of the law center.  I got a puppy to give me someone else to take care of when I couldn’t take care of myself.  I designed a beautiful apartment to set the stage of a happy life.  I blogged, created a YouTube channel and pushed out “strong, confident and happy” content to portray a life where my rapist didn’t win.  Where my life wasn’t altered and where I was in control. 

That isn’t dealing with what happened.  That’s masking.  I was and I am so sick of saying the word “rape.”  I feel like I scream it incessantly on Instagram.  In attempts to change the narrative that many have around the topic.  In an attempt to heal myself.  In an attempt to right every wrong that I’ve experienced.  I didn’t deal with it.  I haven’t dealt with it.  I moved through it, but I haven’t moved on from it. 

That fact compounded with the fact that I feel like I lost my identity by losing my spot in academia has been emotional and painful. 

During the pandemic I experienced a shift.  When the world shut down, I felt like my world began.  For some reason I was intent on self-care and self-growth.  I was preparing for my future legal career.  I intentionally quit my sales job and went into the public sector to see if I felt true passion working with people.  I always knew I wanted to be a criminal defense lawyer.  I wanted to help people in need.  Specifically, those who were impoverished and minorities.  I’m a woman with a degree in Biology.  I believe in testing theories.  I believe in experimentation.  I was determined to immerse myself in public service to see if the “desire” of mine was an actual calling.  I was intent on self-care.  I seriously began my fitness journey.  The gyms were closed.  That was fine.  I got it in in my garage and driveway.  I took virtual fitness classes online.  I had a strict hair regimen.  I was purposeful about my diet.  I cooked.  I had hobbies.  I was focused on self. 

Now currently feels like that time during the pandemic.  True déjà vu.  I’m back down to my pandemic weight, when I first began my weight gain journey.  I’m religiously taking Apetamin (a weight gain supplement) again.  I’m restarting my fitness journey.  Though this isn’t related to the pandemic, I’m doing karate again, which is a throwback from middle school.  I’m on good terms with my ex again, just like we were during the pandemic. I’m back at home with my parents.  I’m back in Nashville and I have time. 

Have you ever seen that episode of the Twilight Zone?  “Time Enough at Last”? The one where the world ends and there is only one man left.  He wears glasses.  All he wants to do is read books from the library for the rest of his days on Earth, but right before he can open his first book, he slips, and his glasses fall off his face and they shatter.  He breaks down crying.  He screams out in anguish: “It isn’t fair! There was time now!”  Meaning, he finally had time to do what he enjoyed without the hustle and bustle of the world.

I have time now.  Though I may not be working, this is actually a blessing.  I have time now.  Time to heal.  Time to study.  Time focus.  Time to rest.  Time to find myself.  Time to rebuild myself. 

I didn’t have time in law school.  I was pursuing my degree.  Despite the lack of therapy and facing the true realities of my rape, I impressively obtained many accolades along with my degree, but now I truly have time.  Time away from academia will give me the opportunity to truly discover who I am away from those settings.  I can heal from the trauma that came with them and build connections that may withstand the absence of a shared community setting. 

Post-graduate life is filled with uncertainties.  Where will I work?  Where will I live?  Who will I do life with?  Who am I?  What is the meaning of all of this hard work?  But the silver lining is, you are the author of your story.  Your mindset and perspective control all.  Your post-graduate life may like mine, be a love letter to yourself.  An opportunity to rediscover who you are and nurture yourself radically like never before.  An opportunity to slow down and enjoy what you have built and create fond memories in the midst of sadness. 

Be gentle with yourself on the journey.

As always, my message to you is a message to me as well.  We got this.  One day at a time.

-YC