7 Signs of Stressed Out Students
Ah, here we are again, Stress, my old frenemy. Gosh, it’s been a while! A whole month, I’d say, since my last marathon of self-loathing that is assignment abundance. How’ve you been? You seen well rested, and, oh my, have you gained weight? I don’t know, you just seem more . . . prominent than last time i encountered you. Just let me pop a . . . Oh no, no vitamin B left. Perfect. Lovely to see you, too, then.
Sign 1: Denial
“Oh, sure, I have 3 papers due next week, 2 in-classes, and a column for the school paper due, but I can do it, no worries, brah.” This is the longest stage, and also the least offensive. It is often accompanied by makeup concealed bags under the eyes of female students, and the males thinking track pants (yes, those awful, striped, possibly tear-away things) are acceptable everyday attire. Often, both sexes will start exhibiting signs of neurosis, like twitching.
Sign 2: Rushing
Ohheyhowareyouit’sbeensolongi’d lovetostayandtalkbuticantthatessayisduetomorrowyouknowandihaven’tsleptin12daysbuti’mgreatcoffeesometime!??!?!?!?!
This is not good, I repeat, NOT GOOD. Severe denial. Usually there is a distinct disheveled look of wrinkled clothing, slept in makeup/hair gel, pant legs at different heights, missing socks, etc.
Sign 3: Not Caring
If you thought the last stage was obvious, then hold on to your pants: it gets worse. All of sudden, wearing your adidas slides (mandatory for res students) around campus seems like an acceptable option, as does not bathing for 3 or more days in a row. Who cares? I mean, we’re all in the same boat of stress, anxiety, and apathy right now, not like anyone is going to notice the foul stench of late night Timmy’s runs emanating from me . . .
When your daily attire has hit band tshirts and sweatpants daily, you’re ready for stage 4.
Sign 4: Obvious Panic
This person is BUZZED. On caffeine. It’s like Stage 3 to the power of adderall. Obvious panic is usually experience the night before something huge, such as the exam I am currently putting off that I am sure to fail by watchingPsych and playing with my spirograph (you know, that little circle gear thing you put your pencil in the hole and spin it and BAM awesome art? yeah, that thing.) (PS, I’m also twitching.)
Sign 5: Despair
You can’t see through your tears. You may even consider dropping out of school and becoming an alcoholic, since you’re such a failure anyways. Or at least this is the path my thoughts take at this stage. I’m doing cake shots now as we speak. (Okay, no, I’m not. I’m not that irresponsible, plus I live in res and it’s a Wednesday night. But I was thinking, nay, fantasizing about it . . .). Mascara is running down your face, or just tears, if you’re a dude or a makeup hater, which I think most girls are during these times, especially exams (or is that just me?) Either way, it’s not pretty. Eventually you curl up in a ball of suffering on the floor and just empty out your tear ducts. Then it’s time for . . .
Sign 6: Confrontation
This is it, the moment of truth, the moment where you face what you have been actively avoiding for the past [insert duration of symptoms here]. It may be that moment where, at 9am on the day you have a 2500 word essay due at 2pm, you start writing, and settle in, or the middle of the night before a 2pm exam where you realize you should REALLY stop watching Psych now. Okay now. Okay NOW. (But seriously, who are we kidding, this show is way more interesting than media theory.) This is the part of the illness where you crack your knuckles, clap your hands and say yeah, and hear Be a Man from Mulan in the back of your head. “Let’s get down to business . . .”
Sign 7: Sleep
Congrats. You have something on your checklist accomplished. Let the relief seep through your bones, albeit briefly. After your seven hours of post-adrenaline high sleep, you’ll repeat this whole, god forsaken progress, probably starting at stage 2, until you are done for this school year. Then you have reprieve for 4 months. Unless you’re a crazy person like me and are taking summer school.
Oh wait, I am.
Notice the band tshirt . . .
Wish me luck, mes amis, because . . .
(Facepalm) Here we go again . . .
