As a third year-student in the university, you are expected to be acquainted with some of the systems in the university. The resumption, class schedules, and juggling responsibilities are already a norm. I thought I was ready for it all, but reality quickly dawned on me. Three to four weeks into the semester, I was still running helter-skelter, trying to get a place to live in.

Accommodation in the university’s halls of residence was not guaranteed for students in their sophomore years. This was because of the limited number of bed spaces in the halls. To get a spot, you had to know someone in a position of influence in the university. Unfortunately for me, I didn’t have that kind of connection.

After a long process of seeking, I finally secured a room in a face-me-I-face-you apartment in Agbowo. The place was some miles away from the school and one had to get a bike before one can get to the school premises. Compared to the time I was leaving in my hostel, I could only trek from my hall to my department in 10 to 20 minutes. This time around, I was spending 30 minutes or close to an hour on the road.

Normally, if I had an hour’s break between my classes, I could return to the hostel to rest for a few minutes. At the time, I could not think about going back home to rest until all my classes were finished for that day. I spent hours hanging around campus, waiting for my next lectures.

The New Toll

This new routine didn’t sit well with me because I was already occupied with other activities even as I studied. Church commitments required that I was mostly present at church services. I was also an Editor of my department’s press organization, and I had to write news stories while editing others writeup.

Everything began to pile up, and I hardly had time for myself. I began forgetting things and my assignments were left undone. My neighbors who happened to be my course mates had to reminding me of certain deadlines for some of these assignments before I did anything about them. I rushed through many of them just to submit in time. This shocked me and even my course mates.

You see, I’ve always been the “extra serious” student. I attend classes regularly, my notes were always up-to-date, and I was usually among the first set of students to arrive for lectures. So, this sudden change in behavior was not usual for me. More than a month into school activities, I was simply floating in the air through the motions of classes, church services, and other duties without truly being present.

Struggling in Silence

No one could really tell that I was struggling. This was because I was still showing up, smiling, responding like I usually would. Even I didn’t realize how serious this problem had gotten. I dismissed it as just fatigue, but it only got worse.

Well, the breakdown came very rapidly, I wasn’t expecting it. I had to deliver a report of the fellowship’s activities at the end of every month in my fellowship. For days, I had worked tirelessly to complete the document and edited a lot of things. I also spent hours including pictures and finally printing it out. When I tried to submit it, the person in charge rejected it on the basis that the front page was not the acceptable one. Looking back now, I might have overreacted, but at the time, the dismissal broke the last bit of resilience I had left. Because I had spent hours fine-tuning that document, it became a big issue for me when it was rejected in that way.

As I walked out of the building, tears began to flow down my face. I couldn’t even stop them, and I cried all the way to the junction. When I got there, I boarded a cab along with some people I knew. I couldn’t even stop the tears from flowing as we moved. One of the guys noticed that I was crying, but he just couldn’t ask why. Out of concern, he offered to pay my transport fare.

Of course, I had my money in my hand, but I didn’t bother to tell him not to pay for me. At that time, I was trying my best not to talk at all. When we got to our stop, I whispered a thank you to him and crossed the road. Instead of boarding a bike to my house, I chose to take the long walk home. It was already dark, so it was a good time to shed enough tears, and my course mates would not notice when I got home.

The Strong Urge

The next morning, I was up again, moving between preparing for classes and worrying about my mistakes. I didn’t know what solutions to proffer to the problem at hand and it still made me anxious. After my lectures, I returned to my small room, exhausted and mentally drained. My mind was mostly blank, perhaps that’s why the next thing happened. I saw my very sharp knife lying on my table. The thought to end it all came so suddenly and so strong. There was no time to reflect about anything, and I just stared at it for what felt like hours. The idea seemed so easy, so… tempting.

How I was able to overcome that particular situation, I can’t clearly remember. I just knew that I wasn’t able to carry out the action even though no one was present at the time. The next day, I reached out to a friend and spoke to him about everything. He listened carefully and didn’t judge me. His act of kindness helped me begin my healing process.

That experience birthed something exceptional in me. I became more interested in anything emotional or mental health. At first, I wanted to understand what was wrong with me. Then, I had the urge to help others who were also fighting similar struggles. From there, I began to engage with the contents of the Heartrose Care Foundation. Thereafter, I actively joined the Asido Campus Network in the University of Ibadan.

Since then, my journey has been one of learning, unlearning, and growth. I now find purpose in sharing my story and using my voice to support others. Mental WellSpace is one of the ways I do that. If my story reaches just one person and reminds them, they are not alone, then I know it was worth it.