sharing our experiences

Grace Anne's Story

When I was between 12 and 15, I was sexually abused by a high school teacher. Then he was charged in an incident involving another girl, and I remember feeling great relief and freedom when he vanished from the halls. After grade 12, I set out for university, with excitement, anticipation and anxiety. The city was an unknown to me, but I found my way and got a place to stay. Attending classes, though, came as a shock. I simply could not pay attention. I tried many things, but after coming out of class time after time with only two or three lines of notes and no idea of what the professor had said, I decided I was just too stupid and undisciplined to pay attention. Still, I was determined to continue. I developed a routine of memorizing texts and attending each class once a week or so to ask fellow students about assignments and tests. No one seemed to notice my absences.

Twenty-five years later, I realize this lack of concentration was a pattern of disassociation I developed in school. I had found I could get good marks by memorizing the texts. The same technique worked in university.

A greater difficulty appeared in my second year. I experienced my first severe depression, one that made it impossible for me to study. The anti-depressant I was given dulled the pain, but I could not keep a thought in my head. I stopped taking the drug and gradually got back on my feet, but from this time, life again became a struggle. I was working part time to support myself. Because my hopelessness interfered with studying, I started taking amphetamines to stay awake so I could study and write late into the night. After several months I stopped taking drugs (I did save a few for emergencies).

In the last semester of my third year, as I was completing a BA and preparing to take an honours history year, I again experienced a breakdown. I asked for an incomplete in one class and stumbled through the other three; I felt my options for further study and career were pretty much closed. I understood I didn't have the capacity to study consistently--I never knew when depression would disorientate me. I did not speak to anyone about this. To me, it was simply a matter of intelligence--I wasn't intelligent enough. Still, I re-took the class that was essential for my BA (ending up with one of my lowest marks ever) and enrolled in an honours history program for lack of other options. In the middle of my first semester, I just walked away from the program. And that was the end of my academic career.