Visions Journal

Patterns that need breaking

Alex Wyatt

Reprinted from the The Vibes Are Off: Young People, Anxiety and Depression issue of Visions Journal, 2025, 21 (1), pp. 18-19

I threw up the morning I moved into my university dorm. 

It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. With my inherited anxiety and severe gluten intolerance, I probably spend more time crouched in front of a toilet than the average person. 

We got to campus an hour late and I did my best to act like nothing had happened. Once everyone’s parents had left, I forced out my prepared speech about how I’m a little quiet at first, but not because I’m cold or distant—I just struggle sometimes socially. 

That first day would set the pattern, of trying to power through my anxiety, that I would keep returning to throughout university—one I never fully learned how to break.

Student life

I was anxious all the time. It got easier for a while: I made friends and adapted to living on my own. But there were days when I just wanted to hide under the covers of my twin-XL bed, and one offhand comment could bring me near tears. 

It's hard to pinpoint when things got worse. During a student exchange to the UK I found myself alone again in an unfamiliar place. I wandered the campus feeling empty and hopeless. When I wasn’t doing that, I spent most of my time in my room, watching everyone else make plans in the exchange students’ group chat. 

Everything worked out in the end. I made friends and had the time of my life. When I returned to Canada, I thought this pattern would hold. 

It did not.

I struggled to complete school work, turning things in at the last minute. Some nights I couldn’t sleep at all; some days all I did was sleep. My friends were concerned, so I went to my doctor, who started me on antianxiety medication and therapy. I threw up again that night. Then, halfway through the next day, a calm settled into my bones. 

For the first time, it felt like I had things together. I got accepted into my dream postgrad school and was set to graduate with honours.

Pandemic stress

Then COVID hit. I struggled to focus during remote learning. Getting myself to study for finals or cobble together essays when the world was falling apart seemed impossible. I dragged myself over the finish line and thought that was it. I’d done it again. I was still capable. While I delayed my master’s degree by a year and was still anxious, after lockdown I was excited to move across the country and start my new life.

The first few months of grad school were great. I was living in my favourite city and attending my dream journalism program. My roommates were my best friends. I remember several mornings waking up bathed in sun and thinking, this feels like a movie. 

But that winter I found myself in bed more and more, sleeping weekends away and spending weeknights staring at the ceiling. The longer I spent in my program, the less sure of myself I became. My cup has never exactly runneth over with confidence, but I’d always been good at school and writing. It was a part of my list: Alex, glasses, curly hair, good grades, writer. But my grades were slipping, and I hadn’t written anything outside of school in half a decade.

Who was I if I wasn’t those things anymore?

Losses and pressure

I lost a close family friend that spring. Not long afterwards, I lost two more loved ones: my last surviving grandparent and my beloved childhood dog. Each loss knocked the wind out of me.

Even with accommodations from my program heads, I was struggling to keep up. I thought it was my medication, so in May, I made the executive decision to quit my antidepressants cold turkey. This went about as well as you could expect. I spent a whole night sick with SSRI withdrawal.

My roommates later told me that my actions had terrified them. And I worried them a couple more times after that, but I also restarted therapy and promised I wouldn’t do it again.

Yet by October of my second year, I was turning in assignments late and refusing to ask for extensions as some weird way to punish myself for not meeting deadlines. 

I returned to the doctor, who upped my dosage. If anything, that made things worse. “My most common emotion right now is existential dread,” I texted my best friend in February. I was in pure survival mode, counting the days until my program was over. 

I graduated by what felt like the skin of my teeth. When I walked the stage a month later, I wasn’t happy or excited or proud. Just relieved.

Anxious cycles

Almost two years later, I’m a lot less anxious. I switched meds a year ago, and they work better for me. I don’t throw up as often, but my baseline heart rate is probably still above 85 on a good day.

When I look back on my university experiences now, I grieve what could have been. Where would I be if I didn’t have to deal with anxiety? Who would I be? 

But I do know if I’d reached out for help earlier, or advocated for myself a little more firmly, things might have been easier. I was stuck in a recurring pattern. But some patterns need to be broken, and I was the only one who could do it. I just wish I’d learned how sooner.