Even though I didn’t start college until my thirties, Spring break had always been a nice experience. While I never cared for going and partying, my wife and I would plan a few activities for the week, typically some overdue things around the house and smoking way too much pot (Just me, Mrs. Cassidy plays it straight).

Needless to say, I would play with dogs, hang out with my wife, and refresh. All that changed for me the first Spring semester that I spent at a four-year college, when a combination of academic pressure and personal issues collided.

This would be the start of a whirlwind few weeks that ended with me crying on the floor of my bathroom, begging for a way out of my head, while my wife held me. My wife, mind you, lost her cousin who was one of her best friends to suicide, so for me to even say something like that to her let her know I was serious.

Dark turn for a blog, right? I’m doing much better now, so don’t sweat it. I went and got help, and it saved my life. Our marriage now has two pillars instead of one.

How I ended up on that floor is really a much longer story about growing up without parents and all that comes along with it, but I’m saving those stories for a poorly formatted self-published book. What pushed me into this particular breakdown was a semester at a private college. A semester that made me think about going back into construction or food service and giving up any delusions of grandeur I had.

The reason why I even chose a private college was because I was chasing something, although I can’t quite describe what it was. I quit high school as a kid, did a year and a half of community college and now I was getting an almost free ride due to my academic success to a college that everybody in the area considers a “good school”.

I came from nowhere, and everybody in my whole life has always doubted me, so this was my big chance to prove myself. I was even in class with my niece, who was the first person to tell my brother that I was in college at all. He and I don’t talk, so it was pretty awkward. She’s a good kid; it’s not her fault that her dad and I don’t exchange Christmas cards.

The college itself had a beautiful campus, right in the middle of the city. I lived close enough that I could commute, and because I was too cheap to pay for parking, I started parking all over the city and walking in. I loved those walks. It’s a town full of character and I loved being immersed in it. I liked to wander around off campus, smoking joints and finding places to eat.

My grandma, dad, and brother all grew up in the city, but I only visited; even so, I felt a weird connection. Corny, I know. Now that I’ve glazed what many would consider an unremarkable New England city, let’s talk about the school and why I was a square peg in a round hole.

When I initially went to college, I didn’t know if I wanted to teach high school or become an archivist (something I still think about). Lucky for me my new college had both an archival program and a highly rated education program, I was in baby!

I will say, before this turns into me sounding sour, most of the faculty at this college are amazing, from advisors to professors, I was amazed by how engaged they were. Perhaps a small private New England college just wasn’t the place for this almost 40-year-old sophomore.

In general, the students were great too, whether they were 20 years younger than me or not. I don’t want to make this a me vs. the youth thing because they were wonderful. I made a conscious effort to listen to my fellow students and treat them as peers despite the age gap, and I did my best not to be a know-it-all old dude. I’ve crushed many group projects and had some wonderful experiences with the kids, good times.

From January to March, I was on campus five days a week and working at a local brewery in my free time. I could’ve driven the interstate between my work and my school with my eyes closed. As previously stated, I was having some serious mental health issues but at this time I still believed I was in control.

This manifested at the brewery as well as at school, where I started making frequent inventory and order mistakes. When I started fucking up, people paid attention to me. As somebody with lifelong anxiety that wants to live in the shadows, this sucked. When you are having other issues, the last thing you need is to start making mistakes at work; it’ll turn into a snowball rolling down a hill. My bosses were chill, but they knew something was up, maybe it was the crying.

While my grades during this time held steady, I became incapable of any social interaction at school, and to this day I’m not quite sure how I got that bad.

I was catcalled in a building and ran to the bathroom like an embarrassed teenager, I had some guy who only wore pajamas make smart ass comments to my correct answers all the time, and the person behind the counter in charge of college IDs tried to give me a staff ID. Little things, yes, but people that know, know. Little things add up quickly. I felt old AF.

While on the brink of throwing my hands up, I went on a trip to teach some kids at the local Catholic school. My glasses broke on the bus ride over. The kids were great, we broke down the Gettysburg address and I had a blast, but I also knew this wasn’t what I wanted.

As I tried to remain engaged in my education courses, my social anxiety was getting the best of me as well. The head of this school’s education department is basically Mr. Van Driessen from Beavis & Butt-Head, and we did not vibe.

He also published his own textbook about how awesome he was and made everybody buy it. Maybe that’s common, but I had never experienced it before, and combined with his personality, I just couldn’t. I told you I was going to sound sour.

On my last day of class I had a midterm for one of my history courses. I frantically filled it out, handed it in, and sheepishly asked my professor if I could go home like I was a child. Pajama guy snorted; he liked that one.

I walked to my car completely defeated and thought about driving off the highway. From there, I went home, collapsed on my bathroom floor, and wailed in a way that sounded unnatural even as it came out of me. I never went back. I gave up a full scholarship, and after Spring break, I never went back.

I took a semester off, finished community college, and then transferred to a state school, which was much more my style. Still, this time of year is weird for me, I should be doing schoolwork right now, but I got an 88 on an assignment and now I’m questioning if I can ever teach college.

I haven’t touched any of my work for this week, and my break has been over for a bit. I’ll get off my ass but yeah, Spring break is a strange time for me, as I almost lost quite a battle and I’ve obviously got some work to do.

I’ll post something stupid next time, so I don’t bum people out, stay crescent fresh,

Tommy