Spring Break
Solitude chews its way to the core
Andrew Herndon
Issue date: 3/18/08 Section: Opinion
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Big mistake.
I tried to get a job, but no one wanted an inexperienced teenager with a mere high school diploma. Apparently, Vegas wants at least a bachelor's degree from a would-be obedient member of a gambling empire.
So basically, I sat around for a few months, slowly siphoning the money out of my Wells Fargo gas tank.
People in my own apartment building ignored my "hellos" and "good mornings."
No matter how hard I tried, I could not make one friend in that foul city.
This caused me to develop feelings of loneliness and despair.
Depression slowly draped itself over my heart, crippling my view of myself and the world around me.
Speeding south on Interstate 15 toward Barstow, I left the desert with my tail between my legs, while the stench of failure slithered into my tear ducts. I swear there was something in my eyes.
Enough about Sin City.
I transferred to SJSU in 2005. Not only was San Jose a new place for me, so was attending a real university.
I lived on the third floor of Campus Village with three other men around my age.
I reached a point where I was afraid to take the elevator; I feared the notion of conversing with a stranger, or even standing near anyone in such a confining area.
I convinced myself that taking the stairs would ease my psyche.This worked to an extent, even though many people took the stairs. It was faster than taking the elevator.
This salvaged time is what I used to tolerate my self-diagnosis of agoraphobia.
According to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, agoraphobia is fear of open spaces or public places.
The term originally stems from Greek language: "agora" meaning marketplace and "phobos" meaning fear.
Although I was not officially diagnosed, I displayed a handful of symptoms: feelings of detachment from others, lightheadedness and chest pain, to name a few.
While living in the "apartment," as the Campus Village markets it, I would periodically converse with my roommates, but they too kept to themselves.
Granted we all had different schedules, but when the planets were aligned, we would run across each other. But even with this cosmic occurrence, we still acted as if we were ships passing in the night.
Living with roommates can be beneficial in terms of saving money and possible friendships, but I have come to a realization that I prefer living alone at this point in my life.
I grew up as an only child and never had a problem with entertaining myself, but this solitude may have chewed its way into my very core, beginning with Las Vegas and, hopefully, ending with San Jose.
I don't get the same stomachaches or anxiety attacks as I did before. I'm not sure why; maybe I'm just older now.
If I could give advice to a nameless person suffering from similar experiences as myself, it would be: You're not going to have fun worrying about what could be.
Or better yet, to quote the great Kool and his ever timeless Gang: "How you gonna do it if you really don't want to dance, by standing on the wall? Get your back up off the wall."
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