I visited my college campus for a day recently, more than two years after graduating. It made me very sad. As I walked along the paths between buildings and down the library staircase to see my old corner table in the basement, I remembered the loneliness and depression I had felt during much of my time there. I had good memories of my time there as well, but mainly from my first two years. Junior and senior year were rough. I’ve always been drawn to moodiness and melancholy, and that combined with a slight-to-moderate amount of social awkwardness has led me to frequently withdraw from all but the most basic engagement with the people around me, which only compounds my self-indulgent melancholy. On top of this, an inferiority complex that often expresses itself as pride, and a general tendency for apathy and lassitude have led me to a place in life where I now feel confident in declaring that “I’m not doing super well.”

For a second during my visit I was just thankful that it was over. The good memories carry little weight in my mind. And this leads me to something I have been wondering about recently. Sometimes there is no satisfaction that comes from getting through a negative experience, beyond the simple relief that it’s over. Does this relief justify the negative experience? Is “getting through something,” persevering, a good thing to do, regardless of what it is and what effect it has on you? Perhaps it depends on how bad the experience is. And perhaps we are generally blind to the positive ways in which experiences change us, without the help of other perspectives and many years to process what has happened.

I hate everything I just wrote. It sounds so cliche, empty, boring, and bland. I wish I hadn’t gone to college. I wish I were dead. I went for a walk yesterday through a place where supposedly rattlesnakes are seen on occasion and was quite sure that if a rattlesnake were to bite me I would’ve just sat down and waited. I thought about whether I would leave a note or send anyone a text, or just do nothing and make it look like perhaps I hadn’t intended to die. Obviously I’m not suicidal. But I do feel completely worthless and empty about 90% of the time.

At my college there was a gingko tree that would lose all its leaves in one day. There was a cat that would sometimes cross my path on my late-night walk home from the library. There were other things worth mentioning I’m sure, but these are the only two that come to mind at the moment.

This is life I suppose. Spend too much time trying to be at peace with the past and you’ll only find more things to regret.