An essay based off the question: Describe any unusual social, economic, or other barriers you have experienced that has made it difficult for you to attend college.  


       When I started college, I had a scoreboard that mentally hung on a post in my mind.   We had a total of 7 members in our entire family; so naturally, there were seven slots on the board.  At that time, my Dad, by far, had the most points:  undiagnosed major depression disorder, 2 attempted suicides, 6 lost jobs in 4 years and rising, physical fights with my brother, threats of leaving, the works.  He moved all his things to the garage my first year of high school, and still lives there, isolated, because he “wants to get away from the family.”  If it wasn’t “I’d leave without you, aXforamnesty,” it was “don’t invite your brother to my upcoming funeral.”
        Score wise, my brother was a close second: an alcoholic by the age of 14 convicted of arson, various misdemeanors and behavioral problems which usually lead to his forceful attendance at a military school, or him running away for long durations of time.  At one point my brother and dad didn’t talk for 2 years, and I was the only bridge between them.
        My mom was different.  Due to her odd raising, she had acquired a distinct way of showing love: detachment.  When my Dad was down, she didn’t speak to him for days.  When my brother was arrested for some reason or another, to her, it was my Dad’s fault, and she would refuse to talk to either of them because “it wasn’t her problem.”  She loved us very much, it was just expressed  uniquely.  
        My grandpa, grandma, and uncle were doing well when I entered college.  I loved my grandma the most; she inspired me to be loving and caring in everything I did.  They didn’t have any tallies on the board, and I didn’t have anything “officially” on the board either.  I felt constantly compelled to try to keep the pieces of our family glued together, but I never considered it a point against me.  I thought that once I’d get to college everything would be better and I would have a clean board, and a new life to start: tabula rasa, I told myself.
        Tabula rasa went straight to the back burner when 5 months after my initiation of college, my grandma was diagnosed with cancer.  I had never lost someone close to me before, so I was scared, and couldn’t stand the thought of losing her.  She was misdiagnosed with ovarian cancer in December 02’.  She had various surgeries, radiation, and chemotherapies which gave her a minimum prognosis of 2 years.   I breathed a sigh of relief.  Though it would be two years with a vastly different quality of life for her, she was still be alive and loved and that was all that mattered.  March 3, 2003 a 630 AM phone call notified me that she had died.  Her prognosis was on the board, but it was voided.  Three months of life was scratched in beneath it.
        We all took it hard.  That summer I stayed at the college, took two two semester college courses at the U and worked two jobs to help out with financials since my Dad’s constant spiral of lost jobs continued on, despite everyone’s mourning.  When everyone came back for the fall semester no one recognized me.  Everyone couldn’t believe how much weight I lost, and I honestly had no idea what they were talking about.  I later linked it to the reason why my friend brought me sack lunches in class; I was always so busy keeping myself busy, working, class, so as not to mourn, that I forgot to eat a lot of the time.
        I applied to pharmacy school in 2003.  When I was denied in 2004 my Mom told me that I wasn’t smart enough for this college, and that I should go somewhere else than was cheaper and easier.  I continued on at Iowa; a full time student, working practically full time, and began volunteering whenever I could so I could get some enjoyment out of my hectic life.  By the time I was accepted into pharmacy school in 2004 I had fallen in love with 6 year old twins from Big Brothers Big sisters, the children at Ronald McDonald house, the customers of the Free Medical Clinic, and various other organizations.  It seemed that every penny I earned, I wanted to spend on the girls; ice-skating, build-a-bear, water-parks, movies, polly pockets--anything that took them away from the trailer park they lived in with their mom while their pedophile father stayed behind bars.
        When I entered pharmacy school I found additional stressors.  I wanted to be apart of every great organization, get great grades, and set up programs that helped out individuals who were experiencing a life like mine.  I joined ASP, USHP, UIPRN, and coordinated events.  I was handling the all-nighters, the two jobs (to cover for my off and on unemployed father), and volunteer work well until my Mom was diagnosed with cancer my 3rd month of my P1 year.  Chronic lymphocytic leukemia was words I had never heard of before, but would now never forget.  The doctors went back and forth with her prognosis.  Sometimes it was 2 years, other times they were more generous and gave her 5 years or more.  My Dad’s depression worsened, and my grandpa, who was now almost solely dependent on his daughter after his wife’s death, was devastated.  I was trying to get the grades I wanted, to listen to all the wonderful lectures and take every opportunity to be as involved as I wanted to be, but I found myself sitting in Zopf hearing cancer, cancer, cancer in my mind and trying not to cry.
        It was really of no surprise to me when I was diagnosed with OCD the following year.  My mom’s cancer waxed and waned, but the stress I felt didn’t.  It saddened me to think that I had gone through so much of my life without officially being diagnosed with a mental illness; but underneath all that previous denial I knew I suffered from a depression of sorts even in high school.
        Even with the OCD, the medication, and behavior treatments I still couldn’t seem to contain the stress.  The score on my board was adding up, and before I knew it I developed bulimia nervosa in November of my second year of pharmacy school.  I never told my parents.  It would only finally drive myself to suicide, and telling your terminally ill mother that you have a serious mental problem doesn’t usually go over so well either.  I hid it from my friends, and didn’t really feel that it was affected my life in anyway.  If anything, it was finally helping with the stress; I was finally in control of my life again.  The beginning of the next year my friends knew something was going on.  Though I didn’t feel like I looked any different, my friends seemed to notice my 40 lbs weight loss.  I heard later that there were rumors going around my class that I was doing drugs.  The thought of treatment scared me.  I didn’t have the funds to pay for an inpatient type of treatment, and though I had two jobs the money I made seemed to unexplainably slip away.  Once I finally spoke to my doctor I was referred to a therapist, and I remember seeing a poster on the wall that said “what’s eating your wallet.”  I didn’t understand it until the therapist said that not only do OCD and eating disorders co-exist, but eating-disorders and financial crises also exist.  I didn’t believe her until I looked at my bank statement and saw a laundry list of fast food orders, restaurants, and grocery stores.
        I knew when I started college that I wasn’t going to live a perfect “fairy tale” lifestyle; get my degree, make it big with a great career, and have a family to boot.  Though it has definitely been a struggle I still strive to be the best pharmacist I can be, and do my very best through school, work, and volunteer organizations.  My mom is doing well, and is waiting to see if her upcoming quarterly MRI will warrant treatment or not.  My Dad still has depression which he still refuses treatment for, but he is doing better now that I and my brother have left home.  My brother is living a successful and drug free live with his degree in Marshalltown.  Two and one half years later I still am working on resolving my mental illness.  My own score: GAE, bulimia nervosa, OCD, job 1, job 2, make rent, etc.  I can’t say that I would undo all that I have been through in my life to have had an easier one.  I don’t want that.  I still want what I initially wanted; to make a difference with my life.  My experiences have only strengthened my beliefs that I can help people who are facing similar situations that I have been through, as well as encourage them that if I can do this they can as well.  I’ll be doggedly pursuing a residency next July.  I want to either specialize in oncology or help those who are so deeply affected by this illness, or I want to specialize in infectious disease.  If I were to pursue the later I hope to work with the CDC, and get large retail industries to contribute to alleviating the AIDS epidemic in underprivileged countries such as Africa.  I want to travel internationally and enhance the profession of pharmacy by showing that we are capable of so much more than counting pills.  I think that without all my life experiences, and my wonderful scoreboard, I wouldn’t be as determined to succeed in the goals I have today.