What were you doing at age 18 ?

[politicat]

19. Second/third year of college, two part time jobs, mourning, becoming workaholic, not coping.

Early 90s. I was technically a junior that year (I skipped a grade and finished high school in 3 years, with 18 transferrable credits through AP or community college).

Workstudy was technical work in the theater. $6 an hour. I also had a full roster as a sitter.

I'd met my girlfriend, A, 9 months earlier. She was friends with my RA. I spent my summer semester on campus (shared between the maintenance crew and the technical theater department, either interior painting dorms or lighting replacement in the rigging). I never mentioned my age then because being a 17 year old junior was such a weird place to be. A was 24, working in comp Sci, figured I was 19 or 20, asked me out.

We were great together, and were definitely headed towards making it more official/permanent (though then, our only choice was Denmark, since no other country yet recognized any sort of same sex partnership). I'd met her father, liked him and he liked me. A had met my best high school friend, and they approved heartily of each other. We spent most weekends and all of my school holidays together.

She'd gone to visit her father and to a conference in the Bay Area; she drove. I was in Ventura. She called me that last time from Santa Barbara to ask if I wanted to spend the weekend at her place. I knew she'd been fighting traffic on the 5 for hours, and getting to me, then to her place would add a couple hours at least, and she sounded tired. I had keys to her place and a friend was headed down to San Diego in the morning, with whom I could catch a ride. I told her to go on home and I'd see her tomorrow.

Her dad called me a few hours later, about 4 am. She'd been in an car accident -- a drunk driver hit her at high speed. If she hadn't stopped to call me, or if I'd told her to come get me, she wouldn't have been on that specific part of the 10.

So I spent most of my 18th year grieving, blaming myself, burying myself in school and work so I wouldn't have to feel. I hadn't come out to my family, not that they would have been actually supportive or functional in that situation, and hadn't even entirely defined to myself what I'd call myself then.

I switched my major a couple weeks later (I had been majoring in technical theater, emphasis on the tech with minors in history and psych; I switched to history/psych major and dropped the tech theater entirely).

I don't remember much of the rest of that year, except being in the psych program probably saved my life.