I Got In. Then Fell Apart

I wish someone had told me that building a medical school application would cost me more than just money. I don’t mean the fees—though those are brutal, too. I mean the nights I stared at my ceiling, rehearsing answers for interviews that never came, or the way my hands shook opening emails that always started with “We regret to inform you.” Every step felt like a test of how much I could sacrifice. I stopped playing piano. I stopped seeing friends. I stopped sleeping. I kept telling myself it was temporary, that I’d get it all back once I got in. But the more I gave up, the more I wondered if there’d be anything left of me to recover. I memorized MCAT flashcards until the words blurred. I shadowed doctors who didn’t remember my name. I volunteered in hospitals and tried to look like I belonged, but mostly I just felt invisible. I wrote my personal statement three times, each draft more hollow than the last. I tried to sound passionate, but all I could think about was how tired I was. When the acceptance finally came, I didn’t feel proud. I felt numb. I thought it would fix everything—the anxiety, the loneliness, the constant sense that I was falling behind. But all it did was prove how much I’d lost along the way. I got in. Then I fell apart. #AcademicBurnout #GPAAnxiety #CollegeReality #Education