By Matt Gagliano
What’s up gamers. Normally I would punctuate that sentence with an exclamation point, however this time, that “what’s up gamers” is somewhat somber. You see, I am graduating in a few weeks, and this will be my last article as a member of Binghamton Review and as a student of Binghamton University. As the editor-in-chief, I feel like I should follow in the footsteps of the previous editors and write a reflection on my time here and give some parting advice for those just joining the Binghamton community. I was originally unsure what approach to take with this article, seeing as everything I’ve written in my three years with the Review has had a sarcastic, comedic tone to it; obviously, something like this should be serious, otherwise, people will be unsure what’s actual advice and what’s just me being stupid. For a while, I wrestled with what to write here: What’s oversharing? What’s too vague? What’s the point of sharing anything if people probably won’t be in the same position I was in anyway? Eventually, I came to this conclusion: if sharing my college experience can possibly be of any help to anyone reading this, then it’s worth it. Even if only one person takes anything away from this article, then I will have achieved my goal.
Now then, where to start? I guess I should start at the beginning: move-in day. I remember move-in pretty well. I was living in a five-person suite in Hinman (the RA suite), and I hadn’t talked to any of my suitemates yet. I knew literally nothing about the people that I was about to live with for an entire year, so naturally, I was extremely nervous. My brother had told me a bunch of stories about how much fun he had when he lived in a suite in Hinman, and how well he got along with most of his suitemates. That’s the idea I had in my mind when I picked my housing and every moment up until move-in. It was only once I actually began to move in that I began to have doubts. What if my suitemates are mean? What if they don’t like me? What if they’re really clumsy and they accidentally end up burning down the entire building? Once I met my suitemates, I began to calm down a little bit. They seemed nice enough. Throughout the first few days, they would always try to talk to me and invite me to hang out with them and their friends. My actual roommate didn’t show up until four days after the rest of us moved in. We didn’t talk much, as he was rarely ever in our room, which is a shame, because he seemed like a really nice guy. I wish I had talked to him more, as he was probably the only person in that suite that I could see myself being friends with. “What about the other suitemates,” you may ask, “you said they were pretty friendly.” They were, for a time. After a few days they stopped trying to talk to me and stopped inviting me to things, so I guess I was right with the whole “what if they don’t like me” thing.
After about a week of being in Binghamton, I was already struggling to find my place. I didn’t talk to my suitemates at all, I hadn’t made any friends, and I hardly spent any time outside of my dorm room, besides the time spent in class. It was at that moment, when I thought things couldn’t possibly be going any worse, that things got much, much worse. It was a Friday morning, the second week of classes was just about to wrap up. We had a three-day weekend, so I was looking forward to taking some time to relax. Unfortunately, my body had other plans. I woke up that morning at 7 am, well before my alarm went off, feeling a slight pain in my stomach that was growing stronger by the second. I downed a few Tums and tried my best to go back to sleep. No such luck. By 8 am I was kneeling over the toilet, spewing my guts up. This is where I stayed until one of my roommates knocked on the bathroom door around 9, wanting to use the shower. I spent most of my time that Friday and Saturday in the bathroom, everything that had ever been put in my body making a mad dash toward any available exit. I had been talking to my parents non-stop throughout this whole ordeal, and eventually, I was able to convince my dad to pick me up and take me home. That Sunday, I tried to slowly replenish the food and water that my body had just spent the past two days expelling. After three Saltine crackers and a few sips of water, my body had decided it had had enough and rejected that which I had just consumed. No matter how much I tried, I was unable to keep any food or liquid in my body, which was a problem, because I had now gone three full days without eating or drinking immediately after draining all food and water from my system. Every part of my body was aching. Any small movement resulted in cramping and pain. Quite frankly, I felt like I was dying. And if I’m being honest, I probably was.
On Monday, my mom finally convinced me to go to the doctor. We went to a walk-in clinic, and I guess I looked as bad as I felt, because the doctor took one look at me and then told me to go to the hospital. After a long day of hospital procedures and tests, I spent a few hours in a hospital bed, hooked up to an IV drip to get some fluid back in my system. After some more time, they had me try to eat some crackers, which I was finally able to keep down. All of the tests they ran seemed to indicate that there was nothing wrong with me, so that left only one option for the diagnosis: food poisoning. It took only two weeks of eating dining hall food to give me food poisoning bad enough to put me in the hospital. Thanks, Sodexo!
Surely, the worst of it was over now, right? How could things possibly get worse than that? Well, let me tell you. After I was healthy enough, my dad drove me back to Binghamton, where I once again spent all of my time alone in my dorm, doing nothing and talking to no one. I was certainly miserable when I was sick and in the hospital, but at least then I had my parents with me. Spending all that time alone made me feel awful, which in turn made me not want to do anything. As you can probably guess, a cycle started to form, a cycle that would result in the worst mental state I have ever been in. The longer time went on, the worse it got. I spent many days just lying in bed, doing nothing but thinking about how miserable I felt. Eventually, it got to a point where I couldn’t even find the motivation to get out of bed to shower, or to get something to eat. There were many nights where I would lay awake at night, counting the seconds until I got to leave this hellhole and go back home. I thought that Binghamton was the cause of all of my problems and that, as soon as I got out of here, everything would be sunshine and rainbows. Never once did it cross my mind that what had really happened is that I had fallen into a depressive state and that a simple change in location would not be enough to fix it.
Now, I would like to take this moment to address any of my family and friends who may be reading this, as that last paragraph was most likely news to you. At the time, I assumed that everything would be better once I left Binghamton, and I didn’t want anyone to waste their time worrying about me, so I just kept my mouth shut. Anytime anyone would ask how I was doing, I would always say that I was fine, even though that couldn’t have been further from the truth. To this day, I’ve only ever actually told one person, but I think enough time has passed now that I’m able to discuss it, especially if talking about it can help other people.
Throughout this whole ordeal, the one thing that could get me out of bed, the one shining point in the sea of darkness, as stupid as it sounds to admit it, was Binghamton Review. I attended almost every meeting, and enjoyed every second, as this was the only time I spent interacting with other people freshman year. The people I met here were the closest thing I had to friends at the time, and I never would have imagined how close I would become with some of them; that they would end up being the thing most responsible for getting me out of my depressive state.
I’m getting a little ahead of myself here. Let’s discuss the elephant in the room, the thing that had a major impact on all of our college experiences: COVID-19. The school shut down entirely and sent us home halfway through the spring semester of my freshman year. At the time, it seemed like a blessing to me, and, in a way, it was. It opened my eyes to the fact that there was something seriously wrong with me. Isn’t that what they always say, “the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem?” Well, I got what I wanted: I was home. I was out of the nightmare that was Binghamton University and yet… I still felt miserable. I still spent most of my days doing absolutely nothing. Nothing had changed. That’s when I realized that nothing was going to change unless I made it change. I had two options: I could lay in my bed and wallow in self-pity for the rest of my life, thinking about how awful my life is, or I could get off my ass and make it better. I went with the latter. As much as I didn’t feel like doing anything, I forced myself to get out of bed. I tried thinking about all of the things I used to enjoy and forced myself to do them. I tried my hardest to keep my brain occupied so that it didn’t have time to think about how much everything sucked. I started playing video games again. I remembered how much I liked making videos with my friends, so I started a YouTube channel. I realized that my sleep schedule was all out of whack, so I started setting an alarm to wake up earlier, and exercising more so that going to sleep at night would be easier.
I’d like to say that all of this made me better, but it didn’t. It had some impact, sure, but I still wasn’t happy. Then, sophomore year started. Due to the food poisoning the dining hall had given me freshman year, I decided to get an apartment off-campus so that I could cook my own meals. My brother still had another semester at Binghamton before he graduated, so he was living with me. At the time, he was the editor-in-chief of the Review, and due to COVID, we didn’t have an office. Therefore, our apartment became the Binghamton Review office. At first, I hated the idea, but ultimately, it became the best thing for me. You see, since people were coming to my apartment, I couldn’t flake out. I couldn’t decide that I wasn’t feeling up to it. I had no choice but to attend. In addition to weekly meetings and production nights, my brother also started the tradition of “Saturdays,” a small gathering at our apartment on Saturday nights to play beer pong, jackbox games, and of course, drink excessively.
Over time, I realized that these kinds of interactions with friends were exactly what I was missing. Obviously, I didn’t get better overnight, but spending more and more time with people that genuinely care about me was exactly what I needed to pull me out of that funk. To everyone who’s been such a great friend to me over these past few years, I would just like to say thank you. You guys are the best.
It was about a few weeks into the Spring 2021 semester in which I truly began to feel happy again. And I suppose luck had decided that I had been through enough because as soon as I felt normal again, I was introduced to the most wonderful, perfect girl I have ever met. At first, I was scared to talk to her, as I felt that rejection could send me right back into the spiral of mental health problems that I had just dug my way out of. But if I realized anything over this whole debacle, it’s that sitting around doing nothing will only make things worse. I am now the happiest I have ever been. I have the best friends anyone could ever ask for, and the best girlfriend that anyone could ever ask for. I think about the fact that I’m graduating in a few weeks and I get sad because I wish I could stay here forever. Looking back on it now, it’s hard to believe that there was a time when I couldn’t wait to graduate. I guess that’s just a testament to how far I’ve come.
So, what was the point of writing all of this? Well, that’s for you to decide. I’m simply telling my story so that you may learn from it what you will. I suppose if I had to give out some advice, it would be this: do things. Get out there. Meet some people. Join a club. Go to a party. I promise you, there are people out there that you will fit in with, but you’re never going to find them if you’re busy wallowing alone in your bed.
By Matt Gagliano
What’s up gamers. Normally I would punctuate that sentence with an exclamation point, however this time, that “what’s up gamers” is somewhat somber. You see, I am graduating in a few weeks, and this will be my last article as a member of Binghamton Review and as a student of Binghamton University. As the editor-in-chief, I feel like I should follow in the footsteps of the previous editors and write a reflection on my time here and give some parting advice for those just joining the Binghamton community. I was originally unsure what approach to take with this article, seeing as everything I’ve written in my three years with the Review has had a sarcastic, comedic tone to it; obviously, something like this should be serious, otherwise, people will be unsure what’s actual advice and what’s just me being stupid. For a while, I wrestled with what to write here: What’s oversharing? What’s too vague? What’s the point of sharing anything if people probably won’t be in the same position I was in anyway? Eventually, I came to this conclusion: if sharing my college experience can possibly be of any help to anyone reading this, then it’s worth it. Even if only one person takes anything away from this article, then I will have achieved my goal.
Now then, where to start? I guess I should start at the beginning: move-in day. I remember move-in pretty well. I was living in a five-person suite in Hinman (the RA suite), and I hadn’t talked to any of my suitemates yet. I knew literally nothing about the people that I was about to live with for an entire year, so naturally, I was extremely nervous. My brother had told me a bunch of stories about how much fun he had when he lived in a suite in Hinman, and how well he got along with most of his suitemates. That’s the idea I had in my mind when I picked my housing and every moment up until move-in. It was only once I actually began to move in that I began to have doubts. What if my suitemates are mean? What if they don’t like me? What if they’re really clumsy and they accidentally end up burning down the entire building? Once I met my suitemates, I began to calm down a little bit. They seemed nice enough. Throughout the first few days, they would always try to talk to me and invite me to hang out with them and their friends. My actual roommate didn’t show up until four days after the rest of us moved in. We didn’t talk much, as he was rarely ever in our room, which is a shame, because he seemed like a really nice guy. I wish I had talked to him more, as he was probably the only person in that suite that I could see myself being friends with. “What about the other suitemates,” you may ask, “you said they were pretty friendly.” They were, for a time. After a few days they stopped trying to talk to me and stopped inviting me to things, so I guess I was right with the whole “what if they don’t like me” thing.
After about a week of being in Binghamton, I was already struggling to find my place. I didn’t talk to my suitemates at all, I hadn’t made any friends, and I hardly spent any time outside of my dorm room, besides the time spent in class. It was at that moment, when I thought things couldn’t possibly be going any worse, that things got much, much worse. It was a Friday morning, the second week of classes was just about to wrap up. We had a three-day weekend, so I was looking forward to taking some time to relax. Unfortunately, my body had other plans. I woke up that morning at 7 am, well before my alarm went off, feeling a slight pain in my stomach that was growing stronger by the second. I downed a few Tums and tried my best to go back to sleep. No such luck. By 8 am I was kneeling over the toilet, spewing my guts up. This is where I stayed until one of my roommates knocked on the bathroom door around 9, wanting to use the shower. I spent most of my time that Friday and Saturday in the bathroom, everything that had ever been put in my body making a mad dash toward any available exit. I had been talking to my parents non-stop throughout this whole ordeal, and eventually, I was able to convince my dad to pick me up and take me home. That Sunday, I tried to slowly replenish the food and water that my body had just spent the past two days expelling. After three Saltine crackers and a few sips of water, my body had decided it had had enough and rejected that which I had just consumed. No matter how much I tried, I was unable to keep any food or liquid in my body, which was a problem, because I had now gone three full days without eating or drinking immediately after draining all food and water from my system. Every part of my body was aching. Any small movement resulted in cramping and pain. Quite frankly, I felt like I was dying. And if I’m being honest, I probably was.
On Monday, my mom finally convinced me to go to the doctor. We went to a walk-in clinic, and I guess I looked as bad as I felt, because the doctor took one look at me and then told me to go to the hospital. After a long day of hospital procedures and tests, I spent a few hours in a hospital bed, hooked up to an IV drip to get some fluid back in my system. After some more time, they had me try to eat some crackers, which I was finally able to keep down. All of the tests they ran seemed to indicate that there was nothing wrong with me, so that left only one option for the diagnosis: food poisoning. It took only two weeks of eating dining hall food to give me food poisoning bad enough to put me in the hospital. Thanks, Sodexo!
Surely, the worst of it was over now, right? How could things possibly get worse than that? Well, let me tell you. After I was healthy enough, my dad drove me back to Binghamton, where I once again spent all of my time alone in my dorm, doing nothing and talking to no one. I was certainly miserable when I was sick and in the hospital, but at least then I had my parents with me. Spending all that time alone made me feel awful, which in turn made me not want to do anything. As you can probably guess, a cycle started to form, a cycle that would result in the worst mental state I have ever been in. The longer time went on, the worse it got. I spent many days just lying in bed, doing nothing but thinking about how miserable I felt. Eventually, it got to a point where I couldn’t even find the motivation to get out of bed to shower, or to get something to eat. There were many nights where I would lay awake at night, counting the seconds until I got to leave this hellhole and go back home. I thought that Binghamton was the cause of all of my problems and that, as soon as I got out of here, everything would be sunshine and rainbows. Never once did it cross my mind that what had really happened is that I had fallen into a depressive state and that a simple change in location would not be enough to fix it.
Now, I would like to take this moment to address any of my family and friends who may be reading this, as that last paragraph was most likely news to you. At the time, I assumed that everything would be better once I left Binghamton, and I didn’t want anyone to waste their time worrying about me, so I just kept my mouth shut. Anytime anyone would ask how I was doing, I would always say that I was fine, even though that couldn’t have been further from the truth. To this day, I’ve only ever actually told one person, but I think enough time has passed now that I’m able to discuss it, especially if talking about it can help other people.
Throughout this whole ordeal, the one thing that could get me out of bed, the one shining point in the sea of darkness, as stupid as it sounds to admit it, was Binghamton Review. I attended almost every meeting, and enjoyed every second, as this was the only time I spent interacting with other people freshman year. The people I met here were the closest thing I had to friends at the time, and I never would have imagined how close I would become with some of them; that they would end up being the thing most responsible for getting me out of my depressive state.
I’m getting a little ahead of myself here. Let’s discuss the elephant in the room, the thing that had a major impact on all of our college experiences: COVID-19. The school shut down entirely and sent us home halfway through the spring semester of my freshman year. At the time, it seemed like a blessing to me, and, in a way, it was. It opened my eyes to the fact that there was something seriously wrong with me. Isn’t that what they always say, “the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem?” Well, I got what I wanted: I was home. I was out of the nightmare that was Binghamton University and yet… I still felt miserable. I still spent most of my days doing absolutely nothing. Nothing had changed. That’s when I realized that nothing was going to change unless I made it change. I had two options: I could lay in my bed and wallow in self-pity for the rest of my life, thinking about how awful my life is, or I could get off my ass and make it better. I went with the latter. As much as I didn’t feel like doing anything, I forced myself to get out of bed. I tried thinking about all of the things I used to enjoy and forced myself to do them. I tried my hardest to keep my brain occupied so that it didn’t have time to think about how much everything sucked. I started playing video games again. I remembered how much I liked making videos with my friends, so I started a YouTube channel. I realized that my sleep schedule was all out of whack, so I started setting an alarm to wake up earlier, and exercising more so that going to sleep at night would be easier.
I’d like to say that all of this made me better, but it didn’t. It had some impact, sure, but I still wasn’t happy. Then, sophomore year started. Due to the food poisoning the dining hall had given me freshman year, I decided to get an apartment off-campus so that I could cook my own meals. My brother still had another semester at Binghamton before he graduated, so he was living with me. At the time, he was the editor-in-chief of the Review, and due to COVID, we didn’t have an office. Therefore, our apartment became the Binghamton Review office. At first, I hated the idea, but ultimately, it became the best thing for me. You see, since people were coming to my apartment, I couldn’t flake out. I couldn’t decide that I wasn’t feeling up to it. I had no choice but to attend. In addition to weekly meetings and production nights, my brother also started the tradition of “Saturdays,” a small gathering at our apartment on Saturday nights to play beer pong, jackbox games, and of course, drink excessively.
Over time, I realized that these kinds of interactions with friends were exactly what I was missing. Obviously, I didn’t get better overnight, but spending more and more time with people that genuinely care about me was exactly what I needed to pull me out of that funk. To everyone who’s been such a great friend to me over these past few years, I would just like to say thank you. You guys are the best.
It was about a few weeks into the Spring 2021 semester in which I truly began to feel happy again. And I suppose luck had decided that I had been through enough because as soon as I felt normal again, I was introduced to the most wonderful, perfect girl I have ever met. At first, I was scared to talk to her, as I felt that rejection could send me right back into the spiral of mental health problems that I had just dug my way out of. But if I realized anything over this whole debacle, it’s that sitting around doing nothing will only make things worse. I am now the happiest I have ever been. I have the best friends anyone could ever ask for, and the best girlfriend that anyone could ever ask for. I think about the fact that I’m graduating in a few weeks and I get sad because I wish I could stay here forever. Looking back on it now, it’s hard to believe that there was a time when I couldn’t wait to graduate. I guess that’s just a testament to how far I’ve come.
So, what was the point of writing all of this? Well, that’s for you to decide. I’m simply telling my story so that you may learn from it what you will. I suppose if I had to give out some advice, it would be this: do things. Get out there. Meet some people. Join a club. Go to a party. I promise you, there are people out there that you will fit in with, but you’re never going to find them if you’re busy wallowing alone in your bed.