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"We feel that you are going to take your life," said a psychologist here, at my college. At this point I was sure that I missed the National Enquirer sign outside the office. So here is a story of what happened on this interesting January 20...

I went to my first class and everything seemed normal. Thank goodness because I had slept in the first day of that class. I thought that the two profs were going to hate me. Apparently they were understanding of the email that I had written them and didn't mind that I didn't make it to class.

Next class, prof pulls me out and asks me if I am having problems registering for my classes. I told her that if I did, it was news to me. Reason for her question-- she had been asked if I had been in class. Okay, I am not thinking anything weird, yet. Then I get a break from classes. I went back to my dorm to take a nap. I jumped into my bed and my muscles rejoiced that they would be given a rest finally. Then there is a knock on my door. Great.

Turns out that it is my resident assistant just checking to see how I am doing. Fine, blah, blah, blah. Anyway, somewhere in those blahs she made me call to set up an appointment with a psychologist to talk about transfering schools. (something I want to do because I want a major my school won't offer me)

No more time for nap after she leaves. Grr. Anyway, I go to my English class. Ahh, at least one thing is normal today. No concerns about me in that class.

Next class, prof is asking people if I had been in class. I told him who I was and he said that he knew that I had been in class everyday. Well, at least one normal class a day is fun.

I get back to the dorm room a little weirded out. I got a message on my voicemail that the psychologist was waiting to see me all day. I thought that they may have confused me with someone else. That is until my resident director came up to my room after chasing me down at my class which got out earlier than he had anticipated.

Anyway, to sum up this weirdness, I was taken to be "evaluated." Turns out someone thought I was suicidal because I cried once about my grandma dying.

Last time I heard, crying because your grandma is dying is a natural thing to do. Maybe I just haven't kept up with the National Enquirer's standards of what behavior indicates suicidal intent.

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