New Personal Statement: Critique, Por Favor
Posted: Wed Oct 13, 2010 5:15 pm
After taking some of your comments into consideration, I have decided to temporarily scratch my old PS in favor of a new (and hopefully better) one.
“A pound? That’s it? I lost only a pound?!” Actually, no, I had lost nearly seventy pounds to date. But since the previous night’s weigh-in, yeah, I had lost only a pound. So I responded to this result the same way I responded to every other weigh-in I was dissatisfied with: I slipped on a pair of sweat pants, pulled an old sweatshirt over my head, and embarked on a ten mile run through the oppressive mid-summer’s heat. “Okay, four pounds. I’ll settle for that.” Four pounds was not that bad considering I had just run ten miles. “What!? How did I gain three pounds since this morning? All I ate today was a bowl of vegetables and two bottles of water. Plus I ran ten miles this morning!” Five minutes and a clean pair of sweats later, I was doing calisthenics in the bathroom with the door locked, the shower on, and the water at maximum temperature.
Between the months of March and August in 2008, this was my typical day. While my friends were busy spending their summers by the pool or at the beach, I was busy juggling work and my diet, trying desperately to look good without a shirt on. Soon, three weigh-ins per day became ten or more, one small meal a day became one every other day, and ten miles through the rolling hills of the Pocono Mountains became nothing more than a warm-up. By late summer, my obsession with my weight loss was progressively getting worse. At the time, I preferred the word “dedicated” over “obsessed.” Little did I know it was a combination of both. I was becoming dedicated to my obsession.
The end of August marked the beginning of my first year at Lehigh University – my proverbial dream school – after transferring from East Stroudsburg University. It also marked the beginning of a whole new set of challenges regarding my weight loss. My first few weeks at Lehigh went relatively smoothly. I made friends with the guys who lived across the hall, was enjoying my classes and professors, and somehow found time to continue my rigorous schedule of workouts and weigh-ins while working almost full time. But I eventually ran into problems when I stopped seeing drastic results. The scale and my belt told me I was still losing weight, but my mind and the mirror said otherwise. “Look at you! You’re disgusting,” I remember telling myself on more than one occasion. When I looked in the mirror, I still saw the two hundred and sixty pound person that I thought I had abandoned. I started to hate the way I looked because it didn’t conform to the idealized vision I had in my head. I had worked so hard to be happier and healthier, and now, I was neither (at least not mentally).
Every minute of every day, my mind was consumed by my appearance. It was extremely difficult to focus on even the smallest daily tasks, let alone my work and academic responsibilities. I often skipped class because I didn’t want anyone to see me and I flipped all my mirrors around in my house so I wouldn’t be forced to see myself. I stopped taking pictures. I deleted my Facebook. I just became a generally unpleasant person to be around. The next sixteen months of my life were spent in quiet desperation and near isolation, with sporadic appearances to appease my professors, my family, and my friends. And I worked hard to keep my struggles a secret. I knew I had a problem. I was paranoid and delusional. My eyes saw things that simply were not real. I was not the grossly obese teenager that got picked on in high school anymore. With the support of my family and friends, I had fought that battle and won. But I naively believed that I could single-handedly win this battle as well.
It was February 12th, 2010 at about six in the evening when I was awoken by a knock on my bedroom door. I knew it was my good friend and roommate, Mark. “What is it, man?” I answered. “Can I come in?” he asked. “Yeah, come in.” He opened the door, flipped on the light without warning and, as my eyes were still adjusting, seated himself in my desk chair. He leaned over to me and said, quite simply, “Dude, I think you need help.” Still in a daze, I laid silently and pondered his suggestion. He was right. Although I had been consistently rejecting the idea when I presented it to myself, hearing it from another person put it into a different perspective, mainly because he was the first person other than myself to say it and it made me realize that my problem had become overwhelmingly evident. “I think I do, too,” I said. “Why don’t you make an appointment at the counseling center on campus?” he suggested. “I went there a couple times last year and the guy I spoke with really helped me out. You’re my friend and I want to help you. I barely ever see you anymore and I live in the same house as you.”
I couldn’t have asked for a better person to intervene at a better time. Hesitantly, I followed through on Mark’s advice and scheduled an appointment with a school counselor the next day. After a standard psychological examination and a few preliminary one-on-one sessions, my counselor diagnosed me with body dysmorphic disorder – a psychological condition whereby an individual obsesses over a perceived, but often non-existent, physical deformity. I told him I was willing to do whatever it took to restore normalcy to my life. With his expert advice, we decided to proceed with a combination of intense cognitive behavioral therapy and group therapy which, I will admit, sounded daunting at first. It required me to do things that, at the time, I was very uncomfortable doing like sparking up casual conversations with strangers, for example, or speaking in front of others whether in class or otherwise. Over a period of six months, the therapy began to work. I started socializing more and even entered into a relationship. I stopped weighing myself on a daily basis, I started eating more, and I came to view my weight loss as a success rather than a curse. Most important, I decided to restore my academics as the focal point of my life. In April, I registered to spend a semester in Washington, D.C. to study public law. I can confidently say that my experience in D.C. has been the single-most rewarding experience of my life – personally, professionally, and academically.
My continuing recovery from body dysmorphic disorder has taught me three things in particular about myself and about life in general. First, every struggle, whether big or small, internal or external, can be overcome. At one point, I was my own worst enemy. Now, I am my greatest supporter. I used to base my entire self-worth solely on the way I looked, but I’ve come to understand that there is more to me, and to each of us, than physical appearance. Second, I’ve learned that few struggles can be overcome by individual willpower alone. Sometimes, we must seek the help and guidance of those around us. Even the most successful individuals received some sort of advice or assistance on their paths to success. Finally, after almost letting it slip away, I’ve learned what’s important in my life, and what’s important is that I get a good education and establish a solid career, ideally, as a lawyer. There is no doubt that a legal education is a challenge of both intellect and will. I feel like my experience in overcoming a uniquely difficult situation has better prepared me for what lies ahead in law school. With the guidance of others, I am certain that I can and will succeed. Been there, done that.
Critique away...
[This PS has been edited]
“A pound? That’s it? I lost only a pound?!” Actually, no, I had lost nearly seventy pounds to date. But since the previous night’s weigh-in, yeah, I had lost only a pound. So I responded to this result the same way I responded to every other weigh-in I was dissatisfied with: I slipped on a pair of sweat pants, pulled an old sweatshirt over my head, and embarked on a ten mile run through the oppressive mid-summer’s heat. “Okay, four pounds. I’ll settle for that.” Four pounds was not that bad considering I had just run ten miles. “What!? How did I gain three pounds since this morning? All I ate today was a bowl of vegetables and two bottles of water. Plus I ran ten miles this morning!” Five minutes and a clean pair of sweats later, I was doing calisthenics in the bathroom with the door locked, the shower on, and the water at maximum temperature.
Between the months of March and August in 2008, this was my typical day. While my friends were busy spending their summers by the pool or at the beach, I was busy juggling work and my diet, trying desperately to look good without a shirt on. Soon, three weigh-ins per day became ten or more, one small meal a day became one every other day, and ten miles through the rolling hills of the Pocono Mountains became nothing more than a warm-up. By late summer, my obsession with my weight loss was progressively getting worse. At the time, I preferred the word “dedicated” over “obsessed.” Little did I know it was a combination of both. I was becoming dedicated to my obsession.
The end of August marked the beginning of my first year at Lehigh University – my proverbial dream school – after transferring from East Stroudsburg University. It also marked the beginning of a whole new set of challenges regarding my weight loss. My first few weeks at Lehigh went relatively smoothly. I made friends with the guys who lived across the hall, was enjoying my classes and professors, and somehow found time to continue my rigorous schedule of workouts and weigh-ins while working almost full time. But I eventually ran into problems when I stopped seeing drastic results. The scale and my belt told me I was still losing weight, but my mind and the mirror said otherwise. “Look at you! You’re disgusting,” I remember telling myself on more than one occasion. When I looked in the mirror, I still saw the two hundred and sixty pound person that I thought I had abandoned. I started to hate the way I looked because it didn’t conform to the idealized vision I had in my head. I had worked so hard to be happier and healthier, and now, I was neither (at least not mentally).
Every minute of every day, my mind was consumed by my appearance. It was extremely difficult to focus on even the smallest daily tasks, let alone my work and academic responsibilities. I often skipped class because I didn’t want anyone to see me and I flipped all my mirrors around in my house so I wouldn’t be forced to see myself. I stopped taking pictures. I deleted my Facebook. I just became a generally unpleasant person to be around. The next sixteen months of my life were spent in quiet desperation and near isolation, with sporadic appearances to appease my professors, my family, and my friends. And I worked hard to keep my struggles a secret. I knew I had a problem. I was paranoid and delusional. My eyes saw things that simply were not real. I was not the grossly obese teenager that got picked on in high school anymore. With the support of my family and friends, I had fought that battle and won. But I naively believed that I could single-handedly win this battle as well.
It was February 12th, 2010 at about six in the evening when I was awoken by a knock on my bedroom door. I knew it was my good friend and roommate, Mark. “What is it, man?” I answered. “Can I come in?” he asked. “Yeah, come in.” He opened the door, flipped on the light without warning and, as my eyes were still adjusting, seated himself in my desk chair. He leaned over to me and said, quite simply, “Dude, I think you need help.” Still in a daze, I laid silently and pondered his suggestion. He was right. Although I had been consistently rejecting the idea when I presented it to myself, hearing it from another person put it into a different perspective, mainly because he was the first person other than myself to say it and it made me realize that my problem had become overwhelmingly evident. “I think I do, too,” I said. “Why don’t you make an appointment at the counseling center on campus?” he suggested. “I went there a couple times last year and the guy I spoke with really helped me out. You’re my friend and I want to help you. I barely ever see you anymore and I live in the same house as you.”
I couldn’t have asked for a better person to intervene at a better time. Hesitantly, I followed through on Mark’s advice and scheduled an appointment with a school counselor the next day. After a standard psychological examination and a few preliminary one-on-one sessions, my counselor diagnosed me with body dysmorphic disorder – a psychological condition whereby an individual obsesses over a perceived, but often non-existent, physical deformity. I told him I was willing to do whatever it took to restore normalcy to my life. With his expert advice, we decided to proceed with a combination of intense cognitive behavioral therapy and group therapy which, I will admit, sounded daunting at first. It required me to do things that, at the time, I was very uncomfortable doing like sparking up casual conversations with strangers, for example, or speaking in front of others whether in class or otherwise. Over a period of six months, the therapy began to work. I started socializing more and even entered into a relationship. I stopped weighing myself on a daily basis, I started eating more, and I came to view my weight loss as a success rather than a curse. Most important, I decided to restore my academics as the focal point of my life. In April, I registered to spend a semester in Washington, D.C. to study public law. I can confidently say that my experience in D.C. has been the single-most rewarding experience of my life – personally, professionally, and academically.
My continuing recovery from body dysmorphic disorder has taught me three things in particular about myself and about life in general. First, every struggle, whether big or small, internal or external, can be overcome. At one point, I was my own worst enemy. Now, I am my greatest supporter. I used to base my entire self-worth solely on the way I looked, but I’ve come to understand that there is more to me, and to each of us, than physical appearance. Second, I’ve learned that few struggles can be overcome by individual willpower alone. Sometimes, we must seek the help and guidance of those around us. Even the most successful individuals received some sort of advice or assistance on their paths to success. Finally, after almost letting it slip away, I’ve learned what’s important in my life, and what’s important is that I get a good education and establish a solid career, ideally, as a lawyer. There is no doubt that a legal education is a challenge of both intellect and will. I feel like my experience in overcoming a uniquely difficult situation has better prepared me for what lies ahead in law school. With the guidance of others, I am certain that I can and will succeed. Been there, done that.
Critique away...
[This PS has been edited]