Designer no more!

So, to keep things short, I have been in three majors, one in architecture and two times in design, which includes this present one. So in total, that makes 10 years trying my damnedest to be a professional, but no luck yet. I mean depression got the better of me last time I was here studying, now medicated and fully committed to therapy I think I might have a shot at a title, kinda sounds like a wrestler, and there's a lot of that to this story really.  This is my redemption arc, proving to everyone that I can manage on my own, or with help from my loved ones to be honest, but anyway I'm gonna make it even if it kills me. Kind of dramatic, wouldn't you agree?.

I dreamt as a little bugger of being a paleontologist, "Jurassic Park" was all the rage back then, and I wanted a piece of it, I wanted it so badly I had my parents buy me an encyclopedia, lucky me! and learned all the dinosaur names that fit into my tiny numb skull.

A little bit after that, and because of some school bullying, I ended up developing my incipient drawing skills, and I saw there was a way to make a living out of my doodle, I mean if Themo Lobos could I should be able to do it too. And so, without much fanfare I started to go down a road I'm still on today, the drawing call if you will. Now I couldn't in my right mind choose to give up formal education to start drawing as a career, or so I wrongly thought. That led me to my first pitfall, Architecture, I won't go into much detail, just know that I wasn't good at all, and the pressure was just too much for young me, so I decided to give the PSU again, some kind of admission test, and chose Design as a major this time.

For once I felt in control of my assignments, and that I could do well, but then again nothing is perfect, and depression, a lingering phantom over the years, found me at my weakest. Bedridden and insecure I let everything slip thru my hands, trying to pick up the pieces as I neared the end of the year, but it was too late, 3 years in and a lot of sweat and tears later I was out, I tried to appeal, but the university would have none of it. So there I was butt on the curb, with a bomb to tell my dad.

To be frank, T thought of putting an end to the misery right there and then, quite dramatic I know, but someone's better judgment saved me.

I came clean to my dad and began my therapy. They say the third one's the charm, so here I am trying my best to live my best life despite what I might think at my lowest.