The Campus Elephant

You and I are not in the same room, but there’s an elephant in here that you should meet. It’s invisible yet ubiquitous, and the fact that we don’t like to discuss it is stunning given its omnipresence. It’s in the middle of College Walk, in front of Barnard Hall, in the gyms and in the dining halls. The elephant is everywhere at once, but no one likes to talk to or about it: mental health issues and perfectionism. Or eating disorders. Or depression. Or all of the above, and then some.

There’s something else you need to know: Although the conditions that comprise the invisible elephant of Columbia University have biological causes, a person’s surroundings play a significant role. Genetics load the gun, but the environment pulls the trigger. Can you hear the explosions? They’re happening all over campus. Every single day.

Approximately 20 percent of college students have had an eating disorder, while another 10 percent have been diagnosed with clinical depression and another 20 percent have anxiety disorders. These conditions can exist together, but not always, and they are all common at Columbia because of the prestige, because of the competition, and because we are in New York City. But that does not make them okay.

None of the behaviors associated with perfectionism are okay, be it pulling consecutive all-nighters during reading week, exercising in Dodge for hours at a time, eating only salads, sleeping around, or making yourself vomit in the dorm bathroom when no one is around. Neither is skipping a meal, although recent National Eating Disorders Association statistics show that 74.7 percent of college students have skipped meals. The health risks of anorexia, anxiety, bulimia, compulsive overeating, compulsive overexercising and depression are clear: Google any of these conditions and you will find the results. I’ll save you the work and tell you now that none of these problems lead to happiness for anybody. Although 55 percent of college students know someone who has dealt with an eating disorder, we are all affected by them.

Our campus is full of ghosts. No, I don’t mean the ghost of Milbank Hall. Look around and you’ll see them. If you don’t believe me, lift your eyes from your book for a few minutes in Hewitt or Ferris Booth, and you’ll see what I mean. Over there is the pale girl with a small cup of frozen yogurt, taking measured bites. There’s a guy with red indentations on his index and middle fingers, eating slice after slice of pizza before rushing to the bathroom. There’s someone pacing back and forth from the salad bar, past the pizza and desserts, terror in her eyes.

They’re everywhere, the students who suffer, usually in silence. Although the problems they struggle with are nothing to be ashamed of, we’re not talking about them in the ways we should. Say the words “anorexia” or “Prozac” and watch the people nearby whisper snidely about the anorexic in their hall. It seems as though some of these words are unmentionables, the Diseases-That-Should-Not-Be-Named. Why not? We talk about AIDS and diabetes, but almost never discuss anorexia or depression. No, the roommate who sleeps fourteen hours a day has “mono,” regardless of what the blood tests say. And the classmate who subsists on fruit and coffee for days at a time is just “healthy.” If that’s our definition of healthy, then we are truly sick. If starved of food and self-love is what we aspire to be, then I reached our goal my first semester here, when I weighed 25 pounds less than I do now and walked around campus in a desperate fog, had no friends and thought that happiness was for people who were more adequate than I.

I don’t know about you, but I’d like to be more dynamic than a specter. The irony is amazing, yet few seem aware of it: By engaging in the self-destructive behaviors of a perfectionist or bulimic, we prevent ourselves from developing into the individuals that we hope these actions will allow us to become. The summer before my first year at Barnard I dreamed of being an activist like the students who occupied Hamilton in 1968, but that was impossible when I was entrenched in anorexia. Only now that I’ve been at a healthy weight for a year and am learning how to deal with feelings of insecurity is that possible. And that’s why I get so sad as I walk across campus or through the libraries—because of the potential that may not be fulfilled unless we start talking. That girl who spends hours on the elliptical every day could have one day found the cure to cancer, but instead she’ll wither away until she can’t even study her bio books. And there are so many more like her, all over campus, expressing their sadness and pain in different ways. If we want to see people instead of ghosts, we need to start talking to and about the lonely elephant. Columbia students, meet the campus elephant. And start talking.

Marissa Mazek is a Barnard College junior majoring in English. The Rough Truth runs alternate Mondays. Opinion@columbiaspectator.com">Opinion@columbiaspectator.com