I struggled a lot with my mental health in the back half of my college experience. From break-ups to health issues to trying to adjust after the pandemic, it got increasingly difficult for me to show up to classes and get homework done. I spent a lot of my time in bed, too anxious and depressed to work on my assignments or get myself to walk across campus and sit in my classes. One day, I saw a TikTok about collage journaling and I knew I had to start. I realize now I have a creative spirit and creating feeds my soul, but in the past I have let perfectionism get in my way and keep me from practicing my innate creativity. I loved the idea of crafts, but I couldn’t give myself permission to make anything that wasn’t objectively perfect, which is an impossible task anyway. I did not identify as a creative or crafty person at all. In that moment I needed a lifeline and collage journaling was there to catch me when I was falling.
Nowadays, my spreads are more inspired by the junk I come across and the experiences connected to them, but my first collage journal is jam-packed with symbolism and meaning. Even looking strictly at the first spread I ever created, several topics and feelings are represented across the two pages. Flipping through that journal, you can follow my experience over the course of my last semester of college. This was the first time I felt that I truly had a creative outlet that I could take advantage of to keep me from drowning in all of the problems I was facing, and finally, for once, I was able to let go of the strict perfectionism I had imposed on myself for my whole life.
It all started not too long after the beginning of my last semester of college. I had moved back into the dorms, four hours away from home, and finally felt I could get the medical attention I needed. I found out that my boyfriend at the time, who we’ll call B, had given me the same STD for the second time, and I had to break up with him. It was a big transitional moment in my life, and I needed some way to channel it, and collage journaling seemed like the way to go. I wish I remembered all of the symbolism that I packed into this first spread, but I do remember some of it. 916 is the area code around Sacramento, so I included that since I had just moved back into the area. Even though what I had was not a fungal infection, the mushrooms on the page symbolize the diagnosis I had just received. The red warning sign reading “Handle With Care” represented my overwhelming emotions about the situation I had found myself in. The horseshoe, of course, was a wish for good luck in my last semester and a hope that this incident wouldn’t set the tone for my last few months in school. And, of course, the tag where I wrote, “Why did you make me leave?” was a question directed toward B since I had really liked him (or at least the idea of him), and he left me with no choice but to end our relationship for my own health and safety.
I had to meet up with B again after I had told him our relationship was over. This all happened in the first place because he did not get treated after the first time this happened. When you’re diagnosed with these kinds of things, a special exception is made where you can receive a dose of the antibiotic for the other person involved. I was able to get that and hand it off to him in hopes that he would take it seriously this time and not pass it on to someone else. That night, he met me in the parking lot of my dorm building and I sat in his truck with him. I tried to give him a chance to say something, but he didn’t have anything to say; he thought I was cheating on him and this was my fault. I went back to my room and sobbed. This journal page represents that night. Again, the mushrooms appear in the transparent sticker on the left. The text in the upper left corner that reads, “Give me a few moments before you say good-night” represents the chance I gave him to say something, anything, that he didn’t take. Once I realized he wasn’t going to show any regret or remorse, I got out of his truck, and he drove away, and I never saw him again. He was gone.
A few days later it was time to wash my sheets and it was a major symbolic moment for me. He had left for good days before, but I felt that once I washed my sheets, I had truly rid myself of him and the pain he had put me through. So, of course, another page had to be created. I don’t actually like the rest of the spread, but the note in the upper left corner is very important to me. He was really gone now.
Except that a couple of months later, after I had deleted his number, he texted me. I pulled the classic “Who’s this?” That night, he told me he “wanted me” and that I should let him come over so we could hook up, so I gave him a piece of my mind. I couldn’t believe that he had put me through so much turmoil and put my body and my health in danger, he clearly didn’t seem to care other than the fact that he no longer had a girlfriend, and now he dared to ask for my body again. I told him never to reach out to me again. He hasn’t. I really like the juxtaposition on this page between the purple and yellow floral theme and the message in the center of the page. It kind of symbolizes the beauty of my life moving on without him and the jarring moment of receiving his text and having to set a hard boundary with him.
And lastly, a spread featuring the question I had to ask myself at the end of all of this.
B isn’t the only boy who is a central theme within this journal; the boyfriend before him is a significant topic in these spreads too. We’ll call him A. From the moment I met A, I knew that there was something special about him and that we had a connection that I still have never found with anyone else. We only dated for four months, but we had an on-and-off situationship for the rest of the time I was in college and wasn’t dating B. I struggled A LOT after we broke up, and I have to admit it took me an extremely long time to “get over” him, and even now, the wound still reopens sometimes. There are fewer pages about him than I would have guessed, but maybe that’s a good thing. I don’t think they really need their own explanation; it’s pretty clear that my heart was aching for him. It still does sometimes.
These are some of the most symbolic and important pages of my first collage journal. There are dozens more spreads from my last semester, but they’re not as overtly meaningful, but just being able to sit down and be creative was extremely cathartic for me.
I genuinely don’t know where I would be if I hadn’t started expressing myself through collage journaling. Now, it’s more of a fun hobby, but it was my lifeline when I first started doing it. It made me feel human again. I believe that everyone needs some kind of creative outlet, even people who don’t think they’re creative. Create without judgment of yourself and your abilities. Just create.
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