(Trigger warning: This letter discusses topics such as body dysmorphia, anxiety, depression, and a plethora of other sensitive topics. Reader Discretion is Advised) 

Hello beloved reader,  

April is the month of laughs for most people, so this issue of The Uproar is going to be all about laughs and chuckles. However, because of how hectic the month of April is for college students, we have decided to make this issue all digital. Please browse the website at your leisure and leave a comment on your favorite works by our staff.  

In a change of pace though, I wanted to take this time to write about something I feel strongly about and maybe give you a little insight into who I am and give you a little hope to carry along the way.  

This year has been a transformative one for me so far. I took over as Editor in Chief of The Uproar, I discovered I only have one semester left before I graduate, and I landed a job in my desired degree field through an internship. Yay me, I guess, but with all this success comes a lot of stress. Stress that feels like a two-ton boulder perched atop my shoulders.  

You would think that after four years of getting by on almost nothing, I would be happy to finally be gainfully employed and have some real money coming my way. Instead, all of this makes me feel anxious, ashamed, and fearful about what my life is going to look like when I do receive my $30,000 piece of paper from CSU.  

Maybe this comes from the societal idea of men being breadwinners and providers, maybe it comes from self-doubt, maybe it comes from my own idea of what people who are successful look like. Personally, I never thought I could be someone important, because I never thought I looked the part. You may ask, “Well, what do you look like?” and that is a hard question to answer for me.  

To you, I may look like a big guy who is tall and weighs a decent amount, but to me, when I look in the mirror, I look like a monster. I think I look gross, morphed in the way a person shouldn’t, and I constantly think about how strange it is that someone could love someone like me. How am I ever supposed to fill this arbitrary role of provider when no one would ever find me attractive? It is a tragedy in two parts.  

This internalized self-doubt and hatred has manifested in all kinds of ways. I turn things in late because I am anxious about what someone may think, or I have disassociated so much that I forget about something. When that happens, someone gets mad that I turned something in late or I just miss the deadline all together, and then I get depressed. How in the world am I supposed to do anything when my brain is so focused on breaking me down to the last atom? Honestly, I am not sure, but I can tell you how I manage it. I manage it by laughing.  

Laughing at jokes with people, about stupid things I do or did, laughing at life in general. There is probably some scientific answer about what laughing does to the brain and the body, but this is just a personal letter that I don’t want bogged down by numbers I probably won’t be able to comprehend. It doesn’t matter. I just know it helps.  

It isn’t a cure by any means. I still struggle all the time, but if I can smile or laugh once in a while, then I feel like things are going to be all right.  

So, dear reader, whether you are cramming for finals, freaking out over missing assignments, or struggling with things like I do, try hard to laugh.  

Thank you for reading, 

Nick Bentley 

Editor in Chief 

The Uproar