Editor’s note: This is a guest column from Black Action Society President Lawrence… Editor’s note: This is a guest column from Black Action Society President Lawrence Crockett.

College depression is very real. At some point, every Pitt student needs a counselor.

On some nights, I sit in my room. With the lights out, I drink vodka and stare into my computer screen, numb. Ten shots and three hours later, my mother might call. She is a good mom, so she can smell the scent of liquor through the phone. She knows when something’s wrong.

She’ll say, “I know you don’t like me asking if things are okay, but I’m worried about you, Scotty. You are my son.”

It is a call to sobriety. The oxymoronic feeling of numbness will exit my body, reminding me of gravity’s pull. She will go silent. An entire minute might pass. When my breathing becomes audible, she will whisper my name. “Scotty.” And then, I will cry a wailing cry.

My mom is no poet. She doesn’t have a college degree. But she is genuine. On the phone, she will begin to pray. I am not particularly religious, but her prayers never fail to calm me. She knows how to pray. On these nights, one of the last things she will say is, “The world awaits your return. Now, graduate and make me proud!”

Luckily, these nights are seldom.

Different things depress different people. Being broke depresses me. I absolutely hate owing Pitt money. Coming from a single-parent household, I envy students whose parents can afford to pay their tuition. Financial holds distract me from my schoolwork.

Some people slump into sad spells over their physical appearance. Too thin, split ends, no abs, too dark, too light, acne, no pecs, too fat, flabby legs, small breasts, flat rear; self-doubt, reinforced by the images of beauty we’re inundated by daily.

Others stress and depress over their workload. Overachievers. This person’s juggling 16 credits, SGB, BAS, CWO, a few more student organizations whose abbreviations escape me, their commitment to attending church every Sunday and a significant other.

Each individual handles his or her depression differently. Some choose to sleep it off, skipping classes and risking their academic careers. Others drink themselves into a coma. I knew a guy who used to break bottles with a baseball bat in order to overcome his occasional stints of depression. Missing from all these forms of therapy, however, is human contact.

Unless you’ve snaked every person you’ve come into contact with, the chances of there being nobody out there who cares about your emotional health are minimal. Care engenders patience – the patience needed to listen to someone’s problems late into the night with the television off. People who care will prod and poke. They will annoy you. You will test the limits of their patience. Just don’t shut them out completely.

I knew a guy who became an alcoholic after he shut his loved ones out completely. Hasn’t been the same since. Once you’re unreachable, something bad might happen. I’d hate to see a kid off himself after thinking he had no one to turn to for help.

If nobody cares about you, Pitt has a counseling center. Even if you’re a jerk, it’s someone’s job to listen to students’ problems and offer professional help. These individuals are also useful for students who feel their problems are too embarrassing or personal to share, even with those who care about them.

Solomon’s words are wiser than my own, so contemplate The Message’s rendition of Ecclesiastes 4:8-12. “It’s better to have a partner than go it alone. Share the work, share the wealth. And if one falls down, the other helps, but if there’s no one to help, tough! Two in a bed warm each other. Alone, you shiver all night. By yourself you’re unprotected. With a friend you can face the worst.”

Clean out your closet with Lawrence at [email protected].