Submit an Academic Petition or Appeal

Petition Letter: Given the actual lived experience of time’s amalgamation, demarcating clear beginnings and ends to my personal struggles seems structurally impossible. I will attempt to provide a brief timeline to sufficiently contextualize my recent circumstances. I have been wrestling with depression since I was younger than I could recognize; it began congealing around 12 years old, grew far stronger than most of my other inclinations at around 19, and, as I have recently accepted, been constituted by a tendency for addiction (which in itself is a desperation for comfort.) While some take issue with the term, I see in it a perfect descriptor: a depression, sunken beneath the surface where life is sustained; a stagnant (thus somewhat predictable) place of decay just out of reach. My journey, of course, was not entirely some totally internal, neurotic downward spiral; these years have tested me greatly through the all permeating struggles of wartime (as a native Lebanese studying online,) through illness, through (now many years ago,) sexual abuse to name a few. Through the varying struggles operating on various planes of existence, I understand now that struggle itself is relative to your handling of it (yes, another entirely cliché truth that had to be experienced to be taught.) To fall into loops is our most natural tendency, to be defeated by exhaustion is a self-fulfilling prophecy. I have taken the long journey to learn how incredibly thin the line between coping and self-destructing is, only very recently consciously coming to this realization. The aforementioned illnesses have varied, and have mostly exacerbated by chronic stress (the brain is in the body, who would have thought,) and the corrosive lifestyle begot by depression. My physical maladies have been somewhat typical until this term (probably attributed to atrophy, getting older, and so on,) and were limited to flu-like symptoms, prolonged recovery periods, lethargy, etc. Between February and April of this year, my joints temporarily degraded into dysfunction. Doctors speculate it to have been “COVID Arthritis,” beginning in my right wrist, promptly reaching my elbow, my left wrist, my left elbow, my left knee and ankle, and the right side of my jaw. At its worst, I could not hold a pencil up to write, nor my flute, nor put on headphones, and the pain would be too great for sleep often. Coupling physiotherapy and a course of anti-inflammatories and other medications, my body trudged on, dragging me into the light. I am happy to say that I am mostly fine now.
As of a few weeks ago (as vaguely undignified as it is to say, let alone say proudly,) I have fallen into a routine. I wake up and immediately step outside to greet the sun, then begin my new day with fruits and multivitamins daily, some stretches too; not a day has passed without the indulgence of my musical passions, or a walk, even a healthy return to journalling (though admittedly, not as consistently,) and will soon begin therapy again. This sudden robbing of my own body alongside the threatening of my homeland, my two homes, has led me to the internalization of the simple (perhaps even entitled) truth: life will not come to you one day all at once, you have to actively choose it; reminding me of an Arabic proverb that roughly translates to, “as much as I long for these days to pass, I forget they are my entire life.” Nothing within me was never born of a disdain for life, on the contrary, sadness (as a response) is self-chosen in that it illuminates the space between your ideal world and values, and your current state. I am grateful to have a greater understanding of this and to traverse that space as such. I share all of this to you, anonymous Queen’s University admin, because I know how much the journey has spilled onto the illusory self-contained department of academic responsibility, especially with the onset of and ongoing national destruction from 2023 to this day – a pain I cannot begin to describe but am learning to try to not let take more than it already does. I wish I had been stronger before, though I am endlessly grateful for the grace and privilege of trying again, this time (and for the first time,) out of love far greater than fear, delusion, or expectation, and finally, to indulge time and abundance rather than shy away from it. The scales have tipped! I may be late to it but I am grateful to begin to step into the light knowing all I know about the universe constantly forming around me.