I walk up the stairs, my heartbeat quickening with each step. My body begs me: reconsider. My brain warns me: approaching danger. My flight or fight response blares.
It is that frightening time again, about 6:30 p.m., also known as dinner time at the Marketplace. It is a time I have grown to dread and attempted to avoid, by means of too many Cooler hamburgers and inadequate dorm dinners consisting of Top Ramen, or granola bars.
When I’ve exhausted those options, however, I try my best to walk calmly. Breathe deeply. It’s just dinner. But once I open those doors separating the outside patio and inside dining room, all hope is lost. My senses are instantly overcome. A deafening chatter erupts from what seems to be every Oxy student, all here at the same exact time.
It’s not just the noise that overwhelms. The immediate smells of every food item being served. They combine into one evil aroma, which attacks quickly and mercilessly. My stomach turns. I force myself forward down the hall.
What’s waiting for me at the end is somehow even worse. Lengthy lines run through the hallway and jumble into each other. Impossibly, there are more people than in the dining room. Once again overstimulated, I nervously bumble from station to station, trying my best to avoid running into people.
The task of checking out becomes an equally disastrous event. By the time I’ve reached the front of the line, I have far more things in my hands than can be held, a result of stocking up on microwave meals, in an attempt to never return to this place or this feeling. I imagine the glares of the person behind me as I fumble for my Oxy ID. By the time I’ve finally freed, then re-swiped the card until the order is fulfilled, it’s been years.
The nightmare is somehow not over yet. I must find somewhere to enjoy this meal, this prize for my struggles. I return, reluctantly, to the dining area. Scanning each table for a friend, I lock into unintentional and awkward eye contact with a few random classmates in the process.
I finally locate my people. Sitting down to eat, I realize my appetite has been stifled by MP anxiety. I’m always too panicked to laugh at this comical paradox. In an attempt to appear normal, I chat with my friends. It’s no use. I’m hopeless to focus on anything. The overlapping conversations crowd the air around us, slowly suffocating me.
I choke down as much food as I can, as quickly as I can. I’m desperate to leave and return to peace. Somewhere I can breathe. Somewhere to calm my still fluttering heartbeat.
At first, I was ashamed of what I thought was my chronic overreaction to something so easy, so simple. I felt selfish and guilty for not relishing the gift of my meal swipes, as if my anxiety was the result of a moral failing, rather than a natural and uncontrollable response by my autonomic nervous system.
However, I have since realized, through conversations with my friends and peers, that this is not solely my affliction, and that many other students are experiencing this same “MP anxiety.” This makes sense, as approximately 37 percent of undergraduates report suffering from an anxiety disorder of some sort, which often can be triggered by circumstances of loud noise and strong smells like those created in the MP. So, how are students coping with this stress?
Maybe, like myself, they have resorted to other food sources, although this method often results in a growling stomach and lack of energy. Shockingly, eliminating one of only two accessible dining options complicates the task of feeding yourself. This realization forces students to choose between facing the MP, and all that comes with it, or having to fend for themselves, potentially fighting hunger pains in the process.
Whilst to some the decision is obvious, I still have days where I must seriously consider whether it’s worth it to consume my fourth half-cooked Cooler burger of the week (it never is, really.) Thus, I continue to attend the MP when I can tolerate it, and recommend that others do too.
The cure to MP anxiety is not quite obvious, and may not exist as a perfect solution. However, I’ve found that avoiding rush hour (particularly the 6:30 dinners) and wearing headphones when the noise becomes unbearable, can reduce the overstimulation to a more manageable dose. I also try to engage more with the MP workers, who have been nothing but kind and gracious to me, even when I take far too long to swipe my ID. I’m focusing more on how grateful I am, not just to have access to so many quality meal options (especially my beloved Wednesday stir fry), but to be able to sit down and enjoy dinner with my friends and peers. Sharing dining halls with the rest of the Oxy students, while sometimes anxiety-inducing, can still be heartwarming and I feel lucky to be at a small school where I can feel close to those around me. This gratitude has allowed me to be more accepting of my anxieties when they arise, as uncomfortable as they may be.
Maybe one day Oxy will find a more efficient way for students to avoid MP anxiety, and reduce crowds (an automated menu system perhaps?). But until then I will continue to take solace in the fact that I’m not alone in this affliction, knowing that when I’m feeling overwhelmed and awkward about what line to stand in or where to sit, other members of this community are too. Despite these struggles, or whatever else we may be dealing with, we can still come together in this space. And so, I’ll continue reminding my brain and body that, regardless of these tangled thoughts and racing heart, it’s just dinner.
Contact Paige Thomas at pthomas2@oxy.edu
