Well, that was the beginning of what was to be a horrific ordeal with a drug that should certainly have been illegal for anyone, but particularly vulnerable and weary university students. I was to discover that Ritalin is highly addictive and promotes all kinds of psychological problems, intensifies depression and contributes to anxiety and panic attacks. So my drug use did not end with my nineteenth birthday after all. For someone with a one hundred forty-eight I.Q., I was ridiculously stupid.

Ritalin was only the start of a steady downward spiral that would continue for the next two years. I had a great deal of difficulty with interpersonal relationships once the initial joy of connecting with the other students in residence wore off.

First came my utter devastation upon learning that Brad had chosen Wanda over me. He'd gone out with both of us for a period of time, and I secretly hoped that I would be the "lucky one", even though Wanda seemed somehow more settled, even-tempered and emotionally stable.

I had begun to behave a bit erratically, probably due to the Ritalin, and in an effort to calm my jangling nerves I had started drinking more frequently at our college pub, The Cock and Bull. I'd often consume at least four rye and ginger ales per night. I'd never been much of a drinker in the past, but I was beginning to enjoy the warm fuzziness that the alcohol produced. There were always students from the residence willing to spend evenings at the pub so I never lacked for company.

After Brad and Wanda began going out together, I sunk into a deep well of self-loathing and regret. I remember well the night that I discovered I had been unceremoniously dumped. Under the impression that our resident Casanova was going to take both Wanda and me to an on-campus movie, I dissolved into a puddle of misery when Brad announced that he only planned on taking Wanda.

After my initial outcry, which resembled the death scream of a mortally wounded hyena, I was totally inappropriate and immature. I followed them to the movie and sobbed loudly all through it. Poor Brad felt terrible, and in my anguish I thought that he deserved to squirm for being such a selfish, unreasonably and extremely cruel prick. Wanda chose to ignore the entire scene.

Finally, halfway through "Young Frankenstein", I felt a gentle, firm hand on my shoulder. Turning, I looked into the compassionate brown eyes of Mark. Unknown to me at the time, he was having marital problems with Reva and I suppose he felt a desperate need to reach out. Like Simon, Mark lived to help people in need, for it eased his own pain and pushed his problems into a further recess of his mind.

The two of us left the theatre and spent the next hour talking. Well, I basically cried and he murmured to me that whatever was bothering me, it would pass with time, I'd smile again and regain my previous joie de vivre.

I didn't tell him why I was so upset, for he was a close friend of Brad's and I really didn't want to put Mark in the middle of a very messy situation. He was to find out later, but thankfully didn't hold my childish behaviour against me. It would be another year before this remarkable, kind-spirited young man would leave his wife and desire a relationship with me.

I suppose I reacted so violently because, only six months previously, Charles had done exactly the same thing and it brought that sensation of self-recrimination flooding back.

Wanda had known why I was so upset and avoided much contact with me afterward. This was pretty awkward since we were roommates, so I began spending more time in the adjoining college's coffee house, which was adjacent to Founders. Word was getting around the residence that I was unusually unstable and emotionally overwrought, and I aroused some morbid curiosity as well as some revulsion.

Some of the students had seen the cross-shaped scar on my wrist, when my wide bracelet covering it slipped occasionally, and rumours circulated that I had been seriously into drugs in high school and had suffered a measure of brain damage.

The resident don, a butchy but pleasant young woman who was in charge of the girls of A House, took me aside one night and blatantly asked me if I had been selling any chemicals to any of the students. I was indignant, and replied that I had never been a dealer and would never stoop to that repulsive lifestyle. She then drilled me about my past experiences, and even wanted to look at my arms to examine them for tracks. I despised her for branding me a junkie with no morals or principles.

What was happening to me, and why was I being persecuted for doing what so many teenagers of the 1970's had done? Of course, she didn't know about the Ritalin, which was now getting completely out of hand.

I had gone from ingesting thirty milligrams per day to over a hundred twenty and still felt a desperate craving for more just to function normally. Amber had assured me that this drug was not addicting, and when I reminded her she replied casually, "Don't be a douche. I wouldn't get you into anything dangerous."

One girl I had begun hanging with was a pretty, fragile, raven-haired student named Charlotte. She was engaged to an older man named Will, and talked endlessly about him and her impending wedding.

Sylvia grew weary of this chatter very quickly, but I liked her enthusiastic nature and admired her popularity with the other kids.

She and Wanda became tight and after Wanda forgave my emotional bloodbath, the three of us would gather in Charlotte's single room, playing Olivia Newton-John albums and talking about the future.

In my characteristic, self-deprecating manner, I would tell Charlotte that she wouldn't like me so much if she knew me. She would laugh uproariously and wave her hand in a gesture of playful protest. "Don't be silly. Of course I would."

Well, this friendship would soon bite the proverbial dust, as one night my jealously of Wanda and her relationship with Brad erupted into a war of angry words. Wanda was hurt and felt crushed by the weight of my accusations, and later, feeling remorseful, I wrote her a note asking for forgiveness and explaining my hosility.

The message got misconstrued somehow, and Wanda took it as further nastiness on my part. She fled from our room, crying brokenly and told me that she didn't wish anything more to do with me.

Charlotte despised me from that moment on and wouldn't even speak to me for the rest of the year. She would only shoot furious glances in my direction.

One afternoon, I tried to explain that I hadn't meant to say anything offensive in the note, that it was supposed to speak positively of Wanda, and somehow made matters even worse. Frustrated and bewildered, I ultimately exploded at her and spat out, "Fine. You want to be a bitch about all this? Well, I don't think Brad likes you at all. He feels sorry for you because you have no backbone, no sense of dignity. You just throw yourself at him."

Suddenly, Brad stormed in and besieged me with a "conscience speech" that left me totally defeated and stinging with remorse. He said that he had tried to be fair with me, that he and a lot of the others were aware that I had "problems", but that I was basically a very nasty and vindictive human being.

Before leaving the room, Brad turned to me and said rather regretfully, "You know, Jane, you choose to be this way. You dump on people then expect them to feel sorry for you because you've had a hard life. Well, I think you need to grow up and realize that the world doesn't owe you."

I was inconsolable, crumbled on the floor, buried my head in my hands and rocked back and forth for the next hour. My universe was falling on top of me and I was drowning in despair.

Courtney stuck by me, however, sympathetic to my pitiful cause, and assured me that as my life stabilized, people would come around and forgive my transgressions. Sidney was loyal to me, as was Sylvia, and mentioned that most of those kids were "immature little brats", and therefore I wasn't missing out on anything worthwhile as far as earning their friendship was concerned.

So I began to avoid most of the Founders residents, and stayed with people who accepted me. They were somewhat different and off-centre as well: Courtney with her rather austere lifestyle and problematic past, Sylvia with her precociousness and strong sense of style, and Sidney with his homosexuality.

Courtney and I would talk into the wee hours, guzzling strong coffee and submerging ourselves in Neil Diamond's "Hot August Night" and Gallegher and Lyle. She, like myself, had no desire to become romantically entangled with anyone, as it would illicit far too much pain.

Sylvia and I worked with Sidney as he gave out flyers for the "Gay Alliance", York's homosexual and lesbian society, and I admired the fierce loyalty that Sidney felt for his cause. There was rampant homophobia on university campuses in the mid-1970's, and Laura and I were often branded "gay" for our affiliation to the Alliance. Neither of us cared; Sylvia because she wasn't the least bit concerned with image or labels, and myself for a completely different reason.

One night, Sidney and I were sitting on the floor of his room, drinking wine and listening to music as usual, when I brought up the issue which had been weighing on my mind for a very long time. Still very much confused about my sexuality, even though I had been attracted to boys, I had begun to feel a great deal of resentment and hostility toward the male of the species. Never having developed a very satisfying relationship with my father, I wondered if that could be the reason for this.

Sidney had looked at me intently and asked what exactly I had meant by that. "Well, I used to think that maybe I was, well, um, you know, gay like you. Then I thought, no, I've just had a lot of bizarre relationships with guys, nothing that's ever been particularly satisfying or lasting. Now I have all this anger toward men. And I look at someone like Rhoda, that friend of yours, with her delicate features and her gentle personality, and I get kind of, well, turned on by her. What the hell's going on with me?"

Sidney leaned forward and put his hand on my shoulder in a gesture of comfort and reassurance. "It sounds as if you might be bisexual."

I thought for a minute and then replied slowly, "Yeah, that kind of makes some sense. How does a person know that sort of thing?"

"You expose yourself to other women who feel the same way. I have a friend, Geraldine, who lives in the graduate residence. She's a lesbian, and she should probably talk to you. Are you ready?"

I was a bit hesitant, but agreed, and met Geraldine several nights later. I was surprised that she looked nothing like my preconceived notions of how a lesbian should appear. She was attractive, vibrant and very feminine.

We talked for an hour or so, and she suggested that I go to a gay bar that she knew of in the west end of the city. Geraldine had two gay friends who frequented the place and told me that she could arrange to have them escort me.

I surprised myself at how easily I accepted all of this information and was willing to follow the advice of a stranger. I suppose curiosity was a part of it and an intense desire to feel as though I belonged somewhere, and had a sense of identity.

I met Geraldine's friends downtown, where they picked me up in a red Volkswagen. I was somewhat taken aback at the driver's appearance, for she had ruggedly masculine features and wasn't the least bit attractive. Her partner was softer looking, less the stereotypical "butch".

They took me to a rather run-down building on a darkened, secluded backstreet. I was met at the front door by a woman with two Dobermans and guessed that they were there to guard the place against unwelcome intruders.

I bought a screwdriver and settled down at a table with Jill and Darlene, looking at the dimly-lit surroundings as people milled about, talking, laughing and dancing to Minnie Ripperton coming from the loudspeakers.

Jill, the tall, mannish girl, turned to Darlene and muttered discouragingly, "Well, I have my choice of a fat one, a fat one, or a fat one."

There did seem to be an inordinate disproportion of overweight women there, but I noticed some strikingly attractive ones sitting off to the side of the room. I felt a bit ill-at- ease as my eye caught sight of women looking at me and smiling coyly. This was a new experience, and it felt somewhat awkward. Was it a mistake to come here?

Just then a three-girl singing group took the dance floor and lip-synced to the Supreme's "Stop! In the Name of Love". They called themselves, "Diana Gleam and Her Impossible Dreams" and they certainly had plenty of charisma and unbridled energy. I enjoyed the performance, and after the trio left the floor and ran past the table, "Diana" pinched me on the butt.

"Lucky you", said Jill, "she thinks you're sexy." The idea didn't bother me; in fact, I felt complimented with a positive rush that even Brad hadn't ever produced. Perhaps David had been correct in his assessment of my sexuality.

Darlene taught me how to slow dance. "It's not like it is with a guy", she said smiling, There was an extra beat, not the rocking on either foot as I was accustomed.

I got picked up that night, by a sweet-faced, plump and soft- spoken girl named Bobbie. She had come to the place with a girlfriend, but left her there for me. It was a very awkward situation, because I didn't want to rebuff her attentions, but at the same time, I hated the thought of breaking a couple up. I was very much afraid of offending someone and causing trouble. I knew I was there as a kind of experiment and felt like an imposter. I wished that I hadn't gone.

It was my shyness more than any kind of reluctance to explore the possiblity of a sexual relationship with another woman. As Bobbie's car pulled up to the residence, I paused before getting out. "Um, thanks for the ride."

To my dismay, she began to cry quietly. "Hey, what's the matter?" Sitting back down, I realized that I couldn't just leave her like that.

She choked back the tears and replied brokenly, "Are you just going to leave me here like this? I thought you liked me. I left Gloria back there and everything. Did I get my signals crossed?"

I felt terrible. Something had told me that Bobbie misunderstood me when I agreed to let her drive me home. But it was late, and I had been growing uneasy being so far from the campus and surrounded by strangers.

"Bobbie, I didn't mean to give you the wrong idea. I've never been out with a girl before. I'm sort of new at this. I just need a little time to get used to it."

She seemed to brighten up a little after that. We sat and talked for an hour or so, and I ended up promising her that I'd call in a few days. But I never did. My conscience, formed from many years of a fairly religious upbringing, as well as a hefty dose of moral hypocrisy, dictated that it was wrong to love someone of the same sex. It would only bring shame and retribution upon me and my family.