I remember as an undergrad I used to go through a similar process. I'd get partway through the semester, my credit load at the max or teetering over the limit, working, volunteering, cooking, tutoring, playing rugby (!), auditioning. I considered myself somewhat invincible and seemed to succeed at whatever I put my mind to. I'd finish my midterms in one last puff of exertion, and then, come that one week break, I'd have cloistered myself in my dorm room, slowly slitting away at my arms or my legs just to gain some temporary relief, meanwhile planning my demise.
I can remember talking to my brilliant and ridiculously hardworking close friend, how she insisted that I see a psychotherapist (after all, she does, and it helped her). I'd wonder if something was actually wrong. Something seemed cripplingly wrong. It would take all my energy just to look up a few therapists, leave a few messages. Most of the time I lost my courage by the time I listened to their voicemail messages.
By the time I heard back from anyone, everything was fine. Everything was absolutely fine. It really was. I had of course, wondered what had possessed me before, to feel the way that I did, but classes had resumed. It was over now, and I didn't need help. Maybe I was just one of those people who needed to be busy to be comfortable.
I think I went through this process (of seeking and then dismissing the need for psychotherapy) at least five times. When I think about it now, it's sort of stunning that I never noticed this sort of classic pattern, but here I am, once again craving some independence, feeling just fine.