Farewells

I left Oxford today, for the last time. Can't say I'll miss having to fill and then empty my room every term, but overall, it was quite sad.

It's strange to think how many of those people I'll never see again. And even if I do see them, it'll just be a brief meeting to say hello, and then we'll go our separate ways. It kind of pains me to think about the friends who are staying on at Oxford, and will continue to be friends without me there. They'll bond with each other, and I'll be elsewhere.

This summer will probably be quite a lonely one, but I hope productive in terms of recovery. I've been struggling with food lately, and I need to get on top of it asap. I cannot take my eating disorder to Russia with me. I just can't. But then at the same time, I don't want to take "unnecessary fat" with me either... It's the eternal dilemma. I don't want an eating disorder, but I do want to be thin(ner). Question is, which do I want more?

I've got about 3 good self-help books that I've started, and hopefully will finish over the summer. I've got two months to myself, which hopefully I'll survive and make the most of, rather than wallowing in loneliness. I need this time to heal.

I really find it hard to get my head around the fact that university is over. I'm ready to move on, but still, I'm used to it being my life. I'm used to being a student, not an adult working a proper job! Ok, I'll be going back into education in a year, which is comforting, but still... I'll be sad not to be living the student lifestyle, although I won't miss the work or the pressure or the exams. That, I can do without. And it's good that I have something to go to after the summer, a decent living plan that factors in both work and play. Cannot wait to be acting again, like, seriously cannot wait.

I suppose I'll be kind of reviewing my life over the next few days. Taking stock of the changes. It has yet to sink in that I'm not an Oxford student any more. I might have to change the name, or the tag, of my blog, though I don't quite feel I've escaped the clutches of Oxford yet - probably won't until I've got my results and the degree is well and truly over.

So, a sad day, but one that had to come. And I'm glad it has come. Any more time there would have been too much. I've been through a lot, and learnt a lot, and grown a lot, and now I'm ready to close that chapter of my life.

I hate exams.

That's it, pretty much. I've done 3 so far this week and I'm absolutely exhausted. Which wouldn't be a problem if I didn't have to do 5 more. Have an appointment at the hospital tomorrow which is probably a good thing. It's difficult to tell whether I would be feeling suicidal without exams, but the fact that they're happening now feels like exceptionally bad timing. Like, I'm just not ready to go through something else. I've had to put up with so much, and I feel like I've run out of ability to cope. Suicide has never felt so logical. I read somewhere that suicide isn't a choice - it happens when the things you have to cope with outbalance the ways you have to cope. I feel like I'm in that place right now.

Ok, so technically I'm not supposed to be worrying about what grade I get. But I can't help thinking about it. I can't help thinking "I ought to be getting a 2.i, and everyone is expecting me to" - the more people tell me they think I can do it, the more people I feel I'm at risk of disappointing. I don't want to be reassured I'll get good grades. I want to be reassured that it doesn't matter, because if aiming for a 2.i is making me feel like I want to kill myself, then it clearly isn't worth it. I get why people want to try and tell me they think I'll do well, but that's so not the point. My parents have been texting me wishing me good luck and saying that I know my stuff, and I appreciate the sentiment, but I wish they would understand that it's not about how well I do any more. It's about whether I can survive until 12:30 on June 10th, simple as. And it doesn't look especially likely at the moment. The pressure is too much. And everyone telling me they think I can get a 2.i just increases the pressure, because it obliges me to try and live up to that expectation. And on top of that, it implies that getting a 2.i is important; you'll be happy if you get one, right? No, I'll be fucking happy if I'm still alive by the time results come out. I wish people would stop having expectations of me full stop. I can't handle them. It's like, stop telling me you think I'll be fine and LISTEN to the fact that I'm not. Because I'm not worried about whether I get a 2.i. I'm worried about whether I can survive the pressure to. And that pressure is not relieved by people telling me I'll get it, thereby reinforcing its importance - it's relieved by people saying you know what, fuck results, let's just focus on staying alive. That's the level I'm operating on here. Why is everyone refusing to see that?

Gargh. No wonder suicide is foremost in my mind.