Long time, no write, no real excuses here, except that every time I started an entry I seemed to lose confidence and interest in what I was writing and either hit the delete key or left it to finish ‘later’. As I’m finally coming to admit to myself, I’ve made rather a mess of my time at university.  | | Happier times... |
I’m not saying I expected, or even wanted the clichéd 24hour partying student lifestyle of cold pizza for breakfast and beer for dinner but I really didn’t anticipate reaching a point where I’d find myself having panic attacks at the mere thought of an essay. Recognising that I’ve become so depressed over the past two years has not been easy but it’s amazing the level of clarity you can reach when you end your second year with a major car crash. The point when I finally accepted that things needed to change can probably be traced not to the stage at which I found myself pushing the smashed windscreen glass off my forehead, or even when I saw that the entire passenger side of the car had been crushed out of shape by the tree I’d collided with - if you ever find yourself sailing off the dual carriageway and down a steep slope I advise you not to hit the accelerator! But actually, the moment when, having swept up to York to rescue me and managed to locate the lonely compound where the wreck of my precious car had been taken, my Dad missed the turning onto the motorway. Even in my concussed state I realised that a man with the kind of mind that can memorise the map of Hampton Court maze and deduce that all you need to do is keep going right, does not miss a left hand turn unless he’s genuinely shaken up. Focusing on my paid work and becoming increasingly obsessed about customers who failed to appreciate the importance of the alphabet had provided a useful distraction from how badly I was coping with both my course and life in general. Almost the hardest thing to accept has been how much I’d scared not only myself but also friends and parents. By taking on a part time job I had intended to take some of the financial pressure off them and, if we’re going all psychoanalytical here, assert my independence. Instead I feel like I’ve taken several steps backwards in the whole maturity stakes, as at the age of twenty one I find myself relying on their emotional and financial support to see me through my final year. Although I can’t help envying those students who manage to cram in part time work, a hectic social life and still achieve a first, I’m beginning to realise just how lucky I am. Despite the horrible person I’ve been over the past two years my long suffering friends and family are still willing to bear with my moans and groans and therefore whatever mark I end up with at the end of three years at York. If I can cope with the essays and exams between now and my final deadline in May I’ll be proud that I’ve survived! | "I guess you could call the car crash God’s way of forcing me to confront a set of circumstances that were gradually spiralling out of control" | |
I guess you could call the car crash God’s way of forcing me to confront a set of circumstances that were gradually spiralling out of control. The two weeks of sick leave following the crash (the longest time I’d spent at home since Easter of my first year) forced me to confront the realities of my situation. The stock ‘return to university question’ of “How was your summer?” has not been as simple to respond to as usual, as although an answer that begins with “Well apart from the car crash…” may be dramatic, it doesn’t make it any easier to confess that my main achievement was admitting the fact that I’d become seriously depressed. Veronica Isaac | 
