Life summed up in 140 characters or less

I will check my email.
I will phone DAS.
I will talk to my tutor.
I WILL stop my brain sabotaging me.
I can do this.

I need to stop hiding.

Sunny days

First things first, I would like to apologise for the past few posts. I don't want to remove them- they are very good reflections of the space I was in when I wrote them, and ultimately they may have been a force for good.

Today has been a good day. Yesterday too. Really good days. Reason for this is probably quite simple. I finally went to the doctor's on Thursday, after a hell of a week, and, perhaps unsurprisingly, my serotonin levels are much lower than they should be. In layman's terms- I'm depressed. Hurrah.

But really, this was actually an incredibly positive experience for me. Understanding the biological reasons behind why I've been feeling the way I do made the situation much, much more manageable, and made it a lot less scary than a simple 'you're depressed, here's a counsellor' verdict would.

I'm not on any medication just yet. From the looks of things, I simply don't produce enough serotonin- certainly not as much as I used to- but I do have enough to keep me just about afloat, and my levels fluctuate from day to day; apparently there's a very good chance that I'll spend the rest of my life as a walking, talking pathetic fallacy, and cry when it rains. We haven't ruled out 'happy pills' completely - it's quite possible that especially during the winter months I might need something to boost my levels, and I'm quite all right with that. But for the moment the doctor is attempting to remove stressors and let counselling do its thing.

It's a very weird situation. It's very likely that low serotonin levels will be a fixed part of my brain chemistry for the rest of my life, and yet I'm busy talking about 'working to get better.' I don't think that I will be depressed for the rest of my life. I think generally I'm able to work with it. But 'getting better' seems a little odd. I guess I'm just working to get used to it.

I'm currently busy filling out mitigation forms trying to explain what's been going on for the past month or so. Not as much fun as you might think. But I think for now, things are going to be all right.

Rationalising unhappiness

The worst thing you can do when you're depressed is to isolate yourself, and yet trying to ask for help is one of the hardest things you can do.

I don't think that I am actually depressed, but I know that I am broken, somehow, somewhere, and that's just as bad. I don't know what's wrong. I don't understand how I've ended up here. And this makes it worse.

Talking to someone else, asking them for help - even just for a shoulder to cry on - means opening yourself up completely to them, rendering yourself entirely vulnerable. That's hard. It's really, really hard. It feels like emptying a huge skip of emotional garbage onto their unwittingly friendly heads. I would never, ever want to do that. I never want to feel emotionally reliant on someone else, not one of my friends. It would feel so presumptuous. And so any attempt to ask someone I know for help could only lead to my attempting to play down the whole thing, to laugh at myself, reject any offers of help they might make, and carry on as before. It doesn't work.

Asking someone I don't know? That means admitting that I have a very real problem. I don't have the time for counselling. I don't have the courage to look at the entirely illogical nature of my unhappiness, and I'm definitely not brave enough to admit that this is all my fault.

I am not an unhappy person. I am not depressive. I am ridiculous and foolish and a serial procrastinator, but I learned long ago to be nice to myself. Which means that the only problem that I have is that I think I have a problem.

I read somewhere that unhappiness is circular and cruel, and I think maybe it's true. I don't have a serious problem- that would be taking too much away from the real severity of full-blown depression. But I need to admit to myself that I need to tell someone.

Not the internet, though. The internet doesn't count. Too big, too faceless, too hyperactive. To whinge on the internet is to whinge to yourself. Which is why I'm using this blog post as a first step.

And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

This is not the right year to fall to pieces.

Oh, life. I assumed that with all things you got easier with practice. I seemed to have had you sussed in 2nd year. Maybe America simply broke things.

This is a poor-me rant. I don't know why. I guess because ranting about procrastination is slightly more productive than trawling the internet before panicking and running back to do work.

I have been trying to figure out why I have been less productive this year, and mostly I've settled on the fact that, with the on-campus construction causing so much disruption, there is simply no study space on campus. Everywhere is crowded. Everywhere. Even hallways. And really, I'd prefer to work in the Law Library, where I actually have access to the texts I need. I find it really hard to work at home.

The problem is that the truth of the matter (I feel) is less to do with lack of study space and more to do with my being apathetic. This term I've barely gone to lectures, I've pushed my deadlines right up to the wire (example- tonight)- I've been, well, that student. And I have no desire at all to be that student. Somewhere in my head I assume I'm still Miss Never-Misses-A-Lecture Does-All-The-Seminar-Reading. But I'm not. And I hate that. And I don't know what caused it. I don't know whether it was the lack of space in the libraries, unwillingness to adapt to change ... I wonder sometimes if it's simply not having a live-in boyfriend to keep me on my toes.

All I do know is that I've been trapped in this endless cycle for over 2 months now where I hate myself for having such a complete lack of motivation and then don't do anything about it. Where I cry over not having self-control but don't try to develop it. I gave up chocolate for Lent. That's the most I've done by way of self-discipline.

My dissertation should be typed. My essay should be planned. I should not be freaking out about workshops at the last minute. I have the time to learn. I just don't know why I'm using it.

I guess this is a plea for help, though I don't know what good it can do. It's 4th year. I should be OK to deal with life by now. I should have finally got it all worked out. What can other people do, when the problem is entirely in my head?

My life as Bristol cannot see it

I thought that after almost 4 years of University I would know want I wanted to do with my life, but it turns out that that particular legend is, in fact, entirely rumour. I know what I want to do, and it involves the warm glow of academia and government funding on tap. I know that's not going to happen easily.
I want to work in family law. I want to work small- make like the Companies Act 2006 and make small and local my idols. I want to help people, real people, want to make a change, however minute, in people's lives. I want to feel that the law is in fact there to help people.
When I went to uni, I was so idealistic, so naive. I wanted to study law, go to Europe, go to America, negotiate treaties, deal with international companies- I think I wanted to change the world, somehow.
I guess I still do, but differently. I adore corporate law. I love paper. Real people are terrifying. I could probably work in an office somewhere and make money and never deal with real life at all- but I wouldn't be happy. Whereas family law - hell, any area within a small firm - I can campagin on policy and maybe go into research, and above all work with the public. The nasty, smelly, stupid, antagonising public. And I think I would be happy. I wouldn't be making huge changes. I wouldn't be making my fortune. But I'd be using what I know, and hopefully for good.
Which is why I really need an LPC. But Bristol can't know that. Bristol need inspiring language, and 'motivation,' and all sorts of good stuff. Bristol might know that I want to work with plebs, but it wouldn't be done to actually put this into words.
Ah, Bristol. Your personal statement will be done soon.

Writings after too much coffee in a noisy library.

Is this what hell is like? My hands are shaking from too much coffee, and in a second, with a should, all is noise and sharp breaths spreading across the room.
What started it? The loud manoeuvring of trucks outside? The hushed sound of someone else's stifled laughter? A friend returned? Any which way, they seem oblivious that everyone can now hear their conversation, that one noise is not a cover for another.
Be more silent! Do not let another's failing social graces justify your own- stop the chain reaction in its path.
The truck is gone. Shouts slowly drop to whispers. Giggles swallowed, shamefaced. A phone call- French. And suddenly we all look round to judge.


----


Though in my head I always classified us together- for as a trio in public we were and are unstoppable- that I remember there was only really one time when we spoke together privately. Then it was all seriousness and earnestly and self-defence and general bitchiness- characteristics I have filed under questionable in all of us- but very clearly, also them and us, he and we- a solid group, mutual opinions, an acknowledgement of somehow being as a three, a little separate from the groups we entertained.
But maybe all that really was just me, putting an overly subjective spin on what was, in fact, just friends talking. Though I hope not.

A Little Walk About Campus

It rained today, the first proper, unending, torrential rain we've had since I've since I've been back at Exeter. It is wonderful. Campus, it seems, is deserted, lectures easily identified by long lines of umbrellas trailing from the buildings. My Trusts lecture was shockingly empty, people unable to piece together the urge to fight the wind and wander up the hill for two hours of a lecture which is unfailingly podcast.
- Which reminds me, it seems that the social norms amongst the 2nd years (to call them 3rd years is to admit my great age- the 'new generation,' perhaps) is not to leave seats as a buffer against those you don't know and instead cosy up all along the rows. Understandable in 1st week, but confusing today, with the Moot room half empty. I personally like stranger space, not only as a guard against forcing the smell of damp felt into another's face but also because it gives me somewhere to put my folder and water bottle &c. Besides which, in the space of a seat one can fit two bags and coats and scarves side by side, instead of trampling them or pushing them down to the row below. But I digress -
I like rain- proper, poetic, wholesome rain, not icy mizzle or bratish sprays- especially as a vehicle for procrastination. On Mondays I like to walk from Amory to Devonshire House to pick up a paper and a treat - today a large coffee, which I have managed to smuggle into the library. It's a nice walk up to the Great Hall, as the developments have lead to the refurbishment of the paths through the wood, which is gorgeous and peaceful and today looked like something out of a romantic fantasy. It was made even better by the sheer lack of people- even in the Ram Bar, even in Coffee Express, which is normally unapproachable from 12-2, there was a basic lack of students. Plus the Student Shop was selling the Guardian again, which made me happy.
Somehow, though, the rain doesn't appear to have scared the lawyers away- after very proudly sneaking my coffee in through the library doors, I found them all packed in chorals 3 or 4 abreast.
Rumour has it that most of these keen students are not even lawyers- the downside of the developments is that studying in the main library is effectivelyreading in a building site, which has driven many students to the serene quiet of the law library. For myself, the greatest downside of this is not only the noise but the lack of good seats. On a rainy day like this I like to sit by the window and watch. But no matter. Reading awaits- and caffeine is kicking in.