Ignition, It Would Seem?

It’s 4:50am and I just submitted my essay. I didn’t proofread, it probably sucks, but somehow I managed to complete it in less than 24 hours. Less than 12, actually. I started writing it at 13:30 yesterday, and at 2:30am today, after over four hours of being hopelessly distracted (and mostly hugging my chocolate labrador) I sat staring at a document that contained 1,972 words. I’d been aiming for the minimum of 1800, but I managed to figure out how to student, and almost hit the actual word count.

Now it was weird… this weird thing happened to me. Because when I was on the home straight, after taking over an hour to find a reference that I lost (don’t even ask) I looked up at the screen of my laptop, and an achievement started back at me. I wasn’t proud. I couldn’t bring myself to proof read it, I didn’t ever want to see it again. I was just thankful that I’d managed to sort of hold off the medical emergency I’d been drifting into at 21:00 as an involuntary sleep stole my consciousness for a little while. It was so pointless, that essay. I’d ended up wondering why I was bothering, why after all the perspective I had gained I was bothering with pixels on a screen that meant nothing. I hadn’t been present in the tutorial in which the essay was set so I had no idea what everyone had been told to include. I just went with my gut. And after a sleepless night and a hastily downed bottle of cider I’d drank at some point, I sat there and I looked at it and this thought popped into my head.

You did that.

I did a thing.

I.

Did.

A.

Thing. 

People on one of the biomed. group chats had been congratulating someone for completing their entire essay in 48 hours, which made me even more confused as to how no-motivation me had managed to spit out an essay on something I hadn’t even researched prior to the day before I attempted to write 2,000 words… In 8 hours. And what made it even weirder was the significance it suddenly held. Such a pointless exercise, to waste all those precious minutes writing an essay that means nothing to me now that it’s been submitted and is out of my hands… It meant something. Because for a couple of weeks I’ve been dead inside. Less than 48 hours ago I sat for hours staring at a blank screen, not even able to think about anything. And today, I filled that screen with words. I even got a little bit interested. And when I submitted the stupid thing and closed every single one of the 40-50 tabs I had open in various windows, I felt something. For the first time in what, 14 days? Or maybe more… I felt a thing. Only briefly, before my mind decided it couldn’t handle it, but I felt refreshed. University finally gave back some of what it stole.

I think a part of me thought I’d never be able to go back to university again, because I just couldn’t work and I didn’t know how my brain would ever think in that much anything ever again. On Monday I tried to do anything at all and I just couldn’t get my brain to engage. It woke up yesterday apparently on fire.

I have an appointment today with a doctor I’ve never met before about something I haven’t discussed before. I’m not fussed, I’m pretty sure it’s harmless and I’ll be told to grow up and get out. I’m going straight to London after that, back to uni, back home, back to the pressure and the isolation and the expectation to be able to fly when my feathers are still soft and fluffy and not designed for flight. I know I’ll hit rock bottom if my emotions return. I know that after my other hospital appointment tomorrow I’ll probably break down instead of starting the coursework that’s due in tomorrow afternoon (yeah, when I say no motivation I mean it, none of it even matters does it. It’s paper, at the end of the day) and attempt to cancel the one I have on Friday between lectures and my lab.

But tomorrow is the first of December. I was in a Christmas mood at the end of October – something about it being actually cold this winter and coming back to Kent made me feel all festive and kinda warm and happy. Now everything just feels like… Nothing. But it’s going to be December, and my brain will remember how to feel that warm happiness again because I don’t want to lose my Christmas this year.

This post seems to have a celebratory feel to it. That’s an accident. I’m void of all anything at this current moment so any emotion I may or may not have portrayed is probably a mistake. It’s so easy for words to be read… Wrong, I’ve learned from that. I read this, and it sounds like I’ve figured it all out and pulled myself together, like I’m not lost any more, that I’m so ok. And I really am… Not.

I really really am not. I guess I’m writing this down so that when all the feels do return, I can maybe for once re-read something I wrote properly and remember this and feel all the feels I should be feeling now – defiant, triumphant, kinda on top of the world because with no support from uni I did what everyone else did. I want to control how my brain reflects on that event, so I guess maybe that’s why there’s the most positive spin I could manage placed atop all of these words.

I should be dreading going back to London. I really don’t want to go. It feels almost like a punishment and I’m not ready for the people – people at uni, rude idiots on the tube… But Christmas in London is something I’ve never got to properly experience before, it’s always been right on my doorstep and I’ve never ventured out into London at Christmastime (my body likes to usually die right about now).

Time to go and pack my bags. I’ll probably burst into tears in response to the non-existent emotion that I should be feeling but won’t. My feet and lower legs seem to have decided to inflate and I’m currently trying to work out which organ is responsible for this fluid retention whilst listening to birds sing and all the other tiny sounds that always happen but are never heard.

Anyway. Morning, I guess.

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