A few months ago I didn’t think I would be in university.
This may sound odd, as I have always wanted to go. I took an extra year in sixth form to resit exams in order to go. Yet I was so ill that I didn’t think I was going to make it through the day let alone make it to university.
But here I am. I’ve made it.
When applying for university I had one criteria that I had to hit and that was that it had to be far away. I wanted to go up north, I had spent my whole childhood in the south west and I wanted a fresh start.
I applied for four universities at least 4 hours away and got offers from all. I ended up accepting the one the furthest away, this was due to the course content.
And now, I’m here.
During the month or so before uni I was excited to go, so excited.
But the week before I was suddenly filled with dread. I was panicky about going so far away (I know) and that no one would like, I wouldn’t understand things, and that the university would be horrible. I know these are usual worries, but no matter how many times I heard “you’re all in the same boat” I never felt better. My mental illness made these worries ten times worse, and I really didn’t want to go anymore.
When I arrived it was crazy, we were so busy unpacking things that I forgot about my worries. My flatmates seemed lovely, and they were, still are. The first week was one that was just all over the place, but after a few weeks I know feel pretty settled.
I’m getting there, and I’m so glad I’m here.
I made it to university.