As October goes and November approaches so does graduation season and it just won’t stop playing up on my mind, how that will hopefully be me next year. All the crazy hours in the library and twenty plus hours of lectures I had a week, never missing one will finally be worth it. (Okay so.. by crazy hours I may be referring to them nights that I stayed up till closing time because I wasn’t so prepared for the exam the next day or I hadn’t exactly started that essay that’s deadline was tomorrow but “It’s all good because the departments are open until 4pm, I’ve so much time”, and so maybe I didn’t make it to every class but still.)
I guess yeah I’ll be lonesome leaving University behind. I’ll miss the taste of a chicken roll on a Friday morning (and the occasional Wednesday morning) as it tries to save me from that naggin last night while just before the last bite I get a flashback of that 3 for the price of 1 jäger deal. I’ll probably miss telling people that I don’t want to be a teacher even though I study (study is a loose term) Arts, oh and to all you current and future undergrads good luck with all the career questions… I’ve been called the next Michaelangelo numerous times as well because for some apparent reason people can’t differentiate between art and Arts. I think I’ll miss that weekend feeling of the excitement to go back home and see my dog but I won’t miss getting on a bus for three hours. I always travel with one particular friend she can be rather annoying and makes me question getting on the bus until the very last minute; I’ll tell you more about her soon.
There’s so much that I’ll miss about University, it genuinely has been one of the best experiences that I could have asked for. I had no expectations entering the gates of this place but I am happy that I did. On the rare occasion that all my friends from first year get to meet up at the same time, someone always thinks about something to make us laugh until we cry. Whether it be some drunk story from semester one of first year, a reminder of a dodgy ex or some embarrassing tale from down the underground lecture halls (because that’s where the best story unfold) it makes us really value the friendships we made all them years ago. It was wonderful making new friends that I know I’ll cherish for years after we’ve forgotten many of these appreciated memories.
Being in my final year of college, sixth year feels like years ago. So much has changed since and as cliché and all as it seems I’m a totally different person. I think I’d find it hard to relate the person I was back then, but I did keep one special friendship since that year. She’s pretty consistent, she’s always there when I’m feeling down, when I can’t sleep, when my thoughts become so dark and I feel like nobody will understand them, she can always rely on me to be there for her too. We share clothes, we’re got the same taste in almost everything but sometimes she’s so intense that I end up hating something I once loved so much. Her name is Depression, you might have met her. She’s pretty popular.
Lucky for me Depression decided University was the next step for her too and we’ve stayed living together since day one. I wasn’t here too long before we became a group of three. But this new girl made me nervous and uneasy and I felt what was left of my confidence begin to fade even more. I found out her name was Anxiety and there was many sides to her… in general she was very controlling and spent all of her time putting me down, making me overthink and question my abilities. Socially she made me keep my head down, she made me paranoid and finally she just left me sitting alone avoiding simple tasks. We mainly hang out in my bedroom because Anxiety doesn’t like socialising very much.
One day while battling with one of my “little quirks” I met an old friend, she looked so familiar but the second she stepped back into my life it was like we’d never been apart. There she stood, 5’2, brown hair, blue eyes, petite frame with freckles scattered randomly across her face. She looked closely related to my other friends anxiety and depression but most of all she looked identical to me. Her name was OCD and you could say we got the blessing of a rekindled friendship just over a year. She can be the most frustrating, the most testing but I’d never tell her that because I’m terrified of her. I often feel like I’ve lost part of myself since she came back, always second guessing myself. I don’t really like spending time with her because she often makes me come across dramatic, even something like having dinner with OCD can be difficult, a meal can’t be eaten unless there’s a certain amount of colours on the plate. It’s the little things like that, that others don’t understand about me and her.
Some days, it’s rare but it does happen, I don’t spend any time with them. That can be refreshing and deserved. Sometimes the toxic friendships become too much for me and I can’t handle them depending on the help of my other friends to pull me through. It’s in the very dark days that I have to remind myself that while they are part of my life, while they nearly reflect my face in the mirror that they are not me. I am not what they make me feel or make me do. I am certainly more worthwhile and loved than depression makes me feel. I am more capable, strong and certain than anxiety tells me. I am independent and more in control than OCD challenges me with. They are not me and I am not them, we’re just… friends.