I don't think I've made this blog-writing enough of a habit yet. I guess when I feel like it it's usually to impart jolly posts about how much of a ray of sunshine I am (really I am, just...not for the last year). I have so many half finished posts on here I just wasn't in the mood to finish. I'd get started then FEELS and I'd have to stop writing.
There's been a running theme to my posts and my life for the last two years. From one painfully preventable, horrendously handled, catastrophically circumventable circumstance after another, it has been a year of hilarious tragedy. The volume of shit that went wrong was just amazing.
|Hahahahaha it hurts so much I can't stop laughing. Help, the pain -|
Lets go with the most blog-relevant. I failed my semester 3 exams by 0.8%.
0.8%. The pass mark was 60.8%.
|Results, you funny.|
It's not the failing I'm fussed about, seriously I'm not in the 90%-or-more committee. It's the reasons why I failed that are the source of the glass case of emotion. I won't go into them because god would we be here forever (refer to bullshit star alignments above) but I've discovered the amazing tag team that depression and anxiety can make when they join forces and you suck at fighting them. I'm in counselling, have been for quite a while now. In short I failed spectacularly at life and require professional help.
So proud. Much impressed.
Save for student support, the medical school has been nosy, bothering and smotheringly unhelpful. They're more panicked about the whole thing than I am, giving me all kinds of options like taking a week out (lol, no) or suspending studies for a year (lol, hell no). Consequently, I've gone back and forth about taking time out and decided this flip flopping is pretty much taking up any time I have to actually get my life back on track. So I'm sticking it out and hoping there's no damage the counselling can't help me handle and that the medical school backs off if I just quietly sod off and find ways to handle things.
In fairness, most of last semester and a large chunk of the start of this one were spent trying desperately to get out of bed in the morning and face life. If I did make it out of bed I'd get as far as the living room and distract myself from being in my own head for roughly 5 minutes while I decided between calling someone to cushion the inevitable breakdown or curling up on the sofa to hide and ride it out. By then I'd have missed the morning lecture and was in more shreds than I could convincingly hold together. It was no one's business at university and, to make matters worse, there were people I knew would see through it and they were the last people on Earth I wanted to realise anything was wrong. So I'd stay at home where it felt less like my guts were spilling out while I scrambled to keep people from noticing. This wasn't most days, not even some days, but it was a number of days and that's bad.
Med school became a source of feelings of not being safe. My tutor would tell me 'once you start missing things we have a problem. You can't do this at work, your patients have to come first. At the hospital you can't just take time out and you need to go and do things to help yourself. If the counselling is only keeping you where you are you have to consider whether it's a good idea to continue.' etc etc. The general gist I got was 'your studies come first, get better, do it soon, or we're going to have some problems'. I get there was probably little else she could say in fairness and I wasn't informing her because I expected support. It was just to update the med school in case they accused me of being 'unsafe as a student doctor' by not notifying relevant people in authority about any issues affecting my studies.
I think she was trying the child-scaring approach with me - frighten someone enough into 'sorting their life out' and watch them do it. Spoiler alert: this does not work on depressed people who are neither 18 years old nor impressed with your affected sympathy and are legitimately doing everything they can to stay functional most days. And if you tell them to 'sort their life out' don't be surprised when they bitchslap you into empathy. For the love of god, you wouldn't say this shit to your patients, why would you say it to your colleagues?
From then on I saw her very occasionally and out of duty to cover my ass should anything happen and the med school point a finger and say I was not doing everything I could to help myself and keep them informed.
Student support was the only place within the med school I felt remotely safe. They were more help than I will ever be able to repay.
It's weird. I'd have days where this was all very funny and I'd be pretty much berating myself for being a whiny little girl and then days (mostly counselling days) where it would be nice if life could just maybe slow down a wee bit to a possible halt please.
I'm not sure how to sign off this one so I'll just leave it hanging.