I’m sat here forcing myself to write.
I’m not ok. I’m not alright. I’m not safe. But I’m not alone; I know I’m not alone. I just can’t talk to anyone who has any connection with the university, which sucks as that’s a lot of my support network. But hey, that’s not for my sake. I had a pretty honest conversation with a very good friend last night and it’s kind of a fact that my worsening mental health is in a pretty direct correlation with the stress that’s being caused by fainting first year and how she’s going about treating people around her. I’ve forgotten her pseudonym, I don’t know why I do them, I always forget. But anyway, that was pointed out and I can hardly deny it.
The whole thing’s been tearing my inside out; it’s too similar to me, far too similar. Epilepsy, MS, Spina Bifida, I could deal with that, but I can’t deal with something that’s identical to me. Pretty poor show for a lifeguard: I need to be able to deal with anything that could be thrown at me when I’m back on the sand. It’s not just the physical things though, it’s the way she acts; she blames us when we call campus security to help us even though she agreed to that on her plan, when we had to take her to hospital she despised us for that. Then there’s deliberately hiding things we need to know, and she’s still also very highly dependent on our friend who basically had a meltdown on the hospital night even though we had to talk to her to warn her about the effect it was having.
But this is why I can’t tell my support networks in the university, not yet anyway: because it’s being flared up by another student. If I tell them that, then the hammer’s going to come down on both of us like a tonne of bricks. Don’t get me wrong, if it gets to the point where I’m in a dangerous place I’m going straight to them and I’m telling the truth, I’m not repeating last year at any cost. But we’ve given her chances, so many chances, and it’s making everything worse.
I need to stop talking about this really, but what else is this blog for? Venting. I can’t anywhere else, so here is my spot. My little graffiti wall.
But I’m getting desperate. I have bad days and good days, but it’s heading down; the bad days are worse and the good days are gloomier. I have four weeks now, four weeks to get myself together, do my next essay to a half-way decent standard, and to get my jumble of a mind into some sort of order. I said last night, if next term is anything like this one, it’ll be two weeks before I snap properly.
I can’t let that happen again.