It’s freshers week. It’s contest weekend. Everything is happening at once. I’m already stressed out of my head.
First things first… it’s freshers week. I’m a third year. Just… how. I don’t know how I’ve gotten this far. On paper it’s ludicrous, in reality it’s nigh impossible, but I’ve done it. Cardiac and mental health aside, I’m in my final year at a Russell Group university.
Freshers also means committees! I’m librarian for one and education manager for another. Not key roles, but hey: I’m useful. Although our music folders have been misplaced by… we don’t even know, but we have no hymn books, March books or folders to put music in… yay! Stress! We’ve a temporary solution but it seems my first job will have to be drain the society funds…
Oh well, that stress aside, it’s also contest week which means practise galore. The Bolsover entertainment contest will be my first contest with my own band and I’m terrified. I’m not in the best place (I’ll explain in a bit) at the minute and the last things I’m able to do is push myself into a performing mindset.
Accidental publishing. Oops.
But I can’t do it.
The reason I’m not in the right frame of mind is crap. Absolute crap. My blood glucose levels have been really weird lately, dropping stupidly low for no reason. I’ve seen two doctors about it, both of whom have effectively said ‘Why are you here’. I’m here because I should not have BG levels that can’t be read by a metre. Anyway, the second doctor wrote a letter to the endocrinology department at the hospital and said she’ll contact me when they get back to her. I don’t think they were letters I was supposed to read.
Long story short, I’ve been accused of using my housemate’s insulin. Which is quite frankly bulls***t. Even if you take into account that it’s been happening when we were in different countries, I don’t have anything to inject with, the timescales are not right (as in I’d be with people hours before hand and have no chance to actually inject anything), and even if you ignored that… his prescription hasn’t become more frequent, he’s not asking for more… just what could I be doing?
It’s just messed me up. Something is not right and yet again the only thing people are looking at is my mental health which is ironically making it worse. I’ve decided to just give keep managing it. I’m not going to see anyone about it or say anything because it’s just… it broke me a little. I feel disjointed again. Not one of the doctors talked to me about my mental health, or asked my housemate (WHO WAS IN THE ROOM) if anything was missing… nothing. They just assumed.
It’s scared me though. I’ve asked him to keep it locked up when he’s not in just so… just so you can say there is literally no chance I could have to get any.
I’m aware this isn’t making much sense. It’s weighing down on me heavily though and I needed to get it out. Obviously housemate is aware of the situation, but… it’s not something you can share with a lot of people.