University was never really an option for me, it was a given.


I had always been ambitious, driven to reach my goals.  From the minute I started school I was set on getting good grades and doing well, I was never one to play up and getting in trouble terrified me.  In year Seven I discovered the theatre, I wasn’t particularly good at acting or singing, but I loved the buzz it gave, even if I did tremble before going on stage.  As I progressed through school and I found my way a little bit more, I discovered that I loved to direct.  I would dream up musical numbers to songs whilst walking down the street and was obsessed with productions, films and theatre.  I was so driven, I mapped my life out.

At college, I studied Film, Media and Theatre and found a true passion for editing as well as theatre.  A day would just zip by whilst I edited seconds together, and I thought I had found my calling.  I did well in school and college, not amazingly but enough to secure entry into my first choice university, University of Leeds.  I had always wondered how I would cope without my Mum and my home comforts, but dreams of a new life and fun at University made me hopeful.

The only thing I hadn’t planned for was Anxiety to make an appearance.  After the holiday and the summer, I spent days fighting myself, feeling completely alone, isolated from everyone by an invisible wall.  I visited the doctors a week or so before I was due to leave to have a chat about how I was feeling, never expecting to leave with a diagnosis of Depression.  I was placed on medication, that I was told could make me feel worse before it got better and asked to refrain from drinking….

I don’t believe I truly suffer from depression, but that at that time in my life, the shock of the onslaught of anxiety drove me into a depression.  In spite of everything I like to think i’m a fairly optimistic happy go lucky girl who tries her hardest to enjoy herself.  However I took the medication obligingly, hoping that it would be the answer to my problems.

I was dropped off at my new flat by my Mum and Dad as late as possible the day before I was due to enroll.  I had been up the week before to drop off a few bits to make it feel homely when I arrived.  I popped my head round and said Hi to my new flatmates then went into my room, after my parents left I remember taking a huge breath, and then the fat hot tears starting rolling down my face.  There was nothing I could do but let them come.  I rang my Mum to beg her to pick me up, but they couldn’t I knew that.  So I thought I would face up to my new housemates.  Splashing my face with cold water and trying to paste a smile on my face I went out to meet them.  As I was chatting to them, the familiar prickling in my eyes started again, and I started sobbing.  Right there.  In front of everyone.  After a few minutes of them attempting to comfort me I retreated back into my room and to bed, hoping I was just overtired.

I remember being woken up by them all getting in from a night out around 4am, and thinking how much I hated it.  I wasn’t well, my life had been torn apart and now I now only felt completely alone, I was the odd crying girl!

My First Lecture

I met a friend from college outside the first lecture, huddled together with a hundred or so people around me, I knew what was going to happen.  My breath left me, the tears rolled, and my mind went into overdrive.  The unfamiliarity, combined with the humiliation I was constantly feeling from fighting my panic attacks, made it even harder to control them.  So I just stood there, silently crying, hating myself completely, scared that this was now who I was.  Eventually I got over it and our lecture began, luckily I sat next to a really friendly girl who had already been there a year, and I remember feeling like, maybe it would all be OK.  That lecture came and went, something thoroughly boring about how TV’s were built, and I quicky made my way home to the sanctuary of my bedroom.

I had already been home once in the ten days I had been at Uni, but I woke up on the Wednesday of my second week, and everything hit me.  I was lost, depressed, anxious and I hated every second of my life.  I rang my Mum hyperventilating down the phone to her, telling her I couldn’t do it, expecting the usual pep talk.  However she simply said ‘Come Home.’  Hearing someone give me a simple option to quit made it suddenly sink into place.  I didn’t have to be there, I could go home and get myself together, start again when I was healthier.  So I did, I grabbed a few things and got in my car making the two hour journey home.  When I got home I officially quit University.  Eleven days after starting.

So there I was jobless, dreamless and drifting.  The ambitious, driven girl of a few months ago had disappeared and been replaced by a little depressed shell.  Things could only get better right?

Speak Soon

Anxious Blonde




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