15/05/16 – On Deliberate Cancellations and Accidental Panic Attacks

For the longest time, I didn’t know what I wanted to do. I entertained notions of writing, becoming a famous Author (as every reader does) and living the high life on my float of quirkily written, weird storied novels. I wanted to go into medicine, engineering at one point, even.

A couple of years ago, I decided the writing world was for me, and planned to study some form of writing course at a university close to home, Plymouth University, or the University of St Mark and St John, also in Plymouth.
The lower grades needed for Marjons tipped the scale and that was where I accepted my first choice of course. Back then, it didn’t really matter what uni I was at; for me, the fact that I would be studying English with Creative Writing was the focus and the side that brought me joy.

It’s not Marjon’s fault they had to cancel the English and Creative Writing course. Though I am not sure of the reason for this, I suspect it was to do with a lack of people applying, stemming from a culture that pushes people, career first, into STEM subjects and the unrelenting stigma surrounding the idea of learning for the sake of learning. That’s the world we live in, and though I am angry about that, I can’t blame anyone in particular for the scientific evolution of our society.

I love technology and the ease it brings to my life. I love that I can watch all 4 series of The Thick of It in less than 4 days, thanks to my laptop and Netflix, and I love the x-ray I can get of my teeth to make sure my wisdom teeth are growing okay. But I don’t think people should be specifically stroked into a hard on over STEM from the minute they leave the womb, prepped and stuffed into a lab coat and goggles.
Rather, I think there should be more encouragement on creative subjects (Music, Art, Drama etc) that are known to alleviate stress and promote mindfulness, lessening exam anxiety and mental illness.

(Not bitter, not bitter, I mumble to myself as I write, typing and retyping paragraphs in order to convey my complete lack of bitterness).

I’m not even angriest about that! That, in itself, is a sociological problem which I am not currently mentally equipped to deal with. No, I am angriest about my own reaction upon reading the letter: I had a panic attack.

This wasn’t the first, and, to my dismay, I’m sure it won’t be the last, but it was one of the worst.

I think this came from finally feeling like I wasn’t unlucky. Despite my disappointing grades last year, I had been accepted by two unis, and one was offering me incredibly low grades to go and study there. The open day went miraculously really well and the way the course was run and assessed suited me down to the ground.
Next thing I know, I’m hyperventilating in bed wondering what I had done wrong this time to piss off the universe so much. Was it my obsessive desire to do better at everything? Was it the need for balance, because my life had been going relatively okay for a few months and it was time I gave something good up? Was it my quiet and private bitching about someone I really didn’t like, who probably doesn’t deserve my dislike, to my twin brother?

I don’t know. I do know that it’s fucking unfair. It’s nobodies fault and it’s fucking unfair and I can’t blame anyone.

 

 

 

 

 

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