Recovery

Dear Diary

I've been trying to write this post for the last three weeks, ever since the day I handed in my dissertation.  But try as I might, I just couldn't work it out.  Something wasn't right.  No, nothing was right.  I'd lost the ability to do words.

You see, no-one told me that the hard part of finishing a degree wasn't the dissertation.  It was the recovery period that follows it.  I never thought to ask.

For months, I'd spent every evening, weekend and spare minute at lunch time thinking about my dissertation - about what I needed to write, about what the graphs and tables should look like, about how to format it, and about how to thank everyone who'd helped me with the process.  And then, all of a sudden, it was all gone.  No longer could I hide away in the library or squirreled away in my sofa-nest of blankets and journal articles.  I was expected to return to the world as a "normal" person, to be able to pick up where I left off - a time when I couldn't use my dissertation as an excuse for being permanently exhausted and just a little bit distracted.

The problem was, I'd forgotten what that was like.  Without warning, an empty space had appeared and "free time" had reared its ugly head. 

"Free time" and I don't really get on very well.  I don't trust it and I don't know what to do with it.  I live in constant fear that I've forgotten to do something, and that someone is going to come looking for it, forcing me to find an excuse for not doing it.

So the past three weeks have been just a bit empty.  I guess the reason I've avoided blogging is because I didn't want to have to tell you that, actually, I was feeling a bit crap. 

I spent a lovely three days "doing the Festival" with a friend from school (yes, I'm very aware that I promised you reviews and observations of the Fringe, and that hasn't happened.  They'll come, eventually), and it was great to have her here.  But apart from that, I've just been a bit lost.

While I was busy avoiding real life, I failed to notice was that the elephants in my head were secretly growing, hiding being my dissertation getting ready to pounce when I least expected it.  Have you ever seen an elephant pounce?  I understand they're generally not known for the element of surprise, but the elephants in my head are different.  They're sneaky.

To cut a long story short, the "lost" became "miserable", which became "depressed".  Although I still see myself as "having depression", I've not been "depressed" for ages.  So when I realised that was how I was feeling, it hit me a lot harder than before.  The problem with discovering emotions is that I now feel stuff, and that can hurt.

The hurting, as the result of thinking, as the result of not having a distraction any more, all came to a head two weeks ago - a Saturday.  I spent the day at a training session for Girlguiding Trainers, up in Stirling.  On the way home, I began to think.  Thinking and driving can be dangerous - I found myself in Glasgow, which is definitely not on the right side of Scotland for me to be a) not concentrating, b) feeling miserable, and c) exhausted. 

As I dragged myself across the M8, I realised that I didn't want to be there.  I didn't really want to be anywhere.  And I particularly didn't want to be at home.  These new-found emotions were confusing, and I didn't know how to deal with them.  I was scared, and I needed to find a way out.

Since starting to see a counsellor, I've found ways to deal with feelings that don't involve crying and retreating into myself.  So, I looked for options.  What I came up with was possibly not the best advice for anyone feeling the same way:

1.  Talk to someone.  Find a friend - except at 6.30 on a Saturday night in the middle of August people generally have plans.  I didn't want to interrupt them.  And I was probably miserable enough without having to drag myself off to the crisis centre or to call the Samaritans and be patronised for the rest of the evening.

2.  Alcohol.  For various reasons, mostly naivety and stupidity, alcohol has get me into some pretty ridiculous situations in the past, so I don't really drink a lot.  But I do like red wine, and sometimes it just takes the edge off.

3.  Pizza.  For the record, I'm aware this sounds like a bizarre "way out", but bear in mind I'm quite severely lactose intolerant - half a dairy milk bar makes my face erupt, and you don't need (or want) to know about the other side effects. 

I found my respite in Sainsburys.  I hate supermarkets, especially on a Saturday night.  If you have nothing better to do on a Saturday night than go to Sainsburys, you need to get a new hobby.  But you can guarantee that there will at least be other people there, making it a "safe place".  And Sainsburys sells both wine and pizza.  Double win.

My poor attempt to make myself feel better by giving myself a hangover and some particularly unhappy dairy-induced-side-effects pretty much failed.  Mostly because I fell asleep after the first large glass of wine and woke up on the sofa at 3am.  As angry as I was with myself at the time ("I can't even do miserable right"), I'm glad this is the way it worked out.   

I guess what this has shown me is that life isn't always happy all the time.  Sometimes, it's spectacularly rubbish.  But learning to accept that, and being able to question why we react in the way we do, is the first  step to making it a bit less rubbish. 

I've spent the last two weeks letting myself feel rubbish, but the difference between this time and the previous ten years of feeling rubbish is that I was aware I felt rubbish, and I was aware of why.

Today, I'm done feeling rubbish.  I've had words with the elephants and they've shrunk just a little bit.  I've filled my "free time" with friends and Guiding and books and all of the other things I've neglected over the past six months (except washing up.  I'm not that desperate).  I've started eating vegetables again, and I'm looking forward to not having to do any more studying.  At least for now.

So that's my excuse for neglecting you over the past few weeks.  I'm not going to apologise for my disappearance - it's just a thing I needed to do.  But now I've stopped feeling sorry for myself and hopefully normal service will resume. 

*grins*

Rosy x

Rosy Burgess, BSc (Hons)... MSc...??

When I was 17, in my penultimate year of Higher Education, I was told I had to start applying for university.  There was no real discussion about what I wanted to do with my life, or where I wanted to go.  It had always just been assumed that I would go to university and get a degree which would get me a good job.

At 17, I had absolutely no idea.  I thought I might like to go travelling, to volunteer in Africa for a while, to explore the world.  But I was told that this wasn't an option.  That if I took a gap year, I'd be throwing away my education and would find it really hard to get back in later on.  And I accepted that.

I accepted being told that I had to go to a top twenty ranked university.  So of course I compared that list with a map, and pinpointed the six universities that were furthest away from home.  If I wasn't allowed to travel, I might as well get as far away as I could, even if it was within someone else's limitations.  Despite being told this was not a good reason for picking a university, I couldn't see any other reasons or way to decide, so this would have to do.

Long story short, I ended up getting the A and two B's in my A-levels, needed to accept a place at the University of Edinburgh (at the time ranking in the top 10; now ranking number 18).  So on 11th September 2005, I jumped in the car, my belongings in the boot, ready to head off on what people told me would be the biggest adventure of my life so far.  After getting out again to say goodbye to my family, I finally settled down for the five hour drive, with my dad, up to my new home.  Although I wasn't allowed to call it home.  Home was in Wales.  Edinburgh was just where I went to university.

Fast forward four years to June 2009.  I had survived first year - depression, anorexia, only just scraped through exams, didn't really know anyone I felt comfortable with; Second year - got promoted to Bar Supervisor, met some people I'm still friends with, just about scraped through exams; Third year - moved in with an awesome flat-mate, got promoted again, felt more comfortable around people, met the boy who is still my boyfriend, did slightly better in exams; Fourth year - moved house again, realised I hated being outside (a problem for someone doing an Ecology degree, which I was), messed up my dissertation and final exams (apparently slating the subject you are studying in your final exam is generally frowned upon), graduated with a 2.2, knew I never wanted to see trees or grass ever again. 

Basically, looking back, I'm about 98% certain my undergraduate degree was a complete waste of time. 

So when I decided in August 2011 that I was going to take on an MSc, I was determined this time to do better.  I'm not stupid, I could totally get a distinction.  And this time it was on my terms.  None of this top-twenty rated nonsense.  I wanted to go somewhere where I felt like a real person, where tutors knew my name and I wasn't just a statistic.  I also wanted to go somewhere I knew had a good reputation for the course I wanted to study.  And this is how I ended up at Edinburgh Napier University (currently ranking at number 98 in the UK, if you really care).

Today, I have become a lot more realistic about my own abilities and my expectation of myself.  Ok, maybe I could have got a distinction.  If I hadn't been working full time, been to the UN HQ in New York to represent WAGGGS, been battling major depression and the resultant months of counselling...  So now I'm not expecting a distinction.  Infact, even if I only just scrape a pass it will be enough (as long as I get more than the 53% I got for my undergraduate dissertation).  Knowing that I made the decision to come back to studying, at a time in my life knowing it wouldn't be great, and that I stuck with it, that is enough.  Having a Masters degree is something I never thought four years ago that I would ever achieve.  So to have come through it so spectuacularly (I'm thinking a bit like a bull in a china shop) is a huge achievement.

And this time round, it doesn't matter that I know I don't want to work in the field relating to my degree.  That's almost not the point.  I survived, I don't feel guilty and I have a job.  And soon, hopefully, I will be able to call myself Rosy Burgess, BSc (Hons), MSc.  If I want to.  Which I don't.  

I do still want to go travelling though.

--
NB.  There's nothing wrong with the University of Edinburgh.  I am really proud to have studied there and to be part of the alumni.  I just prefer Napier. 

Rosy's Guide to Surviving University

Or:  how not to set yourself up for failure.

So, with 12 hours to go until the first 7,000 words of my dissertation are due to be submitted, I've spent the last 3 hours sitting on my sofa catching up on yesterday's TV.  Why, you ask, with a deadline looming?

Well, I'm not entirely sure I believe it myself, but...  IT'S WRITTEN!  7698 words (I love the 10% rule) - DONE.  I don't think I have ever ever been in this situation.  Ever.  Yes, I've spent every day for the last ten days dragging my bum to the library and splashing words out left, right and centre;  I never want to see a Business Research Methods text book again, and if anyone says the word "engagement" to me this week, I will cry.  But it's done, which means I can spend this evening watching The Voice in peace.

Which brings me on to the topic of this post.  University.

The last dissertation I wrote was a total disaster.  I totally and utterly screwed up my undergrad degree.  I came bottom of my class (actually bottom;  I was the only person to not get a 2:1).  To go from being a straight A student all the way through school, to the class dunce was a massive achievement.  No, wait.  Failure.  Yup.

So now, four years on, to be nearing the end of a Masters degree with the potential to do a PhD, I'm just about ready to start forgiving myself for completely messing up first time round. 

I know some of the people who read my blog are current students, or are maybe thinking about going to study, either for the first time or again, so here is my advice.  In particular, I know there is at least one person reading this who should be revising for exams...  You know who you are...

You can take it or leave it, I won't be offended, but here is my guide to surviving university.

1.  Listen to YOU - you are the only person who knows what you want to do.  People can tell you what they think you should do, but that doesn't mean it's right for you.  Be it choosing a university, choosing a course, choosing a flat or choosing which clubs to join (or not), acknowledge other people's suggestions, but listen to what you want to do.  I didn't, and eight years after leaving school I'm frantically trying to catch up.

2.  Travel  - if you want to travel, do it.  Now is the time to go and explore the world.  Those long summer breaks students get (from about May through to September - I really miss those...) - actually use them!  I literally didn't stop working from October 2005 until I left my job a month ago, and although the money was great, I never actually had time to spend it until I graduated and discovered the wonderful world of bills and council tax.  Bye bye savings. 

3.  Eat - I don't mean eat fancy food or eat out every day, I mean just eat.  I didn't, and by the the middle of my first year at uni I was surviving on half a piece of toast and an apple a day.  The day I realised I was anorexic I was sitting at the top of a mountain, on my own, in the Scottish Highlands, having forced myself to eat half a bar of chocolate for the first time in six months, just so I would have the energy to get there. 

4.  Find the Library - don't wait until three months until the end of your final year - all the good seats will have gone.  I have a massive bit of a fear of books (too much knowledge, not enough brain power, aaargh!) so I think I used the library maybe three times the whole time I was an undergraduate student.  Maybe that's where I fell down...

5.  Read your notes - it took me until about two months ago, right before the end of my Masters degree to realise that lecturers actually aren't out to get you.  They do actually want you to pass.  Huh!  So when they set you essay questions or exam questions or homework questions, they've probably already told you the answer, to some extent at least.  All you need to do is actually look at that pile of lecture slides you've been doodling all over for the last three hours.  Genius!  (NB.  You may have to put in a bit more effort than that to actually pass, but it's a good starting point...)

6.  Ask questions - as an undergrad student, I always assumed that Lecturers and tutors were experts in everything, and everything they told you was gospel.  Turns out, nope, they're actually human too.  And they get it wrong sometimes.  AND they generally don't mind if you ask them questions.  Just make sure it's relevant and it isn't something they just said while you were busy doodling/ texting your mum/ boyfriend/ dog.

7. Check deadlines - As Douglas Adams said, "I like deadlines.  I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by".  I'm pretty sure he was talking about me when he said this.  But as true as it may be, don't leave it until the last minute.  A degree is not worth that much stress! 

8.  Meet people - I can pretty much guarantee you will never see most of the people you meet in Freshers Week ever again.  So join societies/ sports clubs/ volunteer/ get a job...  whatever - just go and meet some people.  There are some crazy, super, awesome people in universities, waiting to be your friend.  You just have to go and look for them!

9.  Do stuff - this is basically me trying to tell you not to spend your whole life at uni studying, and equally don't spend your whole life in the pub.  I tried both.  Clearly neither worked.  Just go out and explore - see the city you live in outside of student-central, you might just fall in love with it!  (And if you don't, it's ok - you'll be leaving before you know it!)

10.  Relax - just chill out.  It'll be fine.  And if it's not, smile, meditate, go for a walk, scream, punch something, drink tea and eat cake.  Whatever you need to do, do it.  As a wise person I know likes to say, it'll be ok in the end.  If it's not ok, it's not the end.

My Graduation Day

You know what?  So what I messed up?  I still graduated.  I still came away from four years with a piece of paper that says I went to University.  I got to spend an awesome (but really really hot) day surrounded by my friends and family, and then walk away at the end knowing I'd survived.  That'll do. 

That'll do.