Cornflour

Twice now, I’ve tried to get back into the swing of uni. Twice now I’ve made it only to come crashing.

I’m going about this wrong.


 

It’s comforting, being suspended above life. Comforting, and I admit a fair bit boring, and unsettling because you know the limbo can’t last for ever. Frustrating because eventually you want to fall back into life. Frightening, because you’re not sure what that means, what life is going to look like from now on. Not that anyone ever does, any day of their lives.

Still.

The thought of going back to university and completing the MSc is scary. It’s scary because every time I feel a twinge of anxiety or uncertainty I feel the fear of relapse and I know I’ve opened up a lot on this blog but believe me I’ve kept a lot back and you’ve no idea how bad I got and how black and furious I became. I guess I’m well now, but I can’t go back to that.

The thought of leaving the course, jacking it all in – that’s a different kind of fear, cavernous, cold. I know the decision would haunt me for years after. I can’t do that. I refuse to do that, to give in.


Kids science books always give a classic kitchen experiment – mix cornflour with water. I never did it because I never had the faintest idea what cornflour was, but it sounded cool nonetheless. You end up with this glunk that responds weirdly to force. The rougher you agitate it the thicker and more intractable it becomes; treat it gently and it’s just another fluid. I always wanted to try it out but, like I say, never got the chance.


A combination of bloody minded determination – refusal to let my pinball machine mind get in the way of my life yet again – and fear of the depressive consequences should I not, will mean I keep digging at the MSc. But a stalking fear of black dogs and enchantment will always make me think twice.

The way things currently stand, return to uni means a commitment to go in every day and I have to accept I’m not up to that. Some days I can, some days I can’t, and I’m fed up of making promises I don’t keep. Rather than rushing back in, I need to take things slow, easy.

So I’ve got an appointment with disability services, to see if negotiations can be made, projects changed. Adjustments made, in DDA parlance. Where that will leave me, I don’t know. But just as I’m scared of falling and scared of failing, I’m so, so tired of not moving.



Yes, I know. It’s a visual pun. Stand down.

 

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