I have no regrets about taking a leave of absence, none at
all. It’s something I needed to do in order to save my life, quite honestly and
literally. I physically couldn’t cope with being in that environment. I was
convinced I was making everything worse by being there, and all I could see was
bleak, dark, negative fear. There was no hope. I couldn’t see how I could
possibly carry on, and do reasonably well. My biggest fear is failure. I was
absolutely terrified that I couldn’t meet the standards expected of me. I was
terrified that I wasn’t cut out for university, that I wasn’t cut out for a
science degree and hence a science career. I was terrified I’d never reach the
end. I was terrified I’d only get a 2:2 and therefore never get a job. I was
shitting SCARED. I don’t think I’ve ever known a fear like it.
Crying my eyes out in the dark, by myself on Bournville
Green after being dumped was quite the turning point.
I spoke to everyone I needed to speak to, got the paperwork
filled out and then submitted it. It felt like such a relief! I can’t describe
how good it felt to have that weight off my shoulders. My boss from one of my
jobs was really really brilliant and understanding and I can’t thank her enough
for that. I made plans to move back in with my parents and just completely
chill the fuck out.
At the end of May, my brother and I had a massive row with
our dad, which resulted in me being cornered and threatened. I packed my bags
and left. A lady I used to work with came and rescued me, a guy I work with now
offered me his house to stay in, my sister offered use of her sofa to sleep on,
and a few people I’ve never met on twitter offered me showers, floor space and
sofas. I’ll never, ever forget the support I had that weekend. I’ll never
forget the love that was shown to me when I really needed it, and although I
didn’t use any of it, the fact that it was all offered meant and still mean so
much. Massive, huge, big, giant hugs to everyone who sent me love.
A few weeks before this incident, I started counselling. I
hate talking. I hate counselling. I hate people asking questions. I hate people
prying into my life. I hate talking about it. After the first three sessions I
spent ages talking to a friend about quitting. For some reason, I never did
quit. Week after week I returned, and cried, and had a new tension headache. I
was booked up for 16 sessions, so 16 weeks. One thing after another (me not
turning up, counsellor off on courses, me being ill, her being ill etc.) and I
only finished the 16 sessions in late November. However, one of my three aims
for this year out of uni was to get some form of treatment or therapy so I’m
proud that I sucked it up and did it, and continued to go despite me really
hating it, and I’m proud of myself for going through with it all the way and
getting to the other side. I really didn’t expect it to be useful; I was and
still am waiting for the eureka moment, but I think I’ve come to accept that
that isn’t going to happen – and I’m fine with that (also something I didn’t
think I’d ever say).
I also finished work at the end of May so was signing on,
but the job centre weren’t paying me (I still maintain that they owe me £500).
I managed to find a small job, part time, cleaning at a local pub. I figured it
would tide me over until I returned to uni in January. Minimum wage but it
meant I could pay off what I had to, and still have some pennies left over at
the end of the week. After two months, it became apparent that the people here
had no concern over their staff. I had no formal training, regarding either
health and safety, COSHH or fire. I had no PPE provided. At the end of the
second month, the other cleaner and I were buying our own toilet cleaner
because the boss kept delaying putting an order through. Things got really bad
when we had a note left for us saying we should be unblocking the urinal drains
and checking the cisterns for narcotics and needles. WHAT? I made the decision
that I couldn’t stay there anymore – it was degrading and we never got any
thanks for it. I gave my notice, did my last week and left. I was there for
three months. I can honestly say that it was the worst job I’ve ever had, and
I’ve had a few jobs! The job itself wasn’t so bad, I can deal with cleaning. It
was the people and the atmosphere and the environment. I couldn’t take it there
anymore, so I cut my losses and left.
While I had this job, I had also applied for a volunteering
placement at the Museums Collection Centre, working on behalf of Thinktank
Science Museum, as a Natural Science Volunteer. A week after starting my job I
learned that I had been accepted onto this placement! Happy times. For ten
weeks I helped to catalogue the mammals and birds collection, and it was super
fun and I’m really glad I got accepted. One of my aims for this year out was to
gain work experience in a degree-related area, and I learnt so much about
museums, how they work, how the storage facilities work, how cataloguing and
databases work. It was really good experience!
So come the end of September, I had no job, no money, no
volunteering placement, no uni course, seemingly no friends… life was.. great.
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