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Why 2015 was a terrible year for me

Funny thing is, a lot of people I have talked to have said to me that 2015 was not their year either. That it was filled to the brim with mishaps and regrets and they just hated the year in general.

2015 was a rubbish year for me.

It’s probably why I’ve been so pessimistic for the last few months. I can’t even say realistic anymore like I used to, I’ve just been marinating in plain old pessimism. And it has got to stop, but first of all, I’ve just got to get a lot off my chest before I am able to move on from it.

First off, at the beginning of 2015’s academic year, I found out that I didn’t get into university. Which was heart breaking for me because I have always idealised getting into university as a milestone that I must reach otherwise I amounted to nothing. So, you can understand the heartbreak, right? But then, a university actually called me up and told me they could offer me place.

And this is something I haven’t really told anyone because what I did next was just… Unthinkable.

I refused the offer.

And I know, I know how silly that may seem given the obvious heart break and melancholy that had followed not being offered a place. I know that it seems unthinkable. But really, that choice was made because I actually thought about it. Was the course I picked really the right one for me? And guess what I concluded (which really should be obvious from the way this is going), I concluded no. No the course that I had thought I wanted to do, did not encompass the elements of enjoyment that I needed.

So, yes, I rejected the offer.

And that should of made me far more determined and hard working come September, but it didn’t. The damage had already been done, my depression set in motion. I was officially on the brink of destruction.

I was completely distraught from the whole situation that the thought of living became unbearable. That was, unless I found something productive with my days to do. So, I signed up to a volunteering programme in a rush without really thinking about whether it was what I wanted to do. I passed the interview, passed the training and was on my way to better things. Or, so I thought. Until I decided to leave about a week into it because it hadn’t been what I wanted to do. I didn’t like the hours, I didn’t like the challenge despite loving the people and so left.

And this… this had set me back about a month at this point. I was dwaddling half way through September and for some reason, not doing anything seemed to make me feel worse. So, I did what I did best, walked around the City of London that day. I walked until my feet were sore, rode bus after bus until every time I closed my eyes I saw red and listened to people’s conversations until they became a mild amusement to my spiralling thoughts.

That day was a strange one.

I was crying in the middle of the street without a care in the world. I was making plan after goddamn plan on what to do. I was planning if I wanted to go to university the next year, what steps I needed to take. If I didn’t want to do anything, what steps I needed to take.

I mean, this was mainly around the time I was seriously contemplating suicide. It had, at the time, seemed like the only viable option and I was quite frankly exhausted of putting on a smile for my friends. I was exhausted of pretending to everyone that everything was alright and I just wanted to exit this world in a quite permanent matter.

But I didn’t.

You see, the months before, I’d had a mental health assessment because I was not in too good a place in April. Because they hadn’t any spaces at the time, in true British fashion, I was put into a cue and told to wait. And, even though this was at the back of my mind, I never thought it would come to fruition because it had been months since I had last heard of them.

But I had gotten a phone call saying that they could now offer me therapy. So, I had another option. I could either live in depression for the next year and go to university, kill myself (this was something I had made a plan and set a date to) or try and get better and if I really wanted to, go to university.

I ended up choosing the third option (obviously). I changed the content of my blog so I could start writing how I felt more freely, I went to weekly therapy sessions, I got a job (that I deeply enjoy), I visited my friends in uni as to not feel as alone and I am now applying to university.

I should place a disclaimer right here, right now, I am not at all healed by a long shot. In fact, my allotted number of therapy sessions are coming to an end (I’m on 10 out of 12) and I actually started a club that I’m not interested in. I still have flashbacks, bouts of depression, my anxiety is a weird thing that has sky rocketed and I still go through spells of suicidal ideation. But, I am getting better.

I am getting better.

And I’ll tell you how and why in the next blog post.

Nakedstreetkid out x

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The Good Side of 2015

This year in particular has been filled to brim with equal parts of bad and good.

Like Ying and Yang or just a simple karma-like charm, I have had moments where the year has been unbearable, but also moments where the shine of the world has protruded through the ever-present darkness. So, this post is to that, to highlight all of that.

Put simply, this year has most certainly been a year of friendship.

Last December, I was in a position of fear. I was half-way through my final year of A-levels and I had just submitted my personal statement and waiting for replies. Almost not expecting any. But then, for the first time since I had gotten there, I had made a group of substantial friendships in my school. Friendships which lasted into 2015. And I know that sounds cheesy, but hear me out.

These group of friends have been life-savers in more ways than one. They have been people I have talked to, people who have expanded my mind and the world outside it. I have had friends who have had differing opinions, so different that it has shown me many different ways of living. It has shown me so many different ways to still be myself while undergoing change.

That was the former half of 2015. The latter half? Well, I got a bleeding job. Which I am over the moon about. And from that, I was able to meet all these different people who are both crazy and loving, funny and fabulous, talented and eye-opening. They have made the latter half of this year really fantastic.

But someone who has made it all the more worthwhile is my gorgeous and beautiful niece. During the former half of 2015 I feared that I may never actually see her due to custodial issues between my brother and her mother. But after much crying, many observed visits and a court case, I now have the luxury of seeing her throughout the week. And even though I have a hard time accepting that I did not go into university, if I had, I would never have been able to see my niece grow up. So, in a way, not going to university was a god send.

Overall, 2015 has been quite the year for me.

A lot has happened this year, and although some has been bad, there has also been a lot of good. And that is what matters.

That is what matters.

Have a fantastic New Years Eve and I’ll see you in 2016.

Have a good one, guys.

Nakedstreetkid out x

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The bad side of 2015

Is it just me or has 2015 just been a generally shitty year as years go?

I mean, maybe it was just the increased responsibility? Or me failing my A-levels? Or me failing to get into university? Or, the Conservative winning in the elections? Or it being the last year of Obama’s presidency? Or earthquakes, tsunamis and tornadoes happening left, right and centre? Or terrorist attacks? Or Donald Trump running for president? Or rapist getting away with rape? Children dying? Ebola? Our anti-biotic crisis? Martin Shkreli increasing the price of affordable AIDs meds by 4000%? And the world just being generally shitty.

I mean, I don’t know, but it hasn’t been good now, has it?

Study Saturdays

Brain power: 10%

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It is probably one of the most terrible feelings. To know that you need to start studying but are unable to simply because of a fear of failure.

I have started, anyway, even if it is only a page of docile notes about mapping functions. I hated every minute of it. It felt as if I was trying my best to lift a shit ton of bricks with my thoughts alone. It is what I would imagine it to feel like if I had just realised my gift for telepathy. With the unfortunate inability to be able to lift a piece of dust because of the weak muscle of in my brain. A terrible ordeal, and I can’t believe I’m going to even make myself do it again.

If anyone has any advice on motivating yourself to study independently, that would be much appreciated.

Nakedstreetkid out x