a breaking heartbeat is a broken heart

Two years ago I was preparing myself to start a new adventure at university. At the time I was super excited, looking forward to a new chapter, a new found sense of independence, and just the general ‘uni experience’ everyone talks about.

Freshers was a little disappointing, but I thought I’ll brush it off and make the rest of the year count. I threw myself into my course work and kind of got into a routine.

I soon realised I probably wasn’t experiencing the same 'uni experience’ everyone talked about. I wasn’t enjoying living with my flat mates. I wasn’t going out every night getting drunk off my face and missing lectures. But I realised I wasn’t because I wasn’t going to waste a year of my life, and £9000 to do that. I was going to make the most of my course and experience learning from experienced lecturers of psychology - my dream subject. Maybe not a traditional view of going to a uni that isn’t a Russel group, that was how I was going to make my 'uni experience’.

We signed for our house for second year and I actually finished first year on a high, I was happy with the people I surrounded myself with, glad I was getting out of my flat and rid of those housemates you just wish you hadn’t ended up living with, and finished with a high 2.1 - probably one of my greatest achievements seeing as I did considerably bad in my A-Levels and had some disappointments at GCSE - my whole life before I started uni.

Going into second year I was excited for more hard work to come, living in a flat and not halls, and having even more freedom now I knew what I was doing. Little did I know second year was probably going to be one of the toughest, and more degrading year of my life.

First off, the work flow was great. My first couple of assessments went well, but when it came to the end of first term, that’s when I noticed things were going downhill. I really wasn’t enjoying the company of those I was living with, I essentially moved into a flat with 3 other girls based off a friendship with one of them. Whom then decided she wasn’t actually going to live at uni, and was only there 1 and a half days a week for our 'most important’ lectures. I also didn’t get on well with my other to flatmates - purely a difference in lifestyle and upbringing. I’m pretty sure this led to a period of depression - unnoticed by me, but became apparent in my results of work and lack of lifestyle at uni.

I ended up coming home most weekends, and referred to myself as a 'home bird’ purely because I was far more comfortable and settled whilst at home. Not exactly the 'uni experience’ either.

Leading up to exams I had my usual breakdown about not knowing anything and coming out of my exams feeling like a failure. Little did I know I actually did fairly well in my ex,as and managed to yet again get a 2.1 overall, something I could only wish for after that first term, and believe me, j was heading in a very different direction.

Basically, I’m telling you my story because, no uni may not turn out to be how the stereotypes refer to it. Everyone has a different experience. Mine hasn’t been great, and that’s okay, because it gets better. I’m actually looking forward to going back for third year, living with different people in a new environment. In other words, if you seek to make things better they can become better. Life isn’t easy, and there’s certainly ups and downs you have to face, this has been one of mine.