#droppingout

The same questions popped into mind over and over. What will my parents think? What will I tell my family when I get asked that stupid question, “almost done with school?” All my friends who are so motivated and are doing so god damn well in school. I know the uncomfortable feeling they’ll feel when telling me its not a big deal and a good choice because I’ll feel the same feeling telling them about my choice. And my boyfriend. My sweet sweet boyfriend who talked me through the night before my first class while I sat in bed bawling my eyes out because it didn’t feel right. He told me “smart people like you are meant for this. You are smarter than any teacher at any college.”

But I didn't go to class. I didn't even make it to the campus. I drove 45 minutes, past the campus, to a mall, sat in the parking lot, and cried.

Oh hi gentle reader,

Thanks for dropping by.

Where to begin?

First of all, an apology...

I apologise unreservedly for the name of this blog and for the premise of this blog. I have come to realise that this contemporary mindset - which was foundational to this project - that of those-who-are-injured-being-responsible-for-turning-their-victim-hood-to-the-heroes-journey-of-self-actualization is fucking bullshit.

I am writing this, by the way, from my bed. Where I have been all day. Where I was all day yesterday. Because I have been too shaken (my partner calls it "unwell") to leave the house.

This is why I think this mindset is bullshit: Not only does the ideology of victim-turned-hero shift the burden of responsibility for change on to the victims (and minimise the role of the perpetrators), it also doesn't address the massive underlying societal causes of the violence in the first place. By making it about the victims personal transformation (from squashed caterpillar to beautiful butterfly), we do not address the traumas of our contemporary society and of the violent, patriarchal, colonial, white supremacist capitalism which people pass on through their own violent, coercive and life-denying words and actions. Secondly, this mindset is bullshit because it implies that, when the victim fails to heal themselves, they have failed as a person. Failed to take control, to turn things around, to "man-up" or to "turn the other cheek", in this meritocratic society, they haven't "earned" or "deserved" it yet. What's more, there is not room in this mindset for the ongoing agony which is the traumatised brain. If, like me, you have done all the work in your power to heal (Meditate, Exercise, SSRIs, Psychotherapy, Cognitive Behavioural Therapy, Shamanic Journeying, Journalling, Self Medicating, etc) and continue to work on it daily yet still suffer, this concept of "rewriting trauma" just underscores what poor writers we are, unable to conjure a different reality. What if I am so overwhelmed and overburdened that I cannot, I have almost never been able to, imagine another reality, let alone bring one into being? I guess I'm just a shit writer and all this pain and chaos is my fault?

It's been over a year since I last posted on this blog as I've been undergoing something of a slow burning subterranean change, catalysed by a number of encounters, that is only just now starting to smoke above ground... Over the last year I have been threatened with physical violence by a stranger (white male) near my home; received a long series of uninvited, episodic attacks on my beliefs, politics and ways of life from a man who I previously believed to be a friend and ally (who then gas lighted and alienated me when I expressed my pain and anger at this behaviour); witnessed a close family member (female) be bullied, stalked, and threatened by another (older, male) family member; have been shouted at in the street while working as a personal assistant to a woman in a wheelchair (by a white, middle aged man); had to challenge gas lighting from a male family member after discovering their concealed porn addiction; been aggressively, verbally attacked (and shouted at) by a mature male (white) student while conducting a lecture; and all the while completely unsupported by the societal structures which are meant to aid us when in need. Worse, when I have sought help, support, and/or protection, I've been told no or else it's not a problem. There is something very gendered about all of this and, while it's nothing new, the frequency and the intensity of these attacks has been seriously disturbing and oftentimes frightening.

Over the last year I have been in an increasingly rapid cycle of boom and bust (where now the busts are so frequent and so heavy they virtually merge into one uninterrupted constant). All of these encounters, individually and cumulatively, have left me with burnouts, breakdowns, and the worst negative internalisation I've known since I was a kid. I've had suicidal ideations, blackouts, insomnia, fainting attacks, I've had the shakes so bad I had to sit on a pavement and wait for them to pass. I've had brain fog so heavy that I can't even make simple decisions like what pair of socks to wear or been unable to engage in even nice plans like seeing friends or listening to (and hearing) conversations on the phone. And all the time, every day, I'm working really hard to try and maintain my position as a human being, to be employed so that I can keep a roof over my head, pay for my therapy, doing daily meditations, daily exercises, journalling, eating well (or trying to), anything, everything, the hard fucking work of just keeping going. But it is too hard. I am so tired. It's been over 20 years of this shit and I am no more functional now than I was when I was a suicidal 17 year old. Worse, in many ways. I managed to pass my A levels and keep down a job then. Now, 20 years later, I drop out of every situation I am in, I spin out after even innocuous requests or suggestions, I lose the thread of every thought and 90% of my actions. Because it all gets too much. All the time. It's like living in a vortex.

Fuck it.

Fuck these patriarchal systems of inequality and oppression that bring all of this about and then fail to support those who fall out. And if you are reading this and can't recognise these systems - you're in it. I recommend you go outside - go to your local food bank or job centre, talk to people about their experiences. Go to the PIPs assessment centre nearest you, the immigration detention centre, or come and have a chat with me (don't do that, I don't want to see anyone but the cat). If you don't want to go inside, go online. Look at the statistics for child poverty in your area, for life expectancy, employment. Talk to a friend or neighbour who is not employed by their family about how it is. Look at the Extinct Ocean Animals list or UNHCR's 2022 statistics for refugees... This white, colonial, patriarchal system is sick.

Fuck it all. I am fucking done. When I can get out of this bed I'm leaving, I'm not participating anymore.

If I'm the canary, and this is the coal mine, you have been warned.

"Leaving a Task Undone," by Fernando Pessoa

When I first started University in 2018 I had fleeting thoughts of whether I was doing the right thing, did I even want to study Biomedical Science. I put it down to nerves, thinking these thoughts would go away once I had settled and got talking to fellow students, however this wasn't the case - by January I was feeling so low. A feeling I had not felt before, as though I had some kind of black cloud following my every move. The black cloud didn't lift until I decided to give up my tiny Student apartment in Camden and moved back home in April 2019. Although my lectures had finished by this point and I had sat my exams, I felt constantly worried and my anxiety would skyrocket at the smallest of things. I didn't feel myself and I was yet to admit that I was not OK.

My summer was long and much needed and after finding myself a part time job, I started to feel like myself again, I never spoke to my family about just how low I felt and they never asked but I knew they saw my better improved moods. I would occasionally have thoughts about my plan for second year. Did I really want to go back? What would I do if I didn't? What would my family think if I dropped out?Eventually the anxiety of not being able to answer those questions or form a coherent plan made the decision for me and I found myself re-enrolling for second year.

Second Year.

Over the duration of summer I had been into contact with a close uni friend and together we made the decision to find a private rented property further out from central with hopes of saving a few pennies where we could (be mindful this is london a few pennies go a long way!). We found the most beautiful apartment and I was truly looking forward to moving back to the big city - until my mind wondered to thoughts of uni and a feeling of pure dread and unease would conquere my every sensation.

It started off so well, my friend was honestly my absoute rock and if it wasn't for him I can't really tell you where I would be today. After the partying and exploring the big city (for a second time) reality set in and enrollment day rolled around. I feel as though my time spent in London was a blurr at best however I vividly remember going back to my beautiful apartment and crying raw emotion. I didn't want this, I felt so trapped, I wasn't even chasing my dreams but I truly felt as though I had no other option and no one to talk to. Looking back I think this was where I admitted to myself that I wanted out. I wanted out of London, out of University and out of existing... I wanted to go home and to be welcomed with open arms, no questions asked. The sad thing was my lectures hadn't even started yet. The class had been divided into two for size purposes and all of my close friends from first year had been placed on the opposite schedule to myself, my closest friend (the guy I was living with) had also made the decision to switch courses, therefore the vehemence experienced in first year ran deep. Those same anxieties and thoughts hit me like a bucket of ice cold water except I was a Second Year now, I didn't have the University behind me telling me it was normal to experience these feelings and should I need to talk to someone there's a variety of places, societies and people to visit.

Eventually I stopped going to my lectures altogether and the work, if it was being done at all, would consistantly be late and certainly not 100%. Pretty quickly my mind had been made up however I was yet to admit it to my peers, to the University and to my family.