So I’ve been thinking – if things hadn’t gone so wrong in the last few years, how different my life could be. I was ill before I started university, more than I care to admit or think about, and from talking to my parents (in as much as I can which isn’t a lot), it seems I was displaying weirdness before I can even really remember. I could turn this into a post about my diminishing memory which isn’t nearly as good as it used to be pre-medication, but that’s another story for another time.
So, university. I was (still am deep down I suppose) phenomenally bright. That’s not showing off, it’s not even meant to be arrogant, it’s just me. I guess something has to compensate for the general fucked-upness of my personality! I went to what is arguably the best university in the world. I made friends, had a life, enjoyed myself, fell in love and passed the first year with a very high 2.i, borderline first. I’m not going to say I didn’t have difficulties, that would be a lie, but my mind has idealised that period to being problem free.
Then somewhere something changed. I can’t remember when, I can’t remember how but my mind threw me deep into crisis. I lost pretty much everything – friends, my life, my ability. But say that hadn’t happened, let’s just pretend for a moment that everything continued as it should have. I’d never have got a first overall, I’m not that good, but I’d probably have sailed along on a 2.i. That would have done me, that’s not a failure. I’d have kept friends – right now I should have invitations to weddings and parties from friends past – had I not burned all those bridges a long time ago.
At the end of third year, I spent a summer doing an internship for BP, pretty much when I started blogging if I remember correctly, although I didn’t use this much then. This should have resulted in a job offer but it didn’t because a 2.ii isn’t enough and I couldn’t face putting myself through the MSci they wanted me to have instead. But, this is a what if post. In this reality, I’d have got into BP. I enjoyed working there – popping into London at weekends, all expenses paid nights out, even the rocks were alright. I’d have done the MSci – I had the place andI had the project all lined up.
That job would have started in September. I should now be earning £30k a year doing something I enjoy, living the high life, not worrying about battles to achieve anything. Maybe have a deposit on a house, maybe a new car. But I’m not. I’m back living at home, earning nothing. Looking for a way out but unable to find a palatable one.
I’m not sure what purpose this serves if I’m honest. I suppose it highlights that my life’s been charmed compared to the standards of a lot of people and I have no right to feel the way I do. It shows how much I’ve failed to achieve anything I had the potential for. It shows I could have been someone but I’m not.
This isn’t the whole truth of course, I’m not prepared to examine myself in the detailed required to write about that. And even if I did, it wouldn’t be much of a read. It’s just my way of denying the present and confirming to myself that I truly am as worthless as I feel.