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0 By Anonymous
Mental health difficulties amongst the student population are consistently on the rise, and depression amongst the 16–25 age group is at its highest prevalence in decades. So I thought I would take this opportunity to openly express my own horrific experience with higher education mental health services. Something needs to change. And it needs to change fast.
Something NEEDS to change
It’s literally taken me most of this year to come out of the other side of this, and I’m so much stronger for having experienced it. I did panic about sharing this because I thought, ‘Oooo if potential employers in the future look at this blog post I’m screwed.’ And also, I’m kind of worried my friends and family will see me differently. But that’s the stigma talking and that NEEDS to change. Soooo…
I’ve been writing something recently so that more people understand about the reality of mental health issues. I hope it goes far, but we’ll see. Through all this bad time for me I’ve FINALLY realised what I’m good at and what I want to do with my life – WRITE. So that’s one good thing at least! Enjoy my ramblings.
Anxiety
Anxiety is like that devil on your shoulder. It tells you, ‘You’re not good enough,’ ‘You’re not worthy,’ ‘Your friends hate you.’ You lose your appetite, you lose faith, you see the world in a whole other, distorted, negative perspective. Social gatherings? IMPOSSIBLE. Shopping? IMPOSSIBLE. Interviews? IMPOSSIBLE.
You cry for no reason, you shake filling in forms, you become housebound as going outside is just too much. You isolate yourself. That was the beginning of my downfall. And Babybel, you know exactly what I’m talking about, girl.
Anxiety began for me at university. 33% of students suffer from mental health issues whilst a part of the higher education system in the UK. That’s 1 in 3 – a shockingly high number. I never used to understand the mindsets of those poor Oxford students whose sad demise you’d hear about on the news, their mental health crippled by the pressure. Now I do.
I achieved A*A*A in my A levels – I was a high achiever. Within the first few weeks of university I was determined to live up to the same standard. Nothing would hold me back. This was a fresh start. If all went to plan, by the end of my degree I’d use my English skills and analytical mindset to gain a position with a top law firm in France. And I’d use my French speaking ability with an English twang to sweep a handsome Parisian man off his feet.
It was written in my year book by a certain Mr Barker that I would be the Secretary General of the UN in ten years’ time. So when I entered my room in Charles Morris Hall at Leeds University on the 16th of September 2017, I had every reason to be excited by life’s possibilities.
Ticking time bomb
Little did I know that I was a ticking time bomb. I began university all guns blazing, wanting to make lifelong friends, join the biggest and most influential societies and, most importantly, gain a degree that could get me far in life. I had no reason to believe I couldn’t achieve that – after all, I’d overcome a lot of obstacles in my life.
After I was diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy aged 2, hospitals became a part of my routine growing up, as did the challenges such a disability presented. Falling over was a daily occurrence, kids would stare, and I would be asked lots of politically incorrect questions – but I never let this hold me back. It made me ME, and by the time I reached 18 I honestly didn’t care about my disability. Disability is utterly irrelevant after all, as my fellow Cerebral Palsian Chris Badger taught me.
Even when that disability, coupled with the stress of my final A Level exams, meant that I faced death square in the face, I got up and carried on. At just 17, I was hit by a car, whose unruly driver sped off after 5 minutes of seeing me sprawled on the ground. I fractured the L1 vertebrae in my spine and was just inches from being paralysed. And yet, I survived, relatively unscathed if not a little shaken, the fracture healing nicely, with a whole new outlook on life. Life is short. You must be the best you can be.
Rose-tinted glasses
And that’s what I wanted to be at university. It was an adventure and one that I would cherish. I entered Fresher’s Week with a grin like a Cheshire Cat, being overly friendly to my super rich housemates and searching tirelessly for those lifelong friends. I organised folders, I bought many books, and watched countless YouTube videos outlining what to expect at university. And I decorated my room with your stereotypical white girl photo collage and IKEA cacti. (A posh room which I could only afford thanks to my disability – a definite perk.) On the very first week of university you could say I was looking at the next 4 years of my life through rose-tinted glasses.
I could not comprehend the jump from A level to university or the difficulties of navigating a massive campus university with a disability. The thought that a few weeks down the line my housemates would be my enemies was far from my mind. When I thought about uni, I didn’t associate it with crying every day. I didn’t ever for a moment think I would dislike my course and find my tutors pompous, unhelpful and difficult to relate to. Instead, I thought I would thrive and certainly not be struck down with mental ill-health. I had no idea I would be that 1 in 3.
Sad statistic
Freshers Week came and went. I had Freshers Flu in no time (yes, that is all too real and NASTY). For the first two weeks everything was dandy. I met course mates who seemed okay, my housemates seemed to like me and I was far too optimistic about Charles Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities. And yet, by week 7, I was a sad statistic, a university dropout.
‘How could this happen?’ I would ask myself, thinking back over every little mistake I made in those fatal 7 weeks. Well, I didn’t organise myself properly, I couldn’t read quick enough, I couldn’t keep up with the lectures, I needed a note taker. I had no time for societies, and I never quite met those like-minded people. My personal tutor was a useless old fart. Everything I did was in too much detail; mirroring the effort and learning methods I used at A level. I had no guide and I fell through the net.
I blamed it on myself. MY FAULT for not speaking up. MY FAULT for only going to one 30-minute counselling session. And it was MY FAULT for not aiming higher and going to Cambridge where this could’ve been avoided.
My fault!
You see, that’s the nature of mental illness. I held myself accountable; I put myself down. And I victimised myself, blind to the fact that I’d earned myself a place at that university, that I was as worthy of that degree as the tall, blonde-haired lad who seemed to know anything and everything about Virginia Woolf. I couldn’t see that I’d been let down by support services, targeted unfairly by my fellow housemates. In my eyes, it was black and white. I’d made mistakes, and I no longer deserved the privilege of an education – you only have one shot after all, a shot that from my perspective I’d blown.
1in4 UK Book Store:
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And that’s why I threw my education away. I wasn’t worthy, I wasn’t coping, I was drowning. If I didn’t get out soon, I would explode. By November 2nd 2017, I’d packed my bags, leaving a well-deserved note on the noticeboard for my housemates – ‘See you later motherfuckers – I’m out.’
Going home
November 3rd was an odd day. The sense of relief when I returned home lasted only a few hours. It wasn’t long before I realised anxiety follows you like a shadow. It’s worth noting that, although I know now what I was going through was a mental health issue, at the time, I was scared. I didn’t understand why I’d changed – I felt like my brain had been rewired and I wasn’t the same person.
Prior to returning home, I’d put my feelings down to simple homesickness. I missed my family and the close-knit group of friends I once had. At Leeds I felt like a needle in a haystack. So, you can imagine my panic when I realised that even in my home environment I felt different. I still cried uncontrollably, and I still couldn’t concentrate on the easiest task. Getting out of bed in the morning was the biggest chore in the world, and buses were my nemesis.
My point here being that Leeds University was my trigger – but mental health issues, once there, stick around until you fight them off like demons. I had a big challenge ahead of me.
PS #LeedsUniversity has A LOT to answer for. The mental health services are shitttteeee. Mental health difficulties amongst the student population were recently on the news. Another reason I’ve decided to share this is because the programme reported, ‘Student mental health services are failing a whole generation’ – and it couldn’t be more true. God, that needs to change.
I was struggling but pretending
Also, to my past housemates at Leeds University that are potentially reading this right now – I don’t strongly dislike you guys. But the majority of you didn’t make those seven weeks I was at university easy for me, not going to lie. And the crazy thing is you probably didn’t even realise it. ? I was pretending to be someone I’m not, to try and get along with you all, and that’s ONE factor as to why I cracked in those seven weeks. But I don’t blame you guys at all – I was just struggling.
So to everyone reading this right now – know that it DOES get better. You just have to be strong enough to fight those damn demons and you will come out on top, I promise. A few months ago I was suicidal. And now… I am completing a youth exchange European Voluntary Service Placement in Northern Italy.
My point being? Hold on in there. It does and it will get better, I promise.
Peace Out
Isabel x
UNITED STATES
UNITED KINGDOM
