Friday, 24 June 2011

Depression and Me...

I failed 3 out of the 11 modules that I sat this year. We found out today. Surprisingly the medschool we're very prompt when it came to posting results, which makes a change. But yeah, I failed Cardiovascular, Renal and Brain.

And the most annoying thing? I failed each module by 4 or 5 marks. If medics followed the rest of the uni and had a pass mark set at 40% as opposed to 50% I would be sitting here with a big smile on my face.

I moped. And I cried. Then I curled up in bed for a bit. But you know what? I shouldn't be that upset. And being upset isn't going to make the situation any better.

This academic year has been the worst I've ever had. But in a very strange way it's also been one of the best. It started off all black and red but slowly it turned grey and now there's even a few hues of yellow and green. I'm making progress. For the first time in about 5 years I'm happy. I'm dealing with the problems around me, instead of pushing them away or curling up in the foetal position. I actually feel...good. I haven't felt this good in so long. I feel different. I am different.

Being diagnosed with depression was actually a good thing. It helped me realise that what I was feeling/experiencing wasn't normal. It also wasn't my fault. I didn't have to feel guilty anymore, because to a degree I couldn't help what I felt because the depression was endogenous. There was no trigger. It just was. That's a really hard idea for a lot of people to get their heads around. My mum still doesn't understand properly. I don't even think a few of my closest medic friends understand that I could be upset without a trigger.

The diagnosis opened a door. It provided me with a pathway and a light and now, here I am, 6 months after being diagnosed, feeling completely different to how I felt back in November at the height of my illness.

I've made so much progress this year. I've learnt that the most important thing in life is that you are true to yourself. You should never be ashamed for believing what you do, or partaking in the hobbies/extra-curriculum activities that you enjoy. It doesn't matter if you don't look like everyone else, if you're slightly tubbier or thinner, or dress differently. It doesn't matter what other people think about you so long as you're happy with yourself. You should be proud of your differences, because they are what make you special.

That doesn't mean that I'm cured. I never truly will be. I'm going to be on the fluoxetine for a very long time, and will probably relapse over the years. Even nowadays I still have days when all I want is to curl up in bed and cry but you know what? That's ok. Because I know that I can work through the black and the grey and see the colour on the other side of the wall.

And so back to the resits. I shouldn't be upset. I've had a terrible year. I should be happy that I don't have to resit more than 3. And it doesn't matter that I know people who have been through worse things than I have but somehow have managed to pass everything. Everyone's different. I'm different. I dealt with this year differently to how they dealt with their problems.

I also shouldn't feel ashamed. I've never had to resit anything before. I've always been top of the class. But now here I am in the 4th quartile with a summer of revision ahead of me. It doesn't matter. Academics aren’t everything, even though they may have been everything to me in the past. I defined myself by my grades. Now I don’t. Even the best doctors had to resit something at some point. We're only human. We're not genius robots who know everything about everything (as soon people may think). We're not perfect because we're not God.

I'm happy. Because now I have the strength to work through the summer and come out happier and better off on the other side. And the medschool have even acknowledged that because my August exams are being classed as 1st sits so they won't be capped at 50%. It's not like I'm missing out on anything (except Ramadam) because I didn't even have any plans for the summer.

The important thing is that I'm here, and I'm happy. And I know, with absolute certainty, that I can work through this. Depression doesn't make me a bad person. Resits don't make me a stupid person. Crying doesn't make me a weak person. They are all different aspects of me. They make me me. And I'm proud to be me.

Lexie :)

Wednesday, 8 June 2011

I got burgled and I need your help...

It doesn't make any sense. That's why I'm going to tell you exactly what happened in the hope that someone can do a Miss Marple and figure it out. I've tried. I've even gone round tapping on the walls to see if there was some way next door could be breaking in. I think I'm actually loosing it. I feel so sick.

At about 2:15 my housemate (J) and I left the house to go to the cinema to see X-Men: First Class (which was amazing but completely overshadowed now by subsequent events). The taxi was waiting outside. J put the alarm on. I saw her do it and heard it count down. I locked the door.

As we were going to the taxi the postman walked up and gave J two parcels, both of them DVDs for me ("Tangled" and "Eat, Pray, Love"). She posted them through the letterbox. I saw her do it.

When we got home at 6ish the parcels were gone.

Two of my housemates have gone home. One other one is still here. She was out when we left. She (P) got back to the house at 4ish. She said that the alarm was off and the parcels weren't there.

There was no sign of forced entry. All the windows/doors were secured. All the bedroom doors were still locked. Nothing else had been taken.

It doesn't make sense. No one has the house key. No one knows the alarm code. The landlord hadn't been by. The other two housemates hadn't been by. I went next door (both sides) and no one had seen anything. The creepy builder who was watching us when we came back and tried to see if you could fit your hand through the letterbox (you can't) claims he didn't see anything. And even if they did put their hand through the letterbox it doesn't explain why the alarm wasn't on.

Why did they take my DVDs??? Why didn't they take the TV, or the DVD player????

All year things have been going missing. Little stupid things. Like a bottle of olive oil. Some frozen fish. A chocolate bar out of a money box, but not the money. 80p from the dining room table. My USB stick went missing. I thought I had left it in the computer at uni but now I'm doubting it. We thought it was someone in the house. Now I really, really don't know. And why would you take stupid little things? It's like stealing for the sake of stealing.

Oh Gosh, I hope they don't put your full card details on Amazon invoices...

Does anyone have any thoughts or theories??????