Oh, So Am I Supposed to Adult Now? How to Fresher

I am going to assume you have Facebook, and that if you do, you have had it for more than a year. If my (wild) assumptions are correct, you have probably come across your, “Memories from this day, x years ago”. Insert embarrassing selfie or irrelevant status update about the X-Factor cira 2007.  It’s a hilarious way to see how far you have come and how some things stay the same. For example, I have a tendency to go full Miley Cyrus in photos and stick my tongue out in an attempt to make my face look less awkward.

Nope...still awkward (I'm the one on right, the blonde one, circa 2015) 

Something that I didn’t post on Facebook, but happened a year ago nevertheless, was my first full blown panic attack. Stuff like this doesn’t get posted on Facebook. God forbid anyone actually vocalised struggling to fit into university, or having an anxiety disorder, or just not really coping with life. Let us all just post pictures of diners out and holidays instead,  with our rose tinted, social media experience glasses on….

I’m going to get real here, so brace yourselves for the truth you already know!

Last year, I underwent the universal, but unspoken fresher realisation. It dawned on me,during my panic attack, while laying in the fetal position outside my room in halls, that I had no fucking idea what I was doing, why I was doing it, and if I was even going to survive the rest of the year.

I realized then that I was a tiny speck of space dust in the enormous universe. My perfectionism that got me through A Levels stood no chance against the torrent of work coming my way in medical school. I left my 6th Form with 2 A* and an A at A Level. I had completed the EPQ, and got an A* in that too. I had worked a part time job for 3 years, had a car, and could quote verbatim the first series of The Mighty Boosh. I thought I was pretty damn smart and adulty.

As it turns out though, everyone at medical school has 3 A*’s (or 4, or 5 - show offs). What’s more, they have also travelled the world, had a gap year working in an orphanage, and delivered a baby while blindfolded on a hot air balloon, juggling knives (that might be hyperbole, but you get the idea).

My message to the hyperstressed, pole up my arse fresher I was last year would be;

“You are just a little fish in a big pool, and you’re no longer the smartest in the class. At best, you’re just keeping your head above the water. But that doesn’t matter, because at the end of the day, you’re probably a decent human being if you pull your head from up your arse”.

There is no real preparation for university in 6th Form or college (I can’t speak for gap year students, I was a proper baby fresher). No matter how organised or prepared you think you are, there will be a point in first term when you are neck deep in lecture notes, hungover/still drunk, and wondering why you ever thought you could do this lark.

Nowhere else in polite society is it reasonable to get 6 hours sleep over 3 days, and to have spent 50 hours of those 66 “lucid” hours drunk. This becomes a coping mechanism for many, myself included last year.

DO NOT DESPAIR! It does get better, (or you give less of a shit, either/or). You come to the conclusion that comparing yourself to other people on your course is pointless, and that the pass mark is only 53%. You no longer crave the first decile, and are more than happy to just bloody pass.

As a wise 2nd year, and someone who has been through the cogs of dealing with an anxiety disorder and perfectionism, I compiled a list of things to help the ever nervous fresher to calm the fuck down (with the insight of my fabulous friends, naturally).

1. Medicine is hard! Cut yourself some slack! Other courses do not like medics, deal with it. Yes their work is difficult too, but they don’t truly understand, just like you can’t really understand their workload. Don’t let people guilt trip you into doing more or less work than you feel you need to (unless they are an older year medic and can fill you in on the stuff likely to come up in exams, than scribe that shit in stone).  
2. You don’t have to go out every night, just because you are an “adult” and can do anything you want, doesn’t mean you should. By all means, 3 nights a week is cool, and you might as well do it while you’re 18 year old self can, but again, push back against the peer pressure! (Self pressure is real too. Accept the guilt that comes with the internal questions of, “Should I be having fun? Am I having enough fun? Is this fun? What is the correct quantifiable scale for the level of fun I am supposed to be feeling? ect......)
3. Find your squad! Once you have found your squad, anoint them with gold, and tell them daily that they are fucking princesses. Let them know how much they mean to you, and that you always have their back (not only at 2am, when you are all drunk and everyone is just the loveliest person evvvvaaaa!) . Your squad may not be the first friends you make at university, but once you have created your perfect gang, they are probably going to be your crew for life. I could write a whole other piece on how my friends have kept me sane, so I will save elaboration for another time! 
   
4. Get some non-medic hobbies and friends. It helps to keep perspective. It also helps you to remember that discussing dissection over lunch is not normal, and that your medic friends and you look proper weird when you do it at dinner. Also, having something fun to do besides study makes study time more focused and the break refreshes you.

This kind of fluffy self care stuff can easily be dismissed. A bit like the dating advice your Mum gives you. You know, the, “I don’t like the look of them, they will break your heart”(In reference to the Year 13, with a Ford Feista and an ASBO who you think is the shit.). You know deep down she is right, but you only admit it once he has cheated on you and drunk all your vodka.

Fresher year is that guy, so keep yourself safe, and don’t let anyone near your vodka.

seriously though, drinks close, but friends closer 

Why Be Anyone Else But Me? My Coming Out Story

Trigger Warning (I don’t know if I have to do this, but just a heads up) - there is swearing, mention of my suicide attempt, and hints at an abusive relationship

Why would a liberal, educated, open minded girl, surrounded by really supportive friends have any trouble coming out in 2015? I honestly do not know, but I didn’t feel able to come out, even to myself until December last year, and the age of 20.

Saying that, I never really hide my queerness that well. I’ve had a pixie cut (and at times a fully shaved head), since I was 16. I also fulfil many of the lazy stereotypes given to “dykes”. So much so, when a volunteer training programme I was working with, ran an exercise busting homosexual stereotypes, everyone looked at me, than down at the pictures they drew of the “perfect dyke”. (I was dressed in a very particular way that day granted… but to illustrate the point, I was wearing combat boots, a tight black mini skirt, a ripped vest with a half naked Bettie  Page, and my shaved hair was dyed purple….). I do not think a person’s sexuality can be presumed by their dress sense, I just happen to fall so far on one side of  the style spectrum, that I almost look like a parody of myself sometimes.       

Anyway, I digress, because even at that time, when everyone else had presumed I was gay, I was still so firmly in the closet that I was fighting Mr. Tumnus for some turkish delight.

Growing up, I had crushes on girls, and some boys too. Because when you are young a puberty hasn’t totally pummeled any sense of self you thought you had, a crush kinda feels like you can’t spend enough of this other person, and that they are really cool and make your tummy do funny knotty twisting things. There is no sexual strange stuff involved, it is just innocent.

Throughout primary school, I played princesses with my girlfriends, and made up dance routines to Hannah Montana and High School Musical songs. I also played cops and robbers with the boys, learned how to wrestle, and play basketball.I read a lot, enough to be seen as a bit weird for reading so much, but I was an only child, so most people thought I would grow out of it.  Ambitions in primary school were low, mainly to get GCSE’s and get married before your tits started to sag, or failing that, to  become a teacher or health care assistant like the majority of girls from my primary school (some managed to blag a bloke and go to university - well one that I know and we are very good friends even now).

High school was a pretty big shit storm of angst, Impulse body spray, and a constant war with these bloody hormones that kept giving me more boobs than I wanted, and making me want to kiss my best friend at the time P (not her real name obviously, that wouldn’t be fair). P wasn’t the first girl I crushed on, but she was the first one where I became acutely aware of the fact that I liked her more than a friend. I pegged this whole phenomenon down to hormones, those bloody things. They made people do all sorts of weird thing, I had read Judy Blume books, I knew that stuff was basically witchcraft.  

Around about the same time, I starting going on avatar chat gamey things….you know the ones where you make a cartoon version of yourself and then are able to chat to people without having to leave your room or put on normal people clothes (perfect for a slightly overweight girl with glasses, braces and acne that felt like a smite from God at the time - I really enjoyed my teenage years, can you tell yet).

On these sites, I could be anyone that I wanted to be. That just so happened to be a curvy, queer emo chick who was really horny and just wanted to buy the most circa 2007 goth clothes for my avatar, and have strange lesbian online avatar sex. Please bear in mind, I was still convinced that I was not gay, just experimenting, I couldn’t be gay, could I?

My minor sexual revolution of 2007-2008 passed without me taking any real life action to getting a date with either gender, and I buckled down to my studies. I am from a little sea-side town in the south of England that’s population consists of the retired walking dead, and chavs.

I say this with the highest affection for my home town, but it’s main attractions include a Butlins, the bingo hall, and a nightclub on the pier that is so old, my mum was their 13th member. I was determined to leave my little town which Jeremy Clarkson so eloquently christened the, “skid mark of the South Coast”, and the only way I could see how to, was to go to university.

My high school was not all to friendly to anyone who was brave enough to come out whist still in the lower school (years 7-11). One boy in the year below me even transfered school due to the bullying he received following him coming out. I, however held firm in the knowledge that I was not a lesbian, I just didn’t have the time to commit to a relationship at the moment. And anyway, who wants to peak in high school. I was more concerned with passing my GCSE’s, than my AS levels. *sinks further back into Narnia, so far back, I can get a cup of tea off Mr and Mrs Beaver - no pun intended*

My family, on the other hand, were very concerned (bless them) by my lack of sexual interest in the opposite sex. By the time I was 17, all of my cousins were in long term relationships (lasting longer than 6 months, even my cousins who are younger than me...). My poor mother was embarrassed by her celibate studious daughter. No one really cares if you got 6 A’s at AS level if you can’t bring home a bloke to show off to the rest of your family.

Our family all live within 5 minutes of each other, so a small family gathering is at least 20 (including partners, kids, and dogs). Unfortunately, by the time you turn 17, it is unacceptable to bring a book to such family gatherings in lieu of a significant other, and you therefore have to interact with your loved ones.  

My Mum found the perfect solution to her odd daughter’s lack of lip locking. On my cousin A’s 18th birthday, my industrious mother bribed A’s boyfriends mate to kiss me (lucky me). To be fair, I was 17, almost 18, and like a good British teen, was sozzled off my face. The whole experience was an odd blur, which ended with him going for a smoke, me following and chatting nonsense about the tidal rivers in the local area (he had lost his car in one earlier that week, he was a real catch, bless him).

The whole thing was in front of my immediate family, and would have been more embarrassing if my other younger cousin hadn’t than vomited all over the carpet and was promptly taken home, ending the party.

Family now assured of my straightness, I went on to complete my last year on 6th form uninterrupted by such follies as boys (or girls). I had A Levels to pass and the minor inconvenience of getting into university to contend with.

That summer though,after exams, the pressure was back on. My Mum (bless her…) was deeply concerned that I was going to university a virgin (the horror!). I assured her that I was straight, I wanted the D, but I just didn’t have the time! I mean come on, I was taking 3 A Levels, working a part time job, volunteering at a hospital, and training for a half marathon! It was almost as though I was trying to distract myself from the massive crush I had on the hipster girl with the amazing eyebrows in year below.  

I did lose my virginity that summer, to a boy who was really not that nice. He was just there, and I used him as much as he used me to be fair. I knew that I would leave for university and would probably never see him again. We were both aware of the situation at the end of the day,  so it wasn’t too upsetting. My Mum could also rest easy knowing that I was just a bit of an oddball, but heterosexual (thank God), and she was still going to have grandchildren.

I did get into a good university (UCL), studying my dream course (Medicine). This was what I had worked so hard for since GCSE’s and I was off to London to have adventures, learn  lots, and possibly wear black turtleneck sweaters whilst discussing deep and important things (I never watched Hollyoaks or other youth centered TV shows, and thought university would be like when Rory went to Yale in Gilmore Girls).

My dreams were soon shattered with the realities of fresher week and after spending the night in hospital (not my proudest moment, and it made me swear off alcohol for a WHOLE 2 weeks). This time did however give me a chance to prove to myself, my new friends, and my Mum how bloody straight I was! I would make it a mission of mine to make out with as many blokes as possible in a night, often loosing count. I went from fumbled half relationship to the other until I settled with an American exchange student for 7 months.

This all sounds like a blast, but it was probably one of the crappiest parts of my short life (I am totally aware that I am only 20 now, and shit can get a lot worst in the future, but let’s just  call this the crappiest part of my life so far). I had developed anxiety like I had never known before, lost a stone and a bit in weight, and was sleeping about 3-4 hours a night. My boyfriend at the time wasn’t a bad guy, he just had a tendency to project his insecurities onto me, telling me I had to lose weight, or wear more makeup to look better (gross I know, but I was finally in a long term relationship, what my Mum had always wanted/was worried I would never find).      

During these first few months before I got myself a ‘proper boyfriend’, I was promiscuous (eww, there is nothing wrong with exploring your sexuality if it is consensual and safe, enough said), but the more sex I was having with these guys, they more empty I felt. Even just kissing them felt so vapid. I should have known then that  if the sex is really doing so little for you that you are revising for an anatomy spot test you have the next day, than you are barking up the wrong tree (I did however pass first year in the top 20% of my year, so all that disappointing sex must have been good for something!).

H (let’s call him H), had some mental health problems of his own to sort out, and when it came time for him to leave for America, he threatened to harm himself if I ever broke up with him. At this point I felt trapped and had my darkest/stupidest moment. I took 14 of the sleeping pills I used to get just get sleep on a normal night in the hope they would make it all end. They didn’t because they were over the counter herbals that you can get for £3 in Superdrug, I can laugh about it know because it is honestly one of the most pathetic cries for help ever, and looking back on it, I probably would just slap myself and tell me to “drink up fresher, you big tit”. I am also now aware of the irony of a medical student who can’t even OD properly.  

H did leave, and we did break up, he also didn’t hurt himself. Let’s just leave that story for another time.

I never left those  relationships with a clear conscience. All of them left me feeling like a complete arsehole. I didn’t really have any deep romantic feelings for the guys I was seeing. I liked them as friends, and cared about them, but that was pretty much it. Stringing them along because I was going through the motions of a what a relationship should be like felt too cruel, and left me with a lot of guilt.   

Through all of this, I still didn’t accept that I was gay! I was in a relationship with a beard for 7 months for fucks sake! (beard in this setting being a term used in the gay community to describe a person you are dating to hide your gayness)

It wasn't until 6 months later, whilst having a series of very sexy dreams about girls, and finally being so unhappy with myself, that I sat down and decided to sort this mess out.

At this time I was on anti-depressants and anti-anxiety medication. I was sleeping 9-10 hours a night (it doesn’t sound like a lot, but it was more than I have ever done in my life), and had lost motivation for my course, for looking after myself, and had generally become a fucking great bore.

I than thought fuck it. SImply as that, f-u-c-k i-t. I am gay, I fancy girls. I want to kiss and hold another lady body. I want to do NSFW things to this other lady body and I was fed up of having to keep all that inside. And you know what, since coming out, I have never felt fucking better.   

None of that really explains why I found it so difficult to accept the fact that I am a lesbian. I shows a lifetime of denial and suppression of my true feeling, but not really why I felt I had to behave in that way. One of the big reasons I stayed with the christmas presents, deep in the closet, was because I was afraid of disappointing my Mum. She was a single parent, with only one child. I was her one chance of having grandchildren (have have since explained that in a lesbian couple, there are two uteruses, and hence, I am doubling her chances). She had watched her 2 sisters raise children who were all “normal” and had settled with partners. Thier children all had proper jobs, and weren’t pissing it up in London as my grandparents put it.  

My Mum was never outright homophobic, but she expressed that she didn’t think same sex marriage should be a thing. Homophobic jokes were often passed around the dinner table at large family gatherings, which created an environment that was caustic to any kind of discussion about sexuality in a healthy way.

I, however, finally came to a breaking point where I couldn’t hold it in any more, for fear of properly losing my marbles. So, I pulled on my big girl pants and came out to anyone who would listen. I started with my beautiful, liberal friends at university, than I tested the water with a few other people on my course. Finally I got very drunk one evening and told my mum over the phone(like the great big coward that I am), that I was dating girls.

Having come out to my mum now, she is slowly adapting to the idea. I too, am still coming to terms with this new confidence I have in being myself. Not saying that I have changed my personality in any way. I, as a person, am so much more than my sexuality. I am; a vegetarian, a red wine drinker, a geology fanatic, a Mighty Boosh watching, blue haired (at the moment), book reading, running kook. The fact that I now want to drink from the hairy goblet…(one of the more PC jokes my family presented me with this Christmas) doesn’t change any of these things.

This is not some end game, I will learn new things about myself all the time, just like any other person does. Do I like dragon fruit? Will I ever overcome my fear of boats? Does green hair ever look good with red lipstick? There are so many things to learn about!

So I end this with a quote from the fabulous Judy Garland (because I love a good cliche),

“ Always be a first rate version of yourself and not a second rate version of someone else”