The last week, for me, has been filled with a hundred and one events and most of them have been pretty life changing. I've been all over England bettering myself, crying, playing on my phone, reading new books, and boy, has it been a roller coaster.
Late last week I finished The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath after it was recommended to me by a friend (shoutout u changed my life for real), and it brought me to tears because it was such a powerful novel. After reading Plath's Wikipedia page, some of her poetry, and then crying at 00:30; I had a moment of reflection on what the book meant to me. I was really touched by the fact that it had sparked something within me that I haven't gotten from a book in a long, long time and it reignited my love for reading that I felt like I lost for a while. During college, although it's not actually a real excuse, I was distracted from how much I love reading and now whenever I'm in bed or sitting on the living room floor reading, I feel like I'm five years old again as I'm drawn back into the same place I used to escape to whenever I pick up a book. Since finishing The Bell Jar, I now carry Picnic At Hanging Rock around in my handbag so I always have something to do on my forty five minute journey up to Newcastle.
On the topic of metro journeys to Newcastle, after reading Ashton Irwin's touching tweets about depression, and finding out that a) the celebrity man I should hook up with is Chris Pratt (score) and b) Harry Styles and I are meant to be (thanks Buzzfeed) - I was halfway to Newcastle to meet my friend who was also on holiday up north, when I saw THE cutest puppy you will ever see in your life. I was frantically exchanging block caps messages with my friend waiting for me and praying for my 4G to kick in so my Snapchat of the little pup would send. Whenever the metro train came to an abrupt stop at each station, the black Labrador pup would slide a little bit down the aisle in the carrige until its owner pulled it back closer to her feet. It was the most adorable little dog I've ever laid eyes on and I'm not even a big dog person.
After pulling up in Newcastle and gulping down a large tea in Starbucks, I gritted my teeth and went a got another two tattoos. I was crapping my pants to be perfectly honest and how casual and laid back the tattoo artist was, made me so confused until I looked to my side to see my friend just as baffled. I got two tattoos; the first was a small venn diagram, and the second was "BETTER THAN WORDS" both on the top of my left arm.
me faking being confident pre-tattooing
me being sterilised and tattooed whilst contorting my wrist to avoid molesting the tattoo artist
Contrary to popular belief, getting a tattoo doesn't hurt so bad once you sit there for a while. The initial pain is like the heat you feel right on your skin when you get a proper nasty scratch, you know the kind that look like they're about to draw blood. But once you've sent some texts going "yah im getting a tattoo" "yes im in the chair right now" to your friends, and checked Twitter to satisfy your FOMO, it's pretty much over. Obviously this is all dependant upon what you're getting tattooed and where you get it done (lol iya Kati how're your ribs), but my experience wasn't so bad!
this is me all wrapped up having my post-tattoo camomile tea building up to calling my mum and telling her what I'd done
these are the finished tattoos when I took the wrap off and before they started to heal
But my roller coaster of a week did not end there, no way, it was only Monday so the week was only getting started. I filled in Tuesday with prodding around my new tattoos, Wednesday with a nice five hour car journey home and pre-results Wetherspoons (pasta alfredo, chips, and those chocolate sundaes are a dream combination), and then the dreaded results day rolled around on Thursday.
I'd checked UCAS track that morning and felt my heart drop into the pit of my stomach when I read that I'd not gotten into my first choice or my insurance choice and was now entered into clearing. I drove to school feeling miserable, picked up my results envelope, and stomped upstairs to the resources room to start going through clearing. The night before I'd seen a few courses on the clearing search I'd liked so I called all SIX of them first only to be rejected by them all. So then I called some universities that my friends rated that I'd never considered and had those doors slammed in my face too. I also called a few other universities begging for a spot only to be turned away again and again. At this point I was ready to take a stroll out the first floor window and onto the concrete slabs below - it could not have been going worse. There were tears and consoling hugs from friends, and when others in clearing secured their offers and had left college to go home, I was really giving up hope. I considered giving up on the idea of university all together until one of the members of staff at college came over to me with a guide in some book with a list of universities that may take me with my grades. I spotted Manchester Metropolitan University (MMU) on the list and, considering The University of Manchester was my firm choice, it made sense for me to apply to the second university in the city. I checked on the clearing search and was amazed to find that they had spaces on a few different courses that I'd be interested in taking. So I called up and they took some of my details and told me they'd call me back. By now I was feeling a bit more optimistic and was happy to not have had them turn me away straight away like the zillion universities I'd called earlier. Eventually they got back to me and offered me a place which I was thrilled with and I could finally breathe after three long, torturous hours in clearing.
So the moral of my story is, you can be in clearing and literally reach rock bottom and feel like there is no hope for you ever again and that there was no point in ever going to school because your entire academic career had built up to nothing - but hold on! I was able to join the thousands of other eighteen year olds out celebrating university places in their local pubs and clubs where twelve hours earlier I was ready to sign up to resit all my alevels. In the car on my way home from college, I received so many messages from friends telling me not to worry because I'd gotten through the worst thing that could've possibly happened and it really was comforting. The importance of having real friends around you is something I cannot stress enough or ever put into words. But if you're reading this, and you know who you are, from the bottom of my heart - thank you. I particularly remember a close, close friend grabbing me in a crowded bar whispering "I'm so proud of you" in my ear at 1:30 that night.
So after my eventful week I can well and truly say that I have ridden the roller coaster of life and come out the other side with all my limbs intact and a university place with my name written on it. Although I wouldn't wish that much stress and worry upon anyone, I hope that if this ever happens to any of you pre-uni kids that you'll have read this and know that there is light at the end of the tunnel even when it feels like Thatcher's closed your very own mine of education. This time last week, I was without a place at university, tattooless anywhere above my ankles, and unaware of which celebrity I was destined to marry - but now I am none of those things and on top of ALL that I cut my hair short and I absolutely love it.
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