This was scrawled on the walls of a toilet cubicle in the Sackler library, along with other sentiments of 'Oxford broke me inside so many times' and 'there is something so beautiful and so terrifying' about this city and this institution. My feelings of this week felt sort of heard.
It is so deeply impossible to explain the paradox of hatred and adoration I have for this place and how both punitive and exhilarating it is.
I love it, and have loved every second of it and what it means and how at home I feel, and know if I had a choice, I would never leave. But so many parts of me just want it to stop, so I can catch a breather.
You get so ridiculously caught up in it, and the intoxication to work a little harder, read a little longer, sleep a little less is so palpable. Only when I look beyond this bubble do I see how intense and destructive it is. That most people aren't expected to work 40 hour weeks, and don't feel burdened by the pressure of everyone else seemingly working all the time. That most unis don't place their crippling mental health crises in the hands of students. That it actually isn't healthy to get up at 6, and have 6 hours sleep, and never be able to catch a break because if you do, you'll fall behind.
But all of this seems so normal and so necessary and so important because it's what everyone else is doing. The entire culture is work harder, push yourself further, because you'll probably still not be enough.
And this 'not being enough' was an intense feeling this week. My tutor called me out in my class week, asking whether I had actually done the reading and reminding me that I could 'just pop in at any time with my thoughts'. Yes, I know, I thought – but why would I say anything when these seven boys are all so articulate and intelligent and confident? What would my stuttering hesitation bring to this discussion?
I've cried quite a lot about feeling stupid this week. Feeling like I'm struggling, when it seems like everyone else is thriving (another problem: stoicism), and not even being able to comprehend half of what they are saying. It's rough, man.
But, and here is the real contradiction, I can't even articulate how deeply I love it all, and how really I could just do this forever. And how, even in a pandemic, I am so happy and at peace. And how, finally, I realise the progress I have made and the things I have learned, and how I have academically developed.
I have never felt the love, or the loneliness, or the happiness, or the pride, or the anger that I feel here.
***
This was written three weeks ago, what a three weeks its been. Some decisions were made, some very difficult things were dealt with, my tutor was a queen, I cried every day for a week, and now it' the end of term. I still feel stupid and I am unfathomably exhausted but also so content lying in bed hungover knowing I finally can relax. And even if I am stupid, who cares, I'm here – I made it this far. I am excited to go home and eat proper food (not sitting in a perspex box), see my pup and avoid work for at least a day.
No comments