This time last year I was sat right where I am now (at the dining table in the flat, surrounded if not yet swamped by study notes, dictionaries and half drunk cups of Earl Grey). I was dressed in scruffy pyjamas, hair like a madwoman's fanny, my outward appearance generally indicative of my mental health. I'm studying for a HDip, having already got my BA and MA behind me, and for the first time in my life I was worried to the point of distraction about how I would fare in my exams. I had been more conscientious in my study than I ever had when I was in full-time education (when I had attended lectures on a rota basis, left exams before I'd finished because I couldn't wait to get to the HorseShow House and generally regarded anything above 40% to be an indication that I wasn't having as much fun as I should). I don't know if being an almost-adult with a semi-serious job has made me feel like I should try a little harder, but something has changed and success in my exams is now a matter of diligence and pride rather than blind luck.
So with all of this weighing on my mind as I sat here last year, I had a panic attack. I knew what it was (a friend having described the feeling in frightening detail before) but that didn't mean that I thought I was having anything less than a heart attack, followed swiftly by a complete nervous breakdown (I had a similar reaction the one and only time I ever got heartburn - I thought I was going into cardiac arrest). I got over it (though it took all day) and spent the rest of the week before my exams (and the occasional moment since, truth be told) panicking quietly about having another one.
So here I am again, at home on study leave, a week before my exams. As prepared as I was last year and with the benefit of another year's learning behind me, more mature and more worldly-wise (stop sniggering). Determined not to have a panic attack. I am once again sat here at the dining table surrounded by the tools of my trade, but this time I'm sat here with blow-dried hair (my going-out hair, as GingerBeard calls it) in my prettiest summer dress, with a cup of tea and a bowl of fresh cherries. I'm pouring my heart out to my pretend friends (my blog is not yet a year old, so that's a comfort I didn't have then) and I'm going to put some music with words on (apparently if you feel you're edging towards panic, singing helps).
I'll let you know how it goes.
So with all of this weighing on my mind as I sat here last year, I had a panic attack. I knew what it was (a friend having described the feeling in frightening detail before) but that didn't mean that I thought I was having anything less than a heart attack, followed swiftly by a complete nervous breakdown (I had a similar reaction the one and only time I ever got heartburn - I thought I was going into cardiac arrest). I got over it (though it took all day) and spent the rest of the week before my exams (and the occasional moment since, truth be told) panicking quietly about having another one.
So here I am again, at home on study leave, a week before my exams. As prepared as I was last year and with the benefit of another year's learning behind me, more mature and more worldly-wise (stop sniggering). Determined not to have a panic attack. I am once again sat here at the dining table surrounded by the tools of my trade, but this time I'm sat here with blow-dried hair (my going-out hair, as GingerBeard calls it) in my prettiest summer dress, with a cup of tea and a bowl of fresh cherries. I'm pouring my heart out to my pretend friends (my blog is not yet a year old, so that's a comfort I didn't have then) and I'm going to put some music with words on (apparently if you feel you're edging towards panic, singing helps).
I'll let you know how it goes.
