Hello everybody! Firstly, I want to start today’s post with saying how grateful I am that I have a little following building up (who would have thought!?) and each and every one of you are appreciated. Thank you.
If you’re anything like me you’ll have read the title of this post and shuddered. A levels. The dreaded culmination of seven years in secondary education that will be your ticket (or not) to further alcohol consumption, socialising and laziness – oh, and also learning.
Looking back on my school life I would say I’ve been pretty lucky on the whole; I successfully managed to avoid the typical horrors of bullies, acne and detentions after all. Yet, here I am, sat in bed (again) having just finished school, with an eating disorder. Doesn’t seem so successful now does it?
Frequently I find myself questioning how on earth I managed to complete my exams (the last one being just two weeks ago) while being plagued with this illness. You would think only Super Woman could sit A levels in English Literature, Classics and History while experiencing zero energy, dizzy spells, extreme hunger and constant anxiety. Wrong! I seem to have somehow managed…
There is a sinister side to my success however that is hard to admit. Revision played into my anorexia. Every day on study leave I would wake up, go downstairs, and work for hours on end, scanning my text books in a desperate bid to cram the knowledge I would require (yes, an awful technique I know.) This allowed me to maintain strict control over a predictable routine, no external factors could influence my choices or options. See what I mean now? If anybody is reading this with a brain that identifies with the cruelty of anorexia then they will no doubt recognise the comfort provided by such conditions.
In this sense therefore perhaps the completion of my exams is not so impressive.
No. Scrap that. They were bloody impossible. Impossible even for the most healthy, happy human (and if you hadn’t noticed I don’t currently fall into that favourable category.)
A levels also provoked a new perspective to arise in terms of self-perception. For the first time ever I was able to say aloud ‘I am proud of myself’ and truly mean it. Proud that I had managed to sit in a hall for three hours straight, non-stop writing intelligent, coherent essays (I hope) and proud that I achieved all this whilst battling with my own thoughts.
This post hasn’t touched on the reality of looming results as of yet but, believe me, it constantly plays on my mind. It has been decided that *deep breaths* all will be revealed on August 17th…not long to go eh? Interestingly for me, I will be getting these results alongside attempting recovery – if that’s not overwhelming I don’t bloody know what is.
Somewhere across the country my papers are being scanned into computers to be read by strangers who hold so much power in relation to my sense of achievement and (being honest) overall happiness – please let them be the embodiment of a fairy godmother and not the warty ogre that resides under a bridge in a ditch.
So, wish me luck. That’s all I can ask for.
Yours sincerely, the accomplished (yet still flightless) bird, praying for wings.