Today, for the first time in ages, I opened the word file which I prepared months ago for my thesis. I only opened it to put in the titles of the various sections as they're set up right now - not to actually write, not yet anyway. But I guess it's a small step, which will lead to slightly larger steps... Well, there is a section which is going to be very easy to write, right in the middle of it, which has a lot to do with an essay I wrote recently, so I reckon those will be the east first couple of thousand words. Fingers crossed.
I just wish I wasn't the kind of person who spends half of her time thinking about the time wasted; the time wasted was for a reason, specifically that I was having a complete nervous breakdown, and that could not be helped. I think I've become a great believer in letting things work themselves out, without putting too much pressure on.
Yesterday I had my last 'planned' meeting with my counsellor (I might have a couple more) and it made me realise how angry I am, mainly at this institution, for claiming to be all that it is not, and for requiring me to prove myself in terms I do not appreciate nor accept. This place has made me understand that this degree is nothing, means nothing, but that life is ultimately so hypocritical it would not surprise me if this degree meant absolutely everything for my future. All because people are going to see the word 'Oxford' on a piece of paper they get from me, when all I've got from this place is the skills required to overcome depression.
I'm being negative, I know, but I'm sick and tired of this place. The desire to get out of here is what I hope will force me into writing this damn thesis, and finish this whole thing off.
On a more positive note, re-reading through the structure and writing things down wasn't actually as scary as I thought it would. Maybe the time when I'm going to be rid of the elephant in the room is getting closer.
I am alive, indeed, I am alive. I write this before running off to the gym for 20 minutes before M comes back from his Italian lesson.
But don't let that 'running' in the previous paragraph fool you and make you think I'm being super-active and whatnot. I actually just had a two-hour long nap which was much needed. The past week and a half has been about taking things easy after my body gave out in two ways, the first one being my back completely spasming on me last week (so much so I cried every time I moved), and the second one a cold, one of those I finally hadn't had in a while.
So it's about taking care of myself, really, and realising... Realising that I have all the ability in the world to do what I am being asked to do, in this time frame, and I should let no one stress me out about not having started six months ago. I didn't, and that's that. So I'll do it in the time I have, and it'll be pretty damn good as well.
I am very self-righteous today. I'm not sure why. It feels good though, and for once... I don't feel particularly guilty... Actually, I'm not being honest there: I'm not feeling as guilty as I have for the past two months.
The day this thing is not going to be hanging at the back of it every second of every hour anymore, shall be a very, very happy day. I cannot wait.
