December 12th, 2002


public, because I owe people an explanation.

Letter to my research supervisor, the Atmospheric Physics Group Secretary, the Imperial College Disabilities Officer and my doctor.

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Bleh. Stressed. But it says a lot about how far I've come that in contemplating not getting a degree at all, I panic wildly for about an hour, then immerse myself in work again. A year or six months ago, I would have been unable to even face that thought, cried for hours, panicked, screamed, self-harmed and other such for at least a week at a time. Now my mind is comparatively clear. All I need is three to six months to finish off. Worrying isn't going to get it done.

It's funny: people have offered me sympathy for the fact this degree will be an MPhil, rather than a PhD. But by the time I'd actually started telling people that's what it'd be, I had already come to terms with it. I couldn't even think about it for months. After the exam, I wanted to die - I walked in front of buses on Gower Street, then went round to Tim & Peter's without telling them what was wrong. Peter was surprised that I was wearing a skirt, but didn't say anything about my bizarre mood.

I just hope I can get a degree.
opinion, eye

I hate...

I hate feeling like I don't have enough time to sleep. I need sleep. Especially considering all the health problems I have. Too much to do, and not enough time.

I hate being allergic to my own central heating. We have crappy electric heaters and they give me a headache. So I have to have the window open at the same time that I have the heater on. Overnight it is too fscking cold for me to do that, so come the morning I feel horrible and bleurghy.

I hate having a cut on the first finger of my right hand, with no idea how I got it, so it hurts to type.

I hate being dependent on other people to resolve my problems; people I don't know, so can't trust.
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