First year I went looking for myself in jaager bombs and vodka.
I cried. I didn’t go to uni. I lay in bed unable to reach half a meter to open my curtain but enough energy to shower, put on some lipstick and pour a drink.
I changed my degree. I had resits in August. But I made it, by the skin of my teeth.
In second year I found my feet,
I had friends. I went to uni, not all of it, but some of it. I did extra credits. I cried a lot less. My palette improved, I swapped vodka for cider and blackcurrant.
Classy gal, ha.
Shaky. I moved back home, but I was hardly home.
The library became my home.
I got mumps.
I became a gin drinker
I messed up a lot.
But again, I made it, by the skin of my teeth.
Rock bottom and denial.
Sleepless nights and the fear that four years would culminate in disappointment.
But I made it.
Not by the skin of my teeth, through hard work and a lot of luck.
Prosecco drinker now,
because there is so much to celebrate.
I did it.