The line between functioning and not, has always existed to me as cold and frank. I either go to class or I don’t; I get out of bed or I don’t. I run at peak capacity for six weeks before, inevitably and seemingly out of nowhere, I don’t for the next twelve. I like to play on the fringe between utter indulgence and privation; imprisoning myself between deliciousness and regret, where one night off leads to all nights off and there is no middle ground. Today, I find myself in bed at noon on a weekday, having not quite reached the depths of my normal moods and yet not quite able to leave my flat. I sit at the window, swaddled in blankets, thinking of my flatmate (who after rudely abandoning me for the week is living it up in London as a model), and watch the students of woodlands filter out of their buildings into the first misty morning of the year. The air is cold, typical of October in Glasgow, and I’m thinking I might be just fine.
Encouraged by a campus-wide sentiment of new beginnings, I managed for the first four weeks of this academic year to keep myself committed to such a schedule as to feel as if I were actually achieving academically. Cripplingly aware of an apparent time limit on my sunny disposition, I set out to make sure I never gave myself the opportunity to falter. Mornings started at 7am and continued phoneless for maximum productivity. Tutorial work was completed in advance and tutors were satisfied. I found seats on the seventh floor of the learning hub with confident ease, where my friends brought me coffee and the sun hit the main building just the way I liked it. I found all the words once lost on the tip of my tongue and the rain stopped just for me. I had felt great – rosy cheeked and rejoicing that at last the rapture was upon us and I was an adult.
I had felt great, until a wednesday night of moderate drinking in The Hug and Pint knocked it all off course. Hungover and spurred on devilishly by my flatmates, I missed my morning tutorial. As it hit 9am, I regretted already my decision to skip, knowing wisely that my functioning life hung in the balance. It was then, in the crucial moment that the worst possible outcome occurred, the outcome all students know too well: nothing. I didn’t receive any angry emails from my tutor who definitely had no idea who I was, or get a phone call from my mum saying that she was disappointed in me, nor did I spontaneously combust – everything was fine. Of course, with my entire life as precedent, everything was not to be fine. Amidst the immediate aftermath of my transgression against order, I missed all subsequent classes that week and spent a weekend alone in my room. For week five, functioning seemed decidedly out of vogue.
With expectations of an irreversible descent into binge-watching and sparser showering, I was caught off guard by how fine I felt by Tuesday. I walked the suddenly surmountable twenty minutes to my 9am class, I took my notes and came home in the evening to make myself dinner. I was hardly overachieving but a general feeling of hope began to bubble. Could I beat my curse? Could I end the polarisation of my life? Could one missed class be just that? In truth, I was distrustful of this feeling, the idea that I could recover as quickly as I fell off was an entirely foreign one.
Today, for the first time, next to my window, cosy and well nourished, I feel balanced. I have challenged the self-fulfilling prophecy and trusted myself to be better, without unconsciously rushing in with a period of self-inflicted isolation. I’m not going at one hundred miles an hour anymore, but my foot isn’t off the pedal. Be it age or experience, or divine third-party intervention, I have managed to feel something without feeling every adjacent emotion along with it. I have let one decision just be one decision. I am opening myself up to the middle ground, to success with failure and happiness with a bad day. My ability to function no longer operates on the swing of a pendulum.
Stella Coutts
(Expressing The State is a monthly column by Stella Coutts, exclusive to qmunicatemagazine.co.uk. Stay tuned for more installments!)
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