Today was the first day of school. I felt... better than I have in a long time. It's strange because I fucking hate school and would rather sit home and play computer games all day, but I actually enjoyed going. Maybe it's because I've moved away now and I'm living by myself again. I have a 2 week holiday coming up soon, but there is no fucking way in hell I'm going back down South.
Turned up for my lectures, starting 8am. Was a horror, but I was somehow used to it all, after my ordeals with placements, where I woke up at 6am to try and catch the 6.30 bus, which would take an hour to travel to work. I'd run towards the elevators and try to squeeze in with the crowd, just so I could beat my attending to work, because he liked to be slightly early for ward rounds at 8am. After that rigorous schedule for a month, there was nothing strange about sleeping at 10pm sharp and waking refreshed at 6.
I was dismayed in class, however, when I realized I understood very little was going on. Everything seemed like English but read like Spanish: I had no clue. So here I am, looking up textbooks and trying to find the one that will save me. It's a total pain having to study these gross diseases, then I think about how there are real people, who have to live with these things, and that gives me more motivation to study. I mean, too often I've felt terrible and wished there would be someone who would become my savior, pick me up where I had fallen down. A lot of people told me I couldn't wait forever, and no one was going to save me except for myself. Still, I remember how desperate I felt, and I want to become someone who can help others to their feet- so that they can keep walking their own ways.
Sometimes we just need someone to tell us that we have the strength to walk on.
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