My First Year of University in a Nutshell

I write this stuck in a cave of revision notes, as it's—you guessed it—exam season! Even though I still have much to do (the biggest understatement) I can't help but reflect on my first year of university. For a background check: I'm currently studying in the U.K. as a Psychology undergraduate at the university of my dreams. It's pretty good, if we're referring to the league tables.

Warning: the following starts off pretty ☹, but I promise there's that well-rounded-positive-message-at-the-end trope we all know and love.

Hello Darkness, My Old Friend

The first couple months of university were dark. Literally and metaphorically, the sun didn't shine before 4 PM, let alone after. I expected to be welcomed by extroverted flatmates, but I was the first of five to move in, and the others slowly arrived throughout and after fresher's week. I slowly found out that my halls (student accommodation) were quieter than expected, after hearing countless stories about overhearing arguments over bread and bad sex by the internet. Nobody on my floor really spoke or saw each other. I don't think I could tell you what they looked like to this day. I missed hearing the natural creeks of my home and the comforting feeling of a full house. I spent a lot of time crying in bed, my room being the closest thing to home, because no amount of phone calls could combat how alone I felt. I wholeheartedly didn't realise it would hit me this hard, since I was so excited to be away from my family (they're so much easier to love when you're not living with them, if you catch my drift), yet here I was. Sad and cold, because my mental health sucked and so did my heating.

My Only Love Turned into My Only Hate

If you know me, you know Psychology is one of my top passions. I just love learning about why humans are so fucked up and how incredible our brains are. But my course was draining the life out of me. A real life dementor. We didn't have seminars, which ruled out any discussional elements I craved, and the content was bland and repetitive. We studied memory twice, maybe even three times, in separate modules? WHO ASKED. This course was supposed to be one of the best in the country and I loved the modules at the open day, so why was I hating it so much? It was opposite of the stimulating, fluid subject I had known it to be. Everything felt so rigid and set, quite like A-levels. Plus, my lecturers looked like they'd rather be anywhere but teaching us. Minus one (we'll call him Ron for confidentiality). Ron was amazing. But looking back, they probably just hated having to teach us the basics of their field. They must get sick of it at some point.

But at least I'd have my course-mates, right? Wrong! I thought I would be surrounded by cool, like-minded people, with the similar drives and cares, but I was faced with a sea of 200 students, 90 percent of them being white females, who were pretty intimidating and difficult to talk to, unless I had an obscene drunken tale to tell them when waiting for the lectures to start. And, boy oh boy, I had none.

Friends and Loose Ends

I went through so many conversations in my head about whether or not I was being left behind. All of my friends were off to other universities far away, and by the looks of their Instagram feeds, it was all fun nights out and making friends by the minute, but whenever we spoke over frantic calls or FaceTime over bad pasta, they reciprocated my feelings. Yeah, I should've realised people don't want to share their sadness to their mass following of friends (unless you're on Stan Twitter, let's be real), but all I could question was why they were lying about feeling shit, when they were clearly having the time of their lives? I felt used and taken for a mug, frankly. On top of that I was so mad at myself for being a crap friend and feeling that way. Basically, A Huge Mess. But reflecting back, they were feeling alone too. That didn't mean they couldn't mask that and enjoy a night out. Everyone is just trying to survive, on top of the deadlines, drama, bad diets, and lack of sun. We're told university is supposed to be the best years of our lives, so we naturally whack on a smile and see it through rose-tinted glasses. It's not necessarily wrong, it's just how it is.

A Freakin' Good Time

Ok, so I'm done with being depressing. First year had its downs, sure, and it wasn't the puppies, rainbows, and hearts that I'd yearned for since secondary school, but it was a year where personal growth increased tenfold, I met so many different people and made a shit load of memories across the good-bad spectrum! Yeah, my flatmates weren't the group of people I expected, but they were the funniest, most kind-hearted people I needed. I'm so glad I've met them and I love them dearly. Sure, psychology kinda sucked and it made me question all my career prospects, but here I am going into second year, because I love it too much to let go (Rose could never).

First year was full of playing in the snow, well into April, creating weird food combos to minimise as much waste as possible, playing board games and singing High School Musical songs at 1 AM so loud someone mentioned it, confused as hell, in the hall's group chat. My relationship with my parents has improved so much, I appreciate my friends more, and the independent life was so so great. Eating a pack of Jaffa Cakes in one sitting? Fine. Eating from that one massive pot you use for anything from frying an egg to cooking a week's worth of rice? No judgement. Ordering takeaway at 12 AM after your part-time job, but need to reach £10 for free delivery? Great, someone else is awake binge watching YouTube and most definitely hungry.

Yeah, my first year wasn't the happy-go-lucky experience we're all looking forward to, but I wouldn't have it any other way. And I'm going to continue making university an experience I'll never forget.