For the third time this week, I’m sitting up late, studying. Me, the computer screen, a bar of chocolate and outside only darkness. Not because I haven’t studied in the day, study is all I do, day and night, now. Or that’s at least what it feels like. That’s what it has felt like ever since I started this master’s program in September. Full speed, all the time, everything is a state of emergency.
While the layer of dust is getting deeper on the furniture in my room. Soon, I’ll have to wade through it.
It’s been worth it, though. Things have been so interesting, what we’re being taught is something I really believe in. And I have wonderful classmates.
It’s been worth it, until now. Slowly, my walls have been worn down, all the protection I once had, gone (even though, I must admit, I’ve never been very cold or distanced to begin with, even if my behavior might suggest otherwise). Now, though, it’s like I have no skin at all. Red and raw, every single thing felt like a stab in the stomach.
A word from someone simply being concerned leading to me snapping.
Almost everyone going on my nerves, leading me to pick fights over completely unnecessary things.
An unanswered text message from someone I don’t even know leading me to sit down on the floor, crying.
A bad grade on an assignment leading to me questioning my entire existence.
It shouldn’t be this way. Have I passed that threshold, so incredibly close to the finish line? Is it time for me to give up? I’ll give myself a weekend in the cabin to figure it out. Tomorrow evening, I’ll be driving to Hundby.
Katja Malmborg 