“Are You Doing Enough?”

Imagine being told that you weren’t doing enough during the Covid-19 pandemic; staying at home, keeping your friends and family safe, and muddling through university assignments is not enough.

No. Apparently, it’s time to focus on our CVs.

A few weeks ago, I received an email from the “Student Futures” department at my university. The email, which started innocently enough, thanked all the key workers for their contributions; as it happens, I’m not a key worker, so I didn’t give it too much attention. That is, until I saw the next part of the email.

Whoever sent the email then went on to say that employers would not be impressed with potential candidates that didn’t have an inspiring answer for the question, “what were you doing during the Covid-19 pandemic?”

Apparently, we need to consider “up-skilling”.

The sender provided all of us “slacker” students with links to available courses. I mean, it’s not like we are trying to finish a degree or anything, is it?

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m all for people using this time to learn something new – if that’s what they choose to do – but for a university to criticize students for, apparently, not doing enough during this scary time? A time where near-graduates – like myself – are already anxious about what the future holds.

Let’s just say they received a lot of complaints.

The next day, the same department sent out an “apology” email; it was never their intention to imply that students weren’t doing enough, and they hope everyone stays safe and well during this scary time.

I don’t know how the email got approved in the first place.

Job Hunting and Anxiety

Job hunting is a daunting process. Do I have the right qualifications? Enough experience? Am I what they’re looking for? Are they what I’m looking for? Financial pressure. Applications. Resumes. References. Interviews.

Now add an anxiety disorder; a little voice that will accompany you through the already daunting process.

Are you what they’re looking for? What if you don’t get this job? If you don’t get this job then you probably won’t get any job. What then? Your degree will have been for nothing. What if you do get an interview? It’s not like you’ll be able to go through with it. You know you can’t talk to people, especially one on one. They’ll never hire you. And don’t get me started on references! Who would want to give you a reference? Your tutor certainly won’t since you spent all of university an anxious mess. I wouldn’t even bother applying. In fact, don’t bother. Actually, no. You need the money. But who would hire you?

It’s a constant cycle of negative thoughts, from the first search of the job site to clicking ‘send’ on the application.

It gets worse. The job market is extremely competitive, and rejection emails are common. Now, I know rejection is part of the process, but the little voice in my head sees rejection as confirmation.

See! I was right. I knew they wouldn’t hire you. I don’t even know why you bothered applying. Don’t even bother checking your emails next time, we know it’ll just be another rejection. Although, it’s probably a good job they rejected you now. At least you won’t embarrass yourself at an interview.

Now that I’m coming to the end of my time at university, and my current job relies on me being a full-time student, I’m in the midst of job hunting. Unfortunately I’ve had a few rejections (lack of experience, I was expecting it) so that little voice has been extremely loud for the past few months.

I’m trying to organize some volunteering/work experience in a relevant field, so fingers crossed I’ll have some luck there – I’m trying to be positive!

Has anyone else experienced this while looking for a job?

Schizophrenia

As I’ve said with my last few posts in this little series, I spent a lot of time on http://www.mind.org.uk to try and understand Schizophrenia as a condition – I have no personal experience with Schizophrenia so I hope I have given it the justice and respect it deserves. Like the others, this was part of a creative writing assignment at university that I thought was worth a post. Hope you enjoy reading!


Schizophrenia is feeling lost. I’m lost inside my own reality. I can’t keep track of the truth anymore. There are a sea of voices fighting for my attention, but I don’t know who I can trust. There’s a voice, the most common voice, that tells me to do disturbing things. Things I don’t want to do. This voice tells me I don’t have a choice. Do I have a choice? There’s another voice, a soft, feminine voice, that offers words of comfort, reassurance and love. Is she real? I can hear laughter and singing, screaming and crying. Constant whispers. Soft murmurs. Shrieks of terror. Howling. Sobbing. Sighing. Acceptance.

Schizophrenia is a blend of good days and bad days. On the good days I feel grounded. I can sort through the voices and make sense of the truth.

There are more bad days than good days.

On bad days I retreat to the back of my mind, the only place where I have a chance of escaping the cruel tongue of the voice. I lose myself for hours, clinging to this feeling of safety. The voice calls to me, searching, but I travel further and further inside myself. My body is no longer my body, but a hiding place.

Eventually, though, our game of hide and seek will come to an end.


OTHER POSTS IN THIS SERIES:

Paranoia

My previous posts in this little series (Depression, Panic, Anxiety, Anorexia and OCD) all contain elements of personal experience. I did a little research along the way, but, for the most part, these are very personal accounts of how these disorders can manifest themselves within an individual.

This post, however, is a little different. I have experienced mild feelings of paranoia as a symptom of anxiety, but I have no personal experience with the disorders most closely linked to paranoia. I’ve done research on http://www.mind.org.uk to try and gain as much of an understanding as I possibly can without experiencing these conditions firsthand. This post is simply a product of curiosity, research and a creative university assignment.


Paranoia is the groping of a dozen hands. They rip my clothes from my body and tear through my skin. They gouge through my flesh with their fingernails, exposing my every thought and desire.

I know they’re watching me. They think I have no idea, but I’ve always known. They’re everywhere I go now. I saw one, just this morning. I was waiting in line for my coffee when I saw her. The teenage girl behind the counter, with thick black liner and a nose ring, and dark roots giving away her natural colour. The dark bags under her eyes highlighted the bored look on her face, and her gaze always landed back on the clock on the far wall. She took my order and asked for my name. I couldn’t let her know that I know. I had to ignore my rapid heartbeat; trembling fingers; laboured breaths. If I gave her a fake name would it give me away? They can’t know that I know, so I gave my real name. I walked to the opposite end of the counter and waited for my drink. I looked at every face in the café, trying to work out who I could trust. There was a man, maybe in his early thirties, that kept glancing in my direction. He wore a shirt and tie with the sleeves rolled up. Smart yet casual. We made eye contact, and he smiled. Could I trust this man? He looked away and took his phone from his trouser pocket, his fingers moving quickly across the screen. Rapid heartbeat. Trembling fingers. Laboured breaths. The corners of my vision began to blur and all I could focus on was the phone in his hand. Who was he texting? I frantically looked from customer to customer, desperately searching for answers. A young woman sat alone, shredding a napkin with her fingers. Her gaze alternated between her phone, resting on the table next to a mug of coffee, and the door. Her phone screen lit up with an incoming message. Rapid heartbeat. Trembling fingers. Laboured breaths. The man was texting her. They were talking about me.

My name was called. It was the teenage girl again. I looked from person to person; from the teenage girl, to the smart yet casual man, to the young woman that sat alone. They were working together. I couldn’t let them know that I know, so I reached out with a quivering hand and accepted the drink. The teenage girl told me to have a good day.

I was back on the street when I realised. The teenage girl told me to have a good day. Did she know something? Was something going to happen today? I glanced at the takeaway cup in my hand. She must have put something in my drink. I didn’t see her make it. It’s the only plausible explanation for the glances, the texting, her asking for my name. Rapid heartbeat. Trembling fingers. Laboured breaths.

I binned the drink without taking a sip. They think I have no idea, but I’ve always known.


OTHER POSTS IN THIS SERIES: