Grief looks like the bottom of a bottle. Grief smells like the unwashed bed linen you have not moved from in weeks. Grief tastes sour, putrid, sickening. Grief sounds like the music you once adored and now detest. Grief feels like the objects you need to hold onto, to remind yourself that reality is not a concept.
Freshers week should be advertised as one of the most awkward, draining and confusing seven days you will experience in your young naive life. Fourteen days ago I said a hurried farewell to my teary mum, sister and dad and started, what was promised, an entertaining week full of ‘new friends’.
Firstly I carried out the horrendously awkward task of knocking on my flatmates doors. The anticaption was maddening- what charachter would open the door to me? By door seven I was feeling bleak. Everyone was younger than me, painfully shy and nothing like my party mad friends back in Oxford. Fuck it. I am a confident young woman, I will meet people.
So the week of drunken antics commenced on the Saturday. PREDRINKS.
Unfortuantly, it was only me and one other girl who carried out the drunken antics as no one else got drunk. I woke up on Sunday feeling pretty bloody miserable and slightly ashamed.
People seemed overwhelmed by me. I was to loud. Swore to much. Drank to much. I rang my mum,
“If people do not like you then they can lump it, be yourself because you are lovely.”
For the next week I followed my mums wise words. People started coming out of their shells and looking to me for advice. I started meeting people from around campus and the drunken antics were not just contained to myself.
Two blurred weeks on from that teary Saturday, I am still finding my feet and missing my friends/family/cats but am feeling a lot more at ease and comfterble. Minus the freshers flu of course.