It was about this time six years ago when I dropped out of university, finally giving in to the pressure and tackling my insignificant place there by disappearing completely. I had struggled with it for a long time, I have said before that others were so much better than me and that I needed some form of guidance or encouragement to continue and received nothing.
I remember reaching out to a female tutor and during my emotional plea for help and explaination of how difficult I was finding the course, her stifled smirk still makes my blood boil to this day. She did not care. None of them did, we paid their extortionate wages so they could sit, drink coffee and occasionally recommend irrelevant books.
When I failed a vital essay that was that. I was done being a speck, a nobody on a clip board. I could have re-sat but I didn’t see the point anymore. I wrote an email to the head stating that I would no longer be in attendance, that I felt that I could gain nothing from the course other than failure… he’d got me confused with someone else and started rambling about how I’d said only a few days ago that I was ‘reconnecting with my course after the birth of my son’, so insignificant that they didn’t even know which one I was.
It made me so happy and so miserable simultaneously to be there. I enjoyed the company of like-minded people of the same age but hated feeling stupid compared to them and being left to my own devices by people I felt I was paying for to help me. Perhaps they saw that I was not good enough and offered assistance to those who would succeed, and if that were the case they should have told me to quit sooner.
I blame those useless tutors for my failures there, one word would have sufficed, but instead I got nothing when I asked for help, tainting all my following life experiences – never ask for help they’ll only laugh at you! I know that I wasn’t smart enough to be there but I could paint and I could express myself and I didn’t see the importance of picking apart a Rembrandt and then forming a thousand word essay on it. I could tell them why I thought an artist painted a picture but it was never the right answer.
I was always wrong.