No one ever tells you
University is more stressful than home. In different ways. The play is a bitch; I'm constantly working on it slash thinking about it slash trying new strategies, and everyone seems to have a mental block that has me as 'the Director' twenty four seven. Which sort of sucks, big time.
But then I come home for Reading Week. A week off, a few days at home being pampered, etc, etc. Not so much. My brother is on drugs, drinking, smoking, pissing his life away, my parents are on the verge of sending him away to a reform school or something, at the end of their tether, and I'm expected to put the family back together/fix some of the shit wrong with my brother in a few days. Like, I'm getting him to have his hair cut, as it looks like shit, convincing him not to alienate the entirity of his class at school by deliberately looking provocative, working on schoolwork, what the point of A-levels is...
And I'm as tense and uptight as ever, and I'm stressed, and I want to climb into bed and cry, because I was home for three hours before a major fight went down, and I'm nineteen, man. I don't need this. :( :( :(
But then I come home for Reading Week. A week off, a few days at home being pampered, etc, etc. Not so much. My brother is on drugs, drinking, smoking, pissing his life away, my parents are on the verge of sending him away to a reform school or something, at the end of their tether, and I'm expected to put the family back together/fix some of the shit wrong with my brother in a few days. Like, I'm getting him to have his hair cut, as it looks like shit, convincing him not to alienate the entirity of his class at school by deliberately looking provocative, working on schoolwork, what the point of A-levels is...
And I'm as tense and uptight as ever, and I'm stressed, and I want to climb into bed and cry, because I was home for three hours before a major fight went down, and I'm nineteen, man. I don't need this. :( :( :(