Shackles

1

It's a small room. A small bed. A small desk. A small bathroom. A small shower.

What else could I have expected from university accommodation?

I sat down on the bed and practically got impaled by a squeaky spring in the mattress. Although my mum stayed with me for half the day to deck out my new home in fluffy blankets and vividly bright plants, I can't offset the feeling that I'm intruding. It doesn't feel like I should live here.

Sure, I worked hard to get here. I studied for my A-levels and got good grades which got me into a good university, but this just doesn't feel homely. Everyone warns you that the first few weeks feel alien and lonely, but now I'm actually living it. And it's harsh.

I've been here for a maximum of ten hours, but I have a nagging feeling that I should be out there making friends or something.

Not eating a takeaway.

In my room.

By myself.

I've met some of my flatmates. Two boys and a girl- the other three are yet to move in. So far they're all nice. They're a similar age to me and appear to have similar personalities, too. I've just always found it hard to connect to new people when I'm so defensive of my current friends. My friends at home and my boyfriend. I get scared that I'll lose my strong connections with them if I make new friends.

Which... now that I think of it, it sounded really silly because technically I should be the one in control of that. I'm the one making the new relationships as well as nurturing the old ones. I can't even remember why I was stressed? I've just solved my own anxiety about all of that. So, moving on...

I get up from my bed and began to head towards my desk where my steaming hot curry in the plastic takeaway container is sitting, but get caught on the way by stubbing my tiny little fucking stump of a toe on the corner of my wardrobe. It hurts so much that all the air happily decides to scramble away from my lungs and out into the damp air in the form of a shriek. A shriek that suddenly herds me into a corner of embarrassment due to the fact that my new flatmates probably just heard all of it. And then, just to top it all off, after hopping around on one foot with my toe gripped under the deathly pressure of my hands, I trip and knock my head on a shelf.

To say my first day at university isn't going too great is an understatement.

I stand upright, resisting slapping myself around the face for my pure clumsiness and stupidity, and let out a deep, failingly calming sigh. I then pull out my desk chair and at last tuck into my dinner.

What a fantastic start to my evening.

The rest of my night actually ended up going surprisingly okay. I made some friends, but only really my flatmates because everybody knows how hard it is to make friends in a club. They're loud and dark and there's more people with their tongues down each other's throats than talking.

But that's besides the point. The rest of Freshers Week ended up going fine too. Just as expected, a whole lot of drinking and a whole lot of lying in bed the next morning feeling like a rotting piece of cabbage.

So when seven a.m. rolled around the next week, I truly felt like all of my insides were stale and old and my hair had never been greasier. What a delightful way to start my day. I practically fall out of bed the second my alarm blares at my ears. I think I might've tried to strangle it if it had a neck.

Then I shower, get dressed, pack my laptop, grab a piece of toast from the kitchen- awkwardly smiling at one of the guys I went out with last night as he stands pouring himself a coffee- and shuffle out of the door and down the three floors of my flat. I've made myself a pact to use the stairs instead of the lift, to try and keep at least some exercise whilst here for the next four years.