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Wednesday, 21 June 2017

on reflection.

Today, on the 21st of June 2017, I finished my GCSE exams.

2 years ago people were telling me I wouldn't get here. Either I'd have to drop subjects, be pulled back a year, not even take them. There's nothing wrong with any of these options... But I never wanted to do that. I was so determined.

With no sugar-coating or exaggerating, it's been an awful few years. In year 9, the panic attacks started and I moved school, which was the best decision of my life. I was so sure that GCSEs were going to be my time. It went south quickly when I ended up in inpatient mental health care and out of school for five months.

But I kept going. Got out, returned to school as soon as I was allowed. And then my physical health got worse, and I've been ambling through year 11 through all the pain and panic attacks, and the clouding fatigue that makes me barely awake for some of my lessons.

I don't care what I get anymore (unless I don't get into sixth form, but that's a bridge to cross if we come to it...). I know that I did my best. I sat every single one of my exams, I put pen to paper. I answered every single question even if a lot of it was rubbish (looking at you, physics...).

This post is mainly for myself, because some days I forget how far I've come in two years. I've gone through my GCSE period struggling and ill, and sometimes I forget that. Now, I'm in pain and it's hard, and I'm walking with a walking stick, and my anxiety still strikes at inconvenient times. But now, I can get on a bus where I couldn't for months after inpatient. I can tell people what I need. I can express myself more easily.

I did it. And GCSEs may not have been my time, but A-levels will be. And if they're not? Then university will be my time.

There is always more time. I have to remember that.

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