In the early hours of Friday morning, I left a club because I couldn't stop crying.
What is it like to live with someone who believes themselves to be seriously ill?
Is my rhythm of life more than just an inconvenience to me? Is it also an inconvenience to a capitalist model of production which fails and oppresses so many? If so, are my life and body rhythms wiser than I knew?
I don't think university was the fundamental cause, but I do believe it acted as the trigger which made these feelings explode beyond my control.
Life existed outside of the bubble of rigid academia, and I hadn’t been able to see that until I left it
A comic exploring the nuances of 'having counselling'.
She created a protective membrane for me when I wondered why I didn’t have a boyfriend, why I felt invisible and why, despite close friends and supportive family, I didn’t "fit"
I just walked away from Cambridge, one year into my PhD.
What the Guardian got wrong about body positivity, and why I'm prioritising my mental health.