Love Me: The Manoir

The First Week of My New Life

I was pretty sleep deprived on the move in day for university. The night before had been spent in a rundown motel where people had been screaming outside in the early hours of the morning.

As we pulled into the parking lot, I felt my stomach do a hundred little flips about how real this all was. Carrying my life to my new home in plastic boxes, suitcases and binbags. I walked down the corridor of my flat to the end door on the left and paused before opening the room that I would soon learn to call 'home'.

I kicked my poor parents out far too quickly, their presence stressing me out because I so desperately wanted to make friends. To speak to people. To not have my parents cramp my style.

As I walked away from the car, I tried to stop the tears that were welling in my eyes at the sheer fear I felt inside. I was petrified.

I had been messaging one of the girls on the flat group chat I had joined after getting my result, and soon I found myself doing my weekly shop with a girl from the other end of the corridor, and from the other side of the world. Slowly one by one, the rest of our floor trickled into the kitchen and we spent six hours trying to size each other up. Trying to work out if we would all get on.

In true university fashion, my fresher's week was spent by me drinking more alcohol than I ever would in my life. My flatmates calculated that it was around 70+ units. I think the only reason I managed to survive without blacking on was because of the adrenaline that was going through me.

I feel incredibly lucky with who I ended up living with for the year. We became a small family within the first week, and gelled quick enough that I didn't get to feel the homesickness or fear of this unknown place.

My first week at university came with one realisation that hit me in the face: I was actually quite pretty. That sounds incredibly vain and egotistical, but in my first week at university I felt prettier and more desired than I had done in most of my teenage years.

My flatmates told me, creepy guys in the club alluded to it, and I felt my confidence soaring. Andrew had been vital in setting up the foundation for this, and now I felt like I was flying.

It was in Freshers' Week that I also lost a significant amount of weight. For someone who was a size 8 before going, this wasn't drastic to be noticed by anyone but me and my friends at home. At first this seemed ideal, but soon it started to concern me. It was clear I wasn't looking after my body.

***

As the newness and novelty of being at uni wore off, I found myself missing Andrew more than I could have ever imagined. I missed the how solid our relationship was, his dependability, and most of all his affection. I needed and wanted something I could cling on to at home.

So I did something selfish.

Despite telling him that I would wait a month before texting him, I texted him after two weeks. I caved, and I missed him. We fell almost instantly back to the way we were, calling each other baby and having mushy FaceTimes. I thought this was what I wanted. It had made me happy at home, why wouldn't it work here?

And then I met Derrick.

And I realised that I didn't miss Andrew, I missed feeling like someone liked me enough to want to be with me. That someone looked at me and thought 'damn'. I needed the constant validation that being in a relationship gave me.