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    School started off ok I went to a small school in a village just outside the provincial city where I lived on the outskirts right next to a university campus which was on a greenfield site.Things turned horrible though when two girls were ran over.I've never really got over that and don't drive as a consequence.After being at school a year I was moved up a year as my maths was good and my english was too but that was all to change.

    So I moved to a small town by the sea and it was decided I should be moved back down a year. This was not good as I had to repeat a lot of work over again. I found myself faking illness so I could miss school. I did like being with people my own age again though and I still did well in english my essays were rated fifth best in the county. Plus I found two things I loved and still love to this day, acting and dancing.

    I did my 11 plus test and although I passed I was suspended from junior school for the last two weeks and no grammar school would take me so I ended up going to the local school. This was great as I was top of the class in everything. I went to the drama auditions for the summer play 'Ernie and his Incredible Illucinations' and got the lead role. I enjoyed secondary school but found myself being a bit of a comedian and consequently getting into trouble with the teachers. School ended badly for me as I developed a reverse sleep pattern and subsequently missed more and more school. Eventually I was asked to leave.

    Before I left school I got into the wrong crowd. We used to bunk off school and go downtown hang out in the amusement arcade smoke and stuff. When I did leave school it was such a relief not to struggle to get up in the morning and stay awake during lessons. Then for some reason loads of fights broke out all over the place, fights against SE London, fights against gypsies and fights against the next town along. Anyway after that everything calmed down a bit and everyone chilled out. Me and my mates got into music and were soon going clubbing. I loved dancing and over the years got pretty good at it. Also having a reverse sleep pattern fitted in with the all night rave lifestyle.

    The reverse sleep pattern got worse though and it wasn't long before my days had turned into nights and my nights into days my 16th winter was spent going to sleep at dawn and waking at dusk. My doctor referred me to a sleep clinic where I went on a trial which consisted of me getting up two hours later than I went to bed the night before. I started off going to bed at 10pm and getting up six am and then it was moved on to going to bed at 12 pm and getting up at eight am and so on day after day. This was really strange and made me feel really weird.

    About half way through the trial my brother came to see me with his friend and we went out to a club. I had got up only hours before he arrived at eight pm. We went to Camden Palace and I danced and had a really great time. The trouble was that afterwards I didn't want to go back to the hospital. My brother took me back to my mum's and I went back to the hospital the next day. Eventually after two weeks of this I had completed a cycle and I was back to going to bed at 10 pm and getting up at six am. I was better for a while but what with the all night clubbing my sleep pattern reversed again.

    The next summer after having been raving every week for a year I was pretty messed up. I hadn't had a job and although I'd enrolled at college my reverse sleep pattern it didn't last long and I was soon back out raving. I suffered from severe depression though refused to accept any help from a doctor. What I wanted to do was go abroad. One day I just packed my bags and left for Spain. I'd met a girl at a rave and she was in Madrid looking after children. One day I just packed my bag and told my mum I was going to Spain.

    I hitch hiked to Portsmouth and caught the ferry to France then bunked the train to Paris. When I was on the embankment on the Seine I was held at knifepoint by a guy who wanted to see my penis. I made a run for it. I ran through the streets of Paris 'til I was exhausted and could run no more. Then I found somewhere secluded to sleep in my sleeping bag. The next day I bunked the train to Madrid. When I got to Madrid I was received with a bit of a shocked recipient then I remembered I hadn't told her I was coming.

    I spent a few days in Madrid it was really hot and there was little to do a lot of places were closed as it was the height of the holiday season. Then I went to Portugal to meet a coke dealer. I got there and couldn't find him so I got some work and lived in a cave on the beach. I loved it there just never met the contact I had who incidentally is doing time for smuggling. He flew in a plane from Africa and crashed on the coast of France first time then got caught at the airport on his second attempt. Anyway I worked in a restaurant that did traditional Portuguese cuisine, mostly seafood. Nice but poorly paid and once the main summer season was over I left.

    I hit the road and ended up in Seville went to the cathedral which was stunning and then left for Madrid and met a black ballet dancer from Morocco who bought me breakfast which I appreciated so I helped her with her bags to the train she gave me 20 Euros which I really needed. I then met this girl Claire at the train station. We met up that evening and went to the park where we got off with each other. We went back to her hotel and had sex in the lobby. Then I head for Paris. Bunking the train was easy I just said I'd lost my euro pass in Paris and I was going back to get it.

    When Paris arrived some Italians were hanging out at the Eiffel tower and we got chatting it turned out that they were going to Amsterdam so after convincing them to bunk the train with me we set off and you can imagine how that went ( no not the prostitution just the cafes). After a week in Amsterdam home beckoned to me and so just one more time the train had to be bunked. Of course the ferry was an expense and somehow I managed to get on really cheap.

    My trip was really good and surviving everything made me feel confident in my independence. However when it hit me that there was no direction to my life depression struck. There was only raving for me to do and rave I did. For the next two years a decadent lifestyle of dancing the night away called me. London was near by so weekends were spent there. If not there were plenty of free parties in the woods, fields, barns and beaches. You name it I've been partying there dancing 'til dawn.

    After a while the lifestyle got to me and my mum started to stop asking me to go to the doctors and to go to hospital voluntarily. Soon she gave up asking and made an appointment for the doctor to have me sectioned under the mental health act i.e.. I was going to hospital whether I liked it or not. I tried to avoid the situation And said I was ok then I started saying something like the cat is talking to me and you're trying to control me to my mum. I had lost it a combination of ecstasy and acid over a long period of time and I was frazzled. My mum convinced me to go to the doctors and there was a mental health team there and I was told I would be sectioned. I tried to run away but my wits weren't about me and the police soon caught up with me and escorted me to the mental hospital. When I got there I thought it was all a conspiracy that I was going to be killed by the staff and that my family had set me up. I also had a perhaps more genuine fear that this was it the rest of my life. Then they took me in put me on a section 4 which meant I was not aloud to leave the ward.

    If anybody would like to ask me questions about being schizophrenic click on the link.http://www.thestudentroom.co.uk/show....php?t=3971245 Thanks.
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    So where is the blog ? Or you just share posts here ? Why not creating a particular website to post stories there , there are a lot of free offers , like ones from GoDaddy, Wix, Weebly, or professional templates , like http://www.templatemonster.com/prope...rap-templates/ .
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    So I guess you're wondering what's all this got to do with Oxford?

    Well skip back sixth months before I was admitted into hospital and I started to develop an interest in architecture. I read books and started to think about becoming an architect at this point my mind was beginning to really lose control. I became obsessed with King George the Third and started fantasising about being his architect even so far as being him. My thoughts were becoming irrational and when it came down to the nitty gritty of what was going on delusions of grandeur mixed with paranoid conspiracies, hallucinating and hearing voices. I was obsessed with architecture and read all the time. I also drew a lot mostly copying details from books but also weird geometric shapes. My life was like a dream only I was awake the whole time. I needed to go to hospital but for some reason was in denial that there was anything wrong. Basically I got into my head that I wanted to go to Oxford to be an architect.

    So after leaving hospital and doing some more obsessive reading about architecture this time in the library, I gave Oxford a ring. To my disappointment Oxford don't have an architecture course. So what do I do I decide to apply to Cambridge instead so I moved up to Cambridge and enrolled on the local college access course. I was still quite ill and applied to do Physics, Art & Geology probably not the best idea I've ever had. I applied to a college at Cambridge university through their own application system and got the application in on the last day. Remember I didn't have any qualifications and I didn't apply through UCAS. I started to get my portfolio together. How I managed to get an interview, I really don't know but I did?
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    My interview went really well I was asked questions that got progressively more and more complicated and detailed. I felt confident that I knew my stuff the interviewer was constantly scribbling down notes and everything was great. Then he looked at my portfolio and I knew it was bad I hadn't been working on it much. Eventually after much silence as he flicked through my sketch pad and paintings etc. He said'perhaps you would like an art history interview?' I know looking back I should have been grateful but I just flipped I almost shouted 'I want to be an architect and no I don't want another interview.' He explained my historical knowledge about architectural history was good but if I really wanted to be an architect perhaps I should apply to Glasgow school of Art, he went on my portfolio was not strong enough. My heart dropped I knew I had lost I'd refused an interview for Art History and I waited....And eventually received a letter telling of my failure.
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    Erm...
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    Carry on, this is getting good.

    (Original post by Thomb)
    Erm...
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    I messed up I know but I had not that long ago suffered the biggest trauma of my life finding out I was schizophrenic. I left Cambridge and moved to where I am now in rural Wales. I looked after my mum for a while until she got better from ME she was bedridden and I was completely oblivious to it all. I did my GCSE's although I messed them up.
    Then I moved to Cornwall. I went to the local college and enjoyed myself there where there was a dope cafe. I messed up my A levels but somehow got an offer from university to do a foundation year. I won't mention the university because it was rubbish and for anonymity reasons. I messed up the course and failed. My life is just a long string of failures. Somehow though I got another university to study Architecture. I failed and went back the next year and failed again. And that is where I am pretty much now.
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    ERM..... long time no write?
 
 
 
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