5:56 am, refresh… nothing. 5:57am, refresh… nothing. 5:58am, refresh… nothing. There I was, sat on the sofa, blanket around me – I had tried to sleep but it hadn’t happened – waiting for the UCAS website to update, waiting to see if I was going to go to university. 5:59am, refresh… nothing. 6:00am, refresh… updated…
I’ll return in a moment, I just need to explain a little bit first. At this point I was eighteen-years-old and had been living by myself for over two years. And when I say by myself, I mean by myself. I had a miniscule property in St. Ives, Cambridgeshire.
It was what I needed, but there wasn’t much of it: there was a black two-seater sofa; a classic ‘box’ TV; a kitchen barely bigger than myself; a bedroom which couldn’t fit a double bed in; a spiral metal staircase I always whacked myself on; and a bathroom that only recently had a shower fitted, before then I only had a tiny bath, forcing me to alternate between sticking my legs in the air or having my entire torso out the water when I wanted to wash – pure comedy to watch but not that fun in reality.
I lived there the entirety of Sixth Form. Whilst living alone gave me significant freedom and clout amongst a bunch of 16-18 year-olds it wasn’t without its problems. When I lived with my family I would come home to my six younger siblings, a dog, a cat and our mother; with an occasionally step-dad. It was a lively household.
We were squashed together in a three-bed council house: I had the smallest room to myself, my sisters’ shared, my brothers’ shared, whilst my mother slept on the sofa-bed. Imagine going from that to an always empty house. And it was always a house, it was never a home.
The year ‘it’ happened my siblings were aged between 2 and 12, with me 15. I was the eldest. I felt responsible for them. I didn’t always make the right decisions, e.g. I would break up fights by getting involved, but I loved them and did my best.
The reason I had to look after them was because my mother spent her time in Azeroth. World of Warcraft started as her escape, it soon became her life. When I got up she was questing and when I went to bed she was still raiding. Towards the end she even moved downstairs to be closer to the screen. My step-dad isn’t really worth mentioning, though suffice to say he didn’t help when he was there.
My mother’s ineptitude meant the house never stayed clean: there were piles of laundry that crossed time zones; our bedrooms looked like the proverbial bomb had hit them; the floors were knee high in junk; the upstairs toilet was blocked in by boxes, clothing and bin bags; unwashed mouldy, rancid dishes covered the kitchen; the large garden was a mini-forest, overgrown and wildlife-infested; and the sheds (plural) were filled with bags of items we hadn’t used in years. It was squalid, unhealthy, and made us stink to high heavens at school.
It won’t surprise you to learn social services split us up. My sisters went one way, my brother another and myself? At 15 I was old enough to do what I wanted. So, I stayed with my mother – what else would a kid want to do but that? The time with her was short lived though, she grew increasingly irate, blaming me for her failings, saying I was at fault for our family’s breakup.
This tumultuous period ended when she was imprisoned, for £35,000 of benefit fraud. Me? Well, as a teenager in a difficult place I wasn’t the easiest to look after, a few family members tried but couldn’t help in the way I needed – they had already given so much – so I was left on the streets.
Fortunately, that didn’t last long; a person who-wasn’t-then-my-friend’s family took me in. A month later a supported housing project gave me my own place. And then I received my GSCE results, 2 As and 7 Bs. I had gotten into Sixth Form. A miracle.
I spent the following two years working as hard as I could. I struggled during early exams and coursework, resitting quite a number. This was hardly surprising, during this time I was struggling to sleep at night, the quiet kept me awake, and I longed to be with my siblings.
I kept at it though, kept working, kept trying to actually achieve something. My school were great, always trying to push me whilst understanding my situation. I was moving into a better position, but was it enough?
This takes me back to results’ day. Sitting on my computer, pressing the refresh button every minute. I knew the UCAS website would update soon, tell me whether I had managed to get to university. I had initially applied to study film but a last second change of mind meant I only had one option left – reading politics at Keele University in Staffordshire.
At 6am the UCAS website finally updated. I had done it.
It was another few hours before I could go to school to collect my grades. The D in English was less than I wanted, but unsurprising, a B in Film was exactly what I was aiming for, and then the A in Politics made everything worth it.
A Level results was the day my life changed. Nothing has been the same in the four years since. I’ve now gone through university and dealt with another batch of problems – though that’s another story – and I’m now well on my way towards becoming a journalist.
Sure, not everyone who experienced similar situations to me will be so lucky but, regardless, it is possible to make it. Getting to university is a great step forwards, though even if you fail you still have your entire life to change your fortunes. You can either let your life experiences drag your future down, or you could leave the hurt in the past – though never forget what happened – and create a better future.
JJ Morris Blog 