The crippling breakdowns are the absolute worst thing about exam week

So you’re back at uni. Christmas was a “mad one” (or at least that’s what you’re telling people so they don’t delve a little deeper into the shitty four weeks you spent hanging out with your pets and/or your nan), but only a hellish revision schedule awaits you in term two.

Just like any other horrific event, the stages of this exam grief largely follow the Kübler-Ross model, and aren’t very pretty.

First, there’s the denial

When the amount you have to do is a little overWHALEming

What revision? The exam is two weeks away, there’s plenty of time. Everything will be okay. Sure, you didn’t go to every lecture last term, your notes might only be half complete, and you’ve started to get a sneaky suspicion that your course friends are getting sick of you sponging off of them, but you have loads of time left. You write a revision plan, making sure you leave Wednesday free for the obligatory Smack hangover, and file your notes. That’s enough work for today.

Anger quickly follows as you realise how screwed you really are

FFS

You realise your revision timetable is probably a little ambitious and haul yourself off to the library, spending 12 hours a day on the same floor. It’s here that you begin to realise revision isn’t just cute stationary and cups of coffee. You aren’t quite sure if you’re angry because of the sheer amount of work you left for your future self from last term, or because the crisp eater is slowly turning you insane.

You begin to hate everything and everyone associated with your degree. It dawns on you that your favourite lecturer (you know, the one that’s been charming you all term with his wit and genuine love for the subject he’s teaching?) is actually a sneaky, sly and quite frankly deceiving asshole that likes to put material on the exam he barely discusses at all in the lecture. You hate him the most.

It’s time to procrastinate

You wonder how many times you can put off work by making yourself a cup of tea. You wonder if your flatmates will question why you’ve suddenly cleaned the entire house, having barely washed a plate all term. You re-write your revision timetable, having to update it because you just wasted two days watching whale documentaries. Whale whale whale, it looks like you aren’t going to be as productive as you thought.

You start bargaining with yourself

Is this a kidnapping? Because these kids are certainly stealing any positive outlook in their future.

You begin spending more time calculating the exact minimum you need on each exam and essay in order to scrape a 60, than on actually studying in order to reach the 60. The outlook is bleak. You tell yourself “I’ll do better tomorrow”, but have to contemplate whether these words actually mean anything having said the exact same everyday for the past 10 days.

The sullen depression kicks in

Today my focus will be on making in through the day

You have a lack of sleep and abuse of caffeine-induced breakdown when you realise you didn’t “do better tomorrow”. At this point there literally aren’t enough hours left for you to revise everything you wanted. You are doomed. You cry and eat cake. It’s damp and a little salty from your tears. Even cake can’t help you now.

You finally accept you’re your situation and stop caring

This is what freedom look slike

You realise that you can’t do anything more, but amongst your angry revising and tear-fuelled break downs you might actually have learned something. You go into the exam with a new sense of hope, and come out feeling like you did an average job. Congratulations, you made it.