That's it: I quit too.

I'm heading up to Sheffield so I can sit my retakes. I have still not had either the time or mindset to revise, so the chance of my performing better than previously is next to nil. Which means I will officially fail a year at university for the second time. At this point I quite expect them to turn around and not let me continue there in any capacity, including retaking the year or the modules I've failed.

I don't feel particularly bad about all that, but I feel fucking rotten to the core that I don't feel bad about it. My heart isn't in my course; it hasn't been in education for years. My heart isn't in anything I've ever had any interest in. If I were required to identify where my heart was, I don't think I could. Extending this metaphor I could say I feel heartless, but that's obviously not the right word.

This isn't even related to the death of my dad. This is years old stuff that I predict is reaching some kind of meltdown where the momentum of my early overachieving has run out. I knew my dad left education early, left mandatory education without any of the statutory qualifications. I didn't know it was because his response to the bullying in his school's playground was to start his own protection racket. I also never knew that he regretted never taking the opportunities I have. I have been told he was very proud of me, which stands to reason, but he never expressed it to me.

But that doesn't affect how I feel. I don't even know how I actually feel other than "fucked up and tired". Tired of being unable to escape the same self-demeaning thoughts or shed the same self-destructive habits.

So there's the latest rant in my recent blog series I'm thinking of titling "Summer of Shit". Forgive me.