I broke down in front of the library again. It’s silly, isn’t it?

I woke up, brushed my teeth, checked my calendar, shambled through my morning routine like a rousing zombie. I went to lectures, wrote down what I could, then rushed home to my part-time job. At the end of it, that left four hours for revision.

Three hours for the essays, deadlines and papers the faculty keeps setting us, and another hour for the exams at the end of university. If I got lucky, that left an hour where I was free. I should’ve been free. It only took until I went home, heaved my bag onto my bed, and collapsed into the pillows that I realised I hadn’t got the books I needed.

I couldn’t help but feel the violation that crossed through my body.

So there I was, bag lugged over my shoulder, the heavy weight a part of me as any other limb at this point, feet planted at the library door.

“Closed for renovations,” it said blithely. There was no mention of these shutdowns online.

I couldn’t help it. My heart overflowed.

I hadn’t realised I was crying until I felt a wet inkblot on my hands. I didn’t realise I was curled on the floor until a crowd gathered around me, a pack of vultures. A collection of hollow, smiling faces. Are you okay? Are you finding this hard? Don’t you want to leave? Are you not having fun? Are you good enough?

REF: W-17062025-03