By Eve McCafferty
The Jellyfish Theory
By Eve McCafferty
Ironically, it’s hard to put into words the disappointment you feel when you make the crass discovery that university might not be for you. For the majority of people, it’s
almost like a forbidden promise you’re fed in secondary school that your college days will be
the “best days of your life”. It makes you feel that, by not enjoying it as you’re supposed to,
you’re discrediting your secondary school experiences. I relied on that promise as a crutch
during secondary school. You can imagine my surprise when the harsh reality of secondary
school being the best days of my life set in. It was horrible.
Not to play the whole ‘dead friend card’, but my best friend died six months before the mighty
beast that was the Leaving Certificate was supposed to begin. It was hard. It is still hard. I
didn’t go to school for, like, six weeks. Being the absolute academic weapon that I am (was),
I still did relatively okay for someone willing to throw away her entire future. When
the time came to flee the nest, I felt guilty. I felt as though I was leaving him here alone. I
used that guilt as an excuse to just sit in my room and refuse to exist. The only thing I would
do was wake up at half three, go and get a blueberry elf bar, and sob dramatically to The
Greatest Showman soundtrack. This lasted two whole months before it dawned on me that I
wasn’t getting anywhere; that this lifestyle was probably a bit unhealthy.
I had this blatantly nihilistic attitude that I thought was super-duper cool at the time. I called it
“The Jellyfish Theory: An existential guide to things that exist purely to not exist”. What is the
“The Jellyfish Theory: An existential guide to things that exist purely to not exist,” you ask?
(nobody cares) I genuinely don’t think there’s a person alive, including me, that knows what
it means. It revolved around the mindset of not wanting to exist but simultaneously not-
wanting-to-die. A mellow-dramatic way of explaining depression to myself. I was truly
content with the fact that I existed just to lie in bed and be a bum. I could just rot in bed for the rest of eternity and not think twice, because my “purpose” was just to be a thing that existed purely to not exist. I KNOW. Like, what?
I think we all know this is just… madness. This lackadaisical, can-not-do attitude
was the downfall of the aforementioned academic weapon. I was afraid of not amounting to
anything, or just not doing anything. Honestly, I still am. I went back to university the
following September, and I’m horrified to say that I am, once again, a bum. Unemployed.
Unenrolled. I remember talking to the campus doctor about how unhappy I was to be back at
university, but I felt like I would disappoint everyone who believed in me if I ultimately
decided to drop out again. His advice was to “walk around campus and hear the voices of
the predeceasing graduates”. OK girl, will do.
Honestly, I have no idea what I’m doing. I know that no one truly knows what they’re doing,
but by God, why is everyone so much better at not knowing what they’re doing than me?
There is an inconceivable pressure that comes with adulthood. An unexpected expectation
to know how you want to spend the rest of your life. When you’re young, that expectation
feels like a badge of honour. It feels as though you’re untouchable because someone
believes wholeheartedly that your best days are still to come. There is an inconceivable guilt
that comes with not fulfilling that expectation.
I don’t think I wasn’t smart enough for third-level education or anything. That’s why it hits so
hard that I couldn’t make it work. That being said, I’m not the Jesus Christ of college drop-
outs. I truly believe that when it comes to your happiness - you have to be selfish. Don’t,
like, break the law or anything, but put yourself first. Everyone deserves to be happy.
This whole article is very doom-and-gloom, I know that. I just wanted to knock your
happiness down a bit before I got to the good part.
The end. Just kidding.
The one true super-duper cool attitude to have is: that no one cares what you do. People care,
that’s not what I mean, but if you’re miserable then what’s the point in doing anything?
A more in-depth version of that question is, what’s the point in doing the things that
make you miserable? Being happy is both the easiest and hardest thing you could ever do.
My whole thing is that you know what makes you happy, no matter how hard you deny it. Do
those things. No one is keeping you from doing those things except yourself. You’re never
going to be a disappointment ever in the history of time, not to the people who truly love you.
That way of thinking is what held me back from happiness. I don’t think like that
anymore, and look at me! In my room on a Friday night, drinking Lidl's own brand Coke Zero,
jamming out to The Greatest Showman soundtrack. Talk about growth, am I right?
You’re your own best friend and your own worst enemy. If you don’t believe me - watch
Ferris Bueller's Day Off. Or don’t. I don’t care. Just be happy.
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