The appointment with the university administration turned out rather unspectacular: they didn’t ask any questions, just gave me a form that I need to fill out and told me to get in contact with the professor who’ll rate my credits and see how many are transferable to the new degree. The professor in question is overseas for a research trip this week, so I left him an email, and that’s all I can do so far.
At home, I tore half my flat apart while looking for the credits (nowadays, that’s all online, but ten years ago you still got a piece of paper), almost freaking out when I could not find them. It was only later that I remembered I had put them all into a portfolio case which was lying in a shelf in my living room.
I can’t help thinking that this might be a very important step in my recovery process: only now I notice how heavily the burden of this failed education had been weighing down on me. There always was a sense of failure and unfinished business in the background. Of course, I’m still nervous about everything, but it’s paired with cautious optimism.