i want to have control
This entry may not be appropriately happy. I'm sure a bit of it is the influence of reading an acquaintance's blog, which is rather less than uplifting. But it's inspired me to embrace all the reasons why I'm not as happy as may be deemed appropriate, given my current situation.
I'm in England. It is glorious. I'm having the time of my life. Everything is green and that helps a lot, I've always been a fan of foliage. I feel like my not being thrilled with things at this point in my life would be blasphemous, that I'd be unappreciative (and I have little patience for those who are unappreciative). I think my Radiohead addiction is betraying me, since Pablo Honey really isn't helping me feel any less damaged at the moment (in my defense, it's really an early live album).
The simplest thing to say is that I'm homesick. For nearly as long as I've been here, I've been planning out my summer, dreaming of the apartment Paige and I don't yet live in, imagining a summer job (most likely at Old Navy, since I'd love to get employee discounts at anything Gap-owned. I'm a commercialistic whore at times, so be it), longing for June Oklahoma air. I hate June Oklahoma air. Summer's never sat right with me in that state. But I miss it, terribly sometimes, and the near-deserted Norman that accompanies it. I've been planning my summer and fall class schedules constantly, even a month before course lists were up. It's a form of escapism.
Part of me hates being here.
And I hate saying this, because I know you'll read it, Ashlee, and I can hardly forgive myself for being homesick, because I know how you wanted to be here. I know I know I know. Part of me wishes you could be here instead (that's much of all I could think when I found out you couldn't come), but the selfish part of me wouldn't want to give this up. I do love the experience, I love traveling, seeing everything ancient, everything green. It's the in-between time that hurts.
I can't stand this university. The number of ways it's unorganized are astounding. The work load I'm under is staggering. Everyone here is too loud and never punctual. Queues? A LIE. I've never seen more chaos at bus stops in my life. It's grotesque, it's infuriating, it sounds very petty when I put it this way, but still.
My stress level is through the roof. I've been pulling my hair out pretty constantly since I've gotten here. That's not to say that I haven't always, just that it's gotten considerably worse.
I've been incredibly insecure as of late. I'm painfully aware of how much more effort the girls here put into their appearance than I do. All I see are skirts and eyeliner. I feel dirty, plain, and overweight. I bought cheap running shoes (forgot mine at home), but haven't been running since I'm waiting for Brice to come with me, and he's been having knee problems, and I don't want to run by myself down streets I'm unfamiliar with. University gym memberships cost about 200 pounds, insanity.
Anxiety issues are just getting worse. Crowds get me like never before, and there are plenty of them here. I've made no friends. I keep myself shut up in this tiny room with marred pink walls and hotel curtains and an unreliable radiator and atrocious green carpet and lights that flicker too much. The people who share my kitchen are disgusting, I hate cooking in there, I avoid it at all costs. They blare ridiculous music at all hours of the night and throw apples at the wall, leave a weekend's worth of trash for me to take out at the beginning of the week (oh, the joy of the 'rubbish rota'). The plumbing (in this entire country, as far as I've experienced, though maybe it's just the South) is terrible, and I'm leaving that at that.
I love Brice, but both of us are tired of having none of our other friends available. I know I sound like a hermit, but I can't make good friends easily. Yes, I've made acquaintances over here, but those aren't the people I want to talk to, those aren't the people I want to see. All but one of the worthwhile people in my life are in different countries at the moment, and that's a pitiful thought. Don't get me started on my family.
I'm panicking for various reasons. And when I panic, I don't cope, I just hide. I don't know what to do; I want to be here, but I don't want any responsibilities. I just want to wander from town to town, from country to country. We have the long Easter break planned: Scotland, Ireland, Italy. We'll see France when Brice's brother and cousin come up in May. This is all I want to happen, for the rest of my time here. I don't want there to be crowds, I don't want there to be three books a week to read (unless I've chosen them myself, thankyouverymuch), I only want to be in the country somewhere. Some country somewhere.
I'm starting to regret having put off therapy back in Norman. I wonder if I'd have gone, if they could have let me in on the secret cure to overwhelming stress.
I understand that I'm not the only person who's unhappy, not the only person who doesn't know how to cope with life. A good friend of mine recently published a story in the good old Daily (oh, how I miss you, with your crosswords and sudoku and all the opportunities you gave me to feel proud of my friends for their rather good journalism) about her struggles with self-injury. This, with the aforementioned acquaintance's blog, with the current dramas of other friends, with past dramas of other friends...I'm coming to the conclusion that everyone is as fucked up as I am. Everyone's been fucked, no one knows what to do about it. We're these miserable, bleeding things. I'm getting incredibly depressing, and disappointingly cliche.
I just feel like I need a deep soak. I need to scrub all this out, I need to forget about it. I'm really rethinking therapy for when I come back home. I don't know if it would help anything, but I haven't been since I was ten, and I'm thinking it couldn't hurt. It's not like I need to sign any more "I promise not to try to kill myself until our next appointment" notes, but I still don't think I'm quite okay.
I don't know what I'm trying to say with this, I just needed to vent. I realize that it's self-indulgent, possibly too much information and certainly more than anyone wants to hear. I didn't write any of this to try to worry anyone, because I don't want that kind of attention, and I understand that the vibes this post probably gives off are in direct contradiction with that statement, but it's true. I could have not posted it on the intarwebz, but I don't know, I think I need more than one person to hear me vent.
I'm in England. It is glorious. I'm having the time of my life. Everything is green and that helps a lot, I've always been a fan of foliage. I feel like my not being thrilled with things at this point in my life would be blasphemous, that I'd be unappreciative (and I have little patience for those who are unappreciative). I think my Radiohead addiction is betraying me, since Pablo Honey really isn't helping me feel any less damaged at the moment (in my defense, it's really an early live album).
The simplest thing to say is that I'm homesick. For nearly as long as I've been here, I've been planning out my summer, dreaming of the apartment Paige and I don't yet live in, imagining a summer job (most likely at Old Navy, since I'd love to get employee discounts at anything Gap-owned. I'm a commercialistic whore at times, so be it), longing for June Oklahoma air. I hate June Oklahoma air. Summer's never sat right with me in that state. But I miss it, terribly sometimes, and the near-deserted Norman that accompanies it. I've been planning my summer and fall class schedules constantly, even a month before course lists were up. It's a form of escapism.
Part of me hates being here.
And I hate saying this, because I know you'll read it, Ashlee, and I can hardly forgive myself for being homesick, because I know how you wanted to be here. I know I know I know. Part of me wishes you could be here instead (that's much of all I could think when I found out you couldn't come), but the selfish part of me wouldn't want to give this up. I do love the experience, I love traveling, seeing everything ancient, everything green. It's the in-between time that hurts.
I can't stand this university. The number of ways it's unorganized are astounding. The work load I'm under is staggering. Everyone here is too loud and never punctual. Queues? A LIE. I've never seen more chaos at bus stops in my life. It's grotesque, it's infuriating, it sounds very petty when I put it this way, but still.
My stress level is through the roof. I've been pulling my hair out pretty constantly since I've gotten here. That's not to say that I haven't always, just that it's gotten considerably worse.
I've been incredibly insecure as of late. I'm painfully aware of how much more effort the girls here put into their appearance than I do. All I see are skirts and eyeliner. I feel dirty, plain, and overweight. I bought cheap running shoes (forgot mine at home), but haven't been running since I'm waiting for Brice to come with me, and he's been having knee problems, and I don't want to run by myself down streets I'm unfamiliar with. University gym memberships cost about 200 pounds, insanity.
Anxiety issues are just getting worse. Crowds get me like never before, and there are plenty of them here. I've made no friends. I keep myself shut up in this tiny room with marred pink walls and hotel curtains and an unreliable radiator and atrocious green carpet and lights that flicker too much. The people who share my kitchen are disgusting, I hate cooking in there, I avoid it at all costs. They blare ridiculous music at all hours of the night and throw apples at the wall, leave a weekend's worth of trash for me to take out at the beginning of the week (oh, the joy of the 'rubbish rota'). The plumbing (in this entire country, as far as I've experienced, though maybe it's just the South) is terrible, and I'm leaving that at that.
I love Brice, but both of us are tired of having none of our other friends available. I know I sound like a hermit, but I can't make good friends easily. Yes, I've made acquaintances over here, but those aren't the people I want to talk to, those aren't the people I want to see. All but one of the worthwhile people in my life are in different countries at the moment, and that's a pitiful thought. Don't get me started on my family.
I'm panicking for various reasons. And when I panic, I don't cope, I just hide. I don't know what to do; I want to be here, but I don't want any responsibilities. I just want to wander from town to town, from country to country. We have the long Easter break planned: Scotland, Ireland, Italy. We'll see France when Brice's brother and cousin come up in May. This is all I want to happen, for the rest of my time here. I don't want there to be crowds, I don't want there to be three books a week to read (unless I've chosen them myself, thankyouverymuch), I only want to be in the country somewhere. Some country somewhere.
I'm starting to regret having put off therapy back in Norman. I wonder if I'd have gone, if they could have let me in on the secret cure to overwhelming stress.
I understand that I'm not the only person who's unhappy, not the only person who doesn't know how to cope with life. A good friend of mine recently published a story in the good old Daily (oh, how I miss you, with your crosswords and sudoku and all the opportunities you gave me to feel proud of my friends for their rather good journalism) about her struggles with self-injury. This, with the aforementioned acquaintance's blog, with the current dramas of other friends, with past dramas of other friends...I'm coming to the conclusion that everyone is as fucked up as I am. Everyone's been fucked, no one knows what to do about it. We're these miserable, bleeding things. I'm getting incredibly depressing, and disappointingly cliche.
I just feel like I need a deep soak. I need to scrub all this out, I need to forget about it. I'm really rethinking therapy for when I come back home. I don't know if it would help anything, but I haven't been since I was ten, and I'm thinking it couldn't hurt. It's not like I need to sign any more "I promise not to try to kill myself until our next appointment" notes, but I still don't think I'm quite okay.
I don't know what I'm trying to say with this, I just needed to vent. I realize that it's self-indulgent, possibly too much information and certainly more than anyone wants to hear. I didn't write any of this to try to worry anyone, because I don't want that kind of attention, and I understand that the vibes this post probably gives off are in direct contradiction with that statement, but it's true. I could have not posted it on the intarwebz, but I don't know, I think I need more than one person to hear me vent.