bad habits.
I always seem to drift from writing in here. I always forget about how much I used to enjoy writing. Stupid school-making me all annoyed with it.
So I've been living at home for one month, one week and four days.
These have been some of the most difficult times I've ever experienced so far. I don't think I've ever cried as much as I have since being back. It's not that I'm not happy to be back. I love it here. Love it. I love Vancouver. This city has so much going for it and with the olympics in our very near future this city is about to boom like it never has before. I'm proud to be here and to be a part of it.
The one thing I wasn't prepared for was how hard it would be to be living at home again. Home in my parents house again. I'm too old and I'm way too independent for this kind of life. I need to be out on my own again. Top that off with the constant stress and pressure from both my parents and my step dad to get a job and "contribute". There are days when it seems I'm a burden to them. Days when apparently I can't do anything right. Days when I feel like I'm a problem child. It's not fun.
Most times I've cried have been because of my family. I don't think they understand the stress I'm under. All they see is a 22yr old who has moved back home, dropped out of college, has no job and no money. On paper I'm a real dream. I feel like shit a lot but I've been trying really hard. They don't seem to see that. They also havn't considered how hard it was for me to move back here. To them it was "about time" I moved back. They don't understand that after almost 5 years in Boston I created a life for myself. I met amazing people who I love with all my heart and will for years. I miss people a lot these days.
All this sadness only makes me question my choice in leaving.
It makes me feel like I was running away from something. I guess I kind of was. A kind of repetitive cycle that I just couldn't see a way out of. I wasn't miserable. I had some of the best times of my life in Boston. It just seemed like it needed to happen.
I needed to kick myself in the ass and make something happen. First step move. Second step fucking do something great. I'm still working on that.
It's not all sadness here though. Although I know I just ranted about my misery and the emo kid inside me is trying to pry its way out BUT things are slowly changing.
I might have a job. Crossing my fingers.
I have a business partner.
I painted my room so I don't feel like I'm in high school anymore.
And I have offers left and right for future roommates from people I adore.
It's all slowly happening. slowly.
What I'm really getting at is that my heart aches thinking about the people I've left behind. It aches like you don't even know. And I can't fucking wait to see them again.
The hopeless romantic and dreamer inside me just waits anxiously for the day that I'll see you all again. I think about what it will be like to hug and kiss people I wish I had hugged and kissed more and for longer.
I love you.
So I've been living at home for one month, one week and four days.
These have been some of the most difficult times I've ever experienced so far. I don't think I've ever cried as much as I have since being back. It's not that I'm not happy to be back. I love it here. Love it. I love Vancouver. This city has so much going for it and with the olympics in our very near future this city is about to boom like it never has before. I'm proud to be here and to be a part of it.
The one thing I wasn't prepared for was how hard it would be to be living at home again. Home in my parents house again. I'm too old and I'm way too independent for this kind of life. I need to be out on my own again. Top that off with the constant stress and pressure from both my parents and my step dad to get a job and "contribute". There are days when it seems I'm a burden to them. Days when apparently I can't do anything right. Days when I feel like I'm a problem child. It's not fun.
Most times I've cried have been because of my family. I don't think they understand the stress I'm under. All they see is a 22yr old who has moved back home, dropped out of college, has no job and no money. On paper I'm a real dream. I feel like shit a lot but I've been trying really hard. They don't seem to see that. They also havn't considered how hard it was for me to move back here. To them it was "about time" I moved back. They don't understand that after almost 5 years in Boston I created a life for myself. I met amazing people who I love with all my heart and will for years. I miss people a lot these days.
All this sadness only makes me question my choice in leaving.
It makes me feel like I was running away from something. I guess I kind of was. A kind of repetitive cycle that I just couldn't see a way out of. I wasn't miserable. I had some of the best times of my life in Boston. It just seemed like it needed to happen.
I needed to kick myself in the ass and make something happen. First step move. Second step fucking do something great. I'm still working on that.
It's not all sadness here though. Although I know I just ranted about my misery and the emo kid inside me is trying to pry its way out BUT things are slowly changing.
I might have a job. Crossing my fingers.
I have a business partner.
I painted my room so I don't feel like I'm in high school anymore.
And I have offers left and right for future roommates from people I adore.
It's all slowly happening. slowly.
What I'm really getting at is that my heart aches thinking about the people I've left behind. It aches like you don't even know. And I can't fucking wait to see them again.
The hopeless romantic and dreamer inside me just waits anxiously for the day that I'll see you all again. I think about what it will be like to hug and kiss people I wish I had hugged and kissed more and for longer.
I love you.