So many new thoughts have entered my overactive mind in the last few weeks. While I love my adventurous side (and still have a dozen more countries that I would like to see), I have this need to settle down. No, I don’t necessarily mean having kids, getting married, buying a house and investing in things. I mean, I want to find a place that I can call home. This has been all too difficult for the past few years because I’ve had to move apartments, countries and cities every 2-4 months for work or because of a lease that has ended. It’s left me somewhat bitter in that I have to pack up everything I own once again and try to make a new place “homey”. So once again, it’s been a total of 6 weeks in this new place and I have to move out. Just lovely.
When I heard the news 3 weeks ago, I frantically searched real estate websites in Barcelona and even went as far as looking at places in Cape Town and Berlin. I also thought perhaps I’d do a month-long travel through Europe. But moving cities and moving countries means yet again getting used to the area, learning the language and so on and so forth. While that is exciting, I am just not in the place right now.
I’ve been living in Barcelona now for 5 months… and I love it. I am quite sure that I am not convincing myself that I love it because I don’t feel like making a big move. When I think back on the places I have lived throughout my adult life, none feel like home… besides Barcelona. Just my luck though, that places available for March are either utterly shit or too expensive. So, in an attempt to get my ducks in a row, I’ve bought a return ticket to go home for 2 months. In this time, I hope to save my money, come back in May and get a one bedroom place. There’s just one problem with all of this…
Having broken away from life in my home country, people move on – much as the same as I have too. They’re different, I am different. And suddenly, I get the feeling as though they really couldn’t care less that I am coming home. Family and friends probably see me as a burden as I need to crash at their place and rely on them (or public transport) to get around. I hate been reverted back to the state where I rely on others. I’ve recently learned that this is the reason why I love living in a different country. I don’t want nor need the help of others. Additionally, I realised that I don’t really have any one in this entire world that gives a fuck where I am or what I am doing. Sad, but sort of freeing.
So while I will only be spending two months at home, it almost feels wrong. It feels like I’ve bought a one-way ticket to a place where I am “the baby” again, asking for help. I really should be excited but I’m just not.
I am completely transformed back to a place in which I felt utterly hopeless. I lacked motivation and drive, I felt nothing and I hated it. The only difference now is – I have become somewhat of a recluse, spending all of my time inside my bedroom. I dread going outside. Everything outside seems like a chore – bumping into people, glancing at strangers’ faces, having to figure myself out in the city. I’m in beautiful Barcelona but it feels more like I am in a dark hole.
What is the point of traveling, living in new countries and cities when I can’t even get the energy to leave the house? What’s more frustrating, is that my friends tell me to snap out of it. They just don’t understand that there’s something weird and irrational happening in my overactive mind. I know that I need to get out more, and I fantasise about it constantly by Googling exciting places to see, cafes to work in, countries and hotels to visit – but all of those hours are put to waste when I wake up and cannot give myself a single reason to get out of bed.
I used to be a doer. I yearn for those days again. Now, I am back to that place where my anxiety is so high that I hope for wonderful things, plan them excessively and then – do nothing. Do I up the dose on my anti-depressants? Do I wait it out? Trying to push myself is just not working anymore. I don’t know what will work but this just can’t be how I live my life.
After almost seven weeks in a brand new country, you would think that I would have a lot to say. In actuality, I’m struggling to find my words. The age old irony of the writer that has lost her words.
While I felt immense dread before coming to Spain, I naively had a thought that perhaps things would be different for me. Surely there is a place, a man, and a career out there in one or other country waiting for me to grab it? Sadly, Spain has proven to be quite a let down and truthfully… it’s all my fault.
I was silly to think that I could go back to ESL teaching after having experience a life as a professional writer. I fooled myself in believing that Spain would hold adventure and love for me, and that it wouldn’t matter what job I had if I was living in one of the most breathtaking countries in the world. This is one of many lies I have told myself.
I am living a lifeless life. I don’t speak the language. I have no friends. I am about to embark on a career that I don’t love while giving up on one that I do… and it’s all my fault.
I’ve taken a million steps backwards in my quest for happiness and I am overcome with guilt. I’m stuck and I don’t know how to get out without upsetting someone. Help.
Last night, I thought about what I wanted to achieve in 2016. It didn’t take me long to reach the conclusion that I should skip all the bullshit of my not wanting to go out sometimes and not wanting to do something or meet someone because traveling and planning left with me anxiety but more so, I’ve just become stubborn in that, I don’t know how I’ll feel on the day, hence my lack of planning. It’s probably fair to say that I have missed many opportunities to meet people because of this.
Today, however, I feel as though I couldn’t be assed to change in that manner. I hate doing things that I hate doing and that’s just it. So, I won’t.
That’s my two cents. Merry Christmas. xx
Sitting at my newly assembled desk from Amazon, that an ex helped me build two days ago (I say helped, I didn’t really do much at all) listening to my “writing music”. The music I used to put on and listen to through my headphones in Korea when the world seemed like a chaotic mess of people talking a language I didn’t understand. Somehow, it annoyed me. I hated hearing the different intonations. I hated that I understood some of it and for that reason, couldn’t block it out but instead trying to configure what they were saying all of the time. I though the world would be much better surrounded by a language you did understand.
The desk is bare holding only a few items. My MacBook, a pencil case, a notebook, a can of Coke and my packet of anti-depressants. I wonder if life has actually changed that much at all? I spent a few moments before attempting this post, something that I hope turns out at least half decent as I am desperately trying to get out of the teaching industry and into something more artistic, making my list in my little book and popping my pills to make me feel better. I don’t feel better, though. My life seems like a catch 22. There is always something that makes me feel horrible in the place that I am in. In Korea, I craved the ability to form relationships with students but it was hard because of the language barrier. I thought the grass was greener on the other side, but I am afraid to admit that I don’t think green grass does at all exist.
Growing up I was often silenced and made to feel insignificant. It was a feeling, sometimes literal, that I would scream and no one would notice. I feel that way here. I’m not given any respect from the students in this country. For once, I want to be in a place where I am heard. A place physically, emotionally, mentally – where ever. I am sinking in this job and after doing so well every where else, I hate to admit that I feel as though I am sinking.
Even though my problems seem so cliche I still feel as though no one really understands what it is I am having difficulty with. I suppose no one knows what to say or how to say what they really want to say or maybe they just don’t give a fuck. The girl that you see before you is able to roam the world leaving behind everyone and everything she knows. But when will I be able to change my mind set so that I don’t need people to understand me, I can understand myself?
I don’t know how to snap out of bad, upset, depressed or anxious moods. I’ve spent all weekend in bed, curtains drawn because I feel cheated and defeated. I’ve just started a new job as a High School English teacher. I came to England almost four months ago and I got this job via an agency who told me that the school was a “good school”. After seeing the behaviour of the students, lack of discipline and feeling like I am actually not even teaching but rather babysitting – I did some research of my own.The report indicates that this school is not, in fact, a “good school” and that the only thing they actually achieve a high ranking for, is the number of children with special educational needs. This was never told to me. In fact, I didn’t know that a report like this even existed until I started working there. Why hadn’t any one told me?
My job makes me feel frustrated and upset. I see some fantastic students sitting there, books out and ready to learn but the rest of the students make it impossible for me to even try attempt a lesson. They’re being robbed of their education and my studying has almost gone to waste. The behaviour is atrocious. This is not what I know to be an education.
I don’t know how much longer I can do this. This whole thing has gotten me really upset.
I’m beginning to think that I may not be able to be happy anywhere and that scares the shit out of me.
There’s something screaming and yearning inside of me. It’s something that’s been there for a long time and I still haven’t found that one thing that quiets the beast within.