In one week, I'll be on a plane to another country on my own, where I'll live for three months. I don't have a schedule or know where I'm living and I don't know anyone where I'm going. Up until yesterday, nobody told me how much money I had to pay for this pleasure, which was it's own source of stress. The sale of our house still hasn't officially gone through (and, we recently found out, may never go through...four months after happening) so we're waiting on this money for the program that's not gonna be in time and have to borrow from my grandmother, who, speaking of? Has good days and bad days. Days where she does nothing but criticize us and how we've arranged things and our clutter and everything my mother does. And days where everything's fine and she barely notices we exist.
Today was one of the bad days. Today was my mother's birthday. Today was my brother's first day at a new school. Today was the day she wrote the check so we can go get a certified check so I can put this check in the mail. Today marked one week until I get on a plane on my own for the first time. Today marked one week until I leave the country for the first time.
It's been a long summer. And part of a long year. I don't think I ever fully recovered from last September. Because last September lead right into Mystery Illness which lead right into my GPA becoming a concern for my scholarship which lead to another semester of full time student and part time intern and freelance worker and anxiety haver which has lead to a second semester where my GPA is a concern for my scholarship.
Nothing has let up. My motivation is gone. My anxiety is constant to the point where I've had difficulties breathing for two weeks. It was so bad that initially, I thought Mystery Illness was returning. I'm not sure if this is better or worst.
In the last months before moving out of NYC, I started to wonder about the friendships I had there. How many, how valid they were. How much I mattered. Three years with many of the people I know there, and still I never quite fit. Was it worth still trying? Did they care? Did I? Do I want to go back to a NYC where I'm not sure I have friends?
And now, for most of the past three months, I've been able to push it off because...I haven't had anyone around. Besides two high school friends and my handful of visits to NYC, I haven't seen anyone. Twitter and tumblr and email and Facebook and instagram are all I've had. And I've tweeted more than usual because of that, desperate to talk to people in my generation and with my political beliefs. I've shared some of this, but perhaps not all. I haven't shared how bad the anxiety is and when I have, I've tried to play it off.
For two weeks, my self worth has been plummeting and my anxiety has been rising. Talking about my anxiety and this move and this study abroad process has worn out and nobody seems to reach out to check in. Nobody seems to reply. Nobody seems interested in anything I do or say and a couple of recent posts in particular have hit hard and made me feel utterly useless. Like a complete waste of space. These are my friends and they have their own concerns and issues and I shouldn't expect them to worry about me all the time, but do they care at all? Am I just annoying them too much by sharing and trying to reach out without directly reaching out? Are they actually my friends? And when I talk about certain issues, do they think what I'm saying is wrong or offensive or stupid?
Does anything I say or do matter to anyone?
I feel unaccomplished and stupid and lumpy and worthless and logically, I know it's wrong. Logically, I know I matter. Logically, I know people care about me and they can't all be online as often as I can be, and therefore miss things.
Anxiety gives zero fucks about logic.
It's gotten to the point where I've wanted to talk about the anxiety more on twitter, but the idea gives me anxiety because what if it just annoys more people? What if all the people I think would help me miss it or ignore it or mock it? What if nobody cares?
What if what if what if what if. My brain has been nothing but what ifs for two weeks. What if I don't do friends/tweets/posts/anxiety/anything right?
I don't really know where to go from here. I just know that I feel friendless and worthless and I'm questioning why I thought anything I'm trying to do is possible. I'm questioning why I'm a terrible friend and why I can't seem to maintain healthy relationships and if this is the case, clearly it's me not them. I just know I'm tired of not sleeping and not breathing. I'm tired of feeling like this but I don't know how to stop.
And one week from today, I'll be on a plane to an adventure where I can't solve anything in advance.
--Julie
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