Yeah, I don't write often in my blog even though I tell myself too. Whatever no one reads it anyway. This "attempt of motivation" is certainly not proving to be a very good one, but I don't care anymore. Really, I'm just caring less and less about things.
Is that the reverse culture shock or whatever they want to call it? Maybe. The "welcome home" has been nothing than just being thrown into a pile of crap. I arrive a few days before the holiday, the most stressful time of year to find that I'm still stressed out, I'm still confused and I'm just plain tired. I'm frustrated, I'm confused, I'm anxious and I don't want to be here. I wasn't ready to leave Berlin. That's a strange thought. I never thought I would ever consider Germany a home. My home, for that matter. And it's not just now that I'm feeling this blow. Nope, I've been feeling it for awhile. The airport frustration was enough to worry about in Berlin and in Frankfurt, but when I got to Philly and was actually slightly more well rested and hydrated, I still knew it then. Philly was America and that's not what I wanted or was ready for. I had barely been back in the States - I hadn't even stepped outside the airport area - and internally I was already screaming.
All right, enough of that, right? No, sorry. Apparently the four months that pass mean little to most people including my family and arguments and aggravation start soon after. Flush away my ability to make a decent Christmas and with that goes my ability to enjoy a birthday. My 21st, by the way. It matters little to me, to be honest. Birthdays rarely do. I gave up attempting to celebrate them. I plan, a little, but even the simplest of things seem to go awry. I can usually only depend on a few people. But what is there to do anyway?
Congrats, Jill, you can drink...just like you have for the past 4 months in Europe, but it doesn't matter anyway because you really don't drink. AWESOME.
I don't know what it is with me. The anxiety attacks lately are more than I can handle and I don't think I can blame it on culture shock anymore. I'm just frustrated with them now. I hate the anxiety and panic attacks when I have absolutely no idea where they are coming from and they are so paralyzing that I feel like vomiting and I start sweating. Really, they are incredibly pleasant as you can imagine. I almost passed out in a Gap changing room the other day from one.
Lack of nicotine? Maybe. I always prided myself for not being a "real" smoker and I couldn't help but be a bit disgusted with myself for being one. I usually quit easily, but with the onslaught of severe anxiety, a cigarette sounds like the medicine of Gods. But I can't. Maybe that's part of it. I drove myself into another anxiety attack today with a craving for one and then held back. Thankfully my cheap personality keeps me away from actually buying cigarettes so that keeps addiction far enough away.
So if anyone actually reads this...Hi, I'm back in the States. I'm far behind on anything I ever promised to write. I've been to myself and bad to people. I'm upset without the ability to pinpoint reason. And I'm a mess. A complete, complete mess. Sorry.
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