(Here I am! Yep, bright orange hair. I'm half oirish and barbadian *gigglesnort*)I'm leaving tomorrow.
It's been the maddest few weeks in a while. I got slaughtered by the brick wall of bureaucracy - by that I mean money worries (having none), bank issues, forms and new computer systems that never make anything as convenient as they promise to be. I had a massive anxiety attack and couldn't leave the house or do anything at all for four days. I just slept all day or spent my energy getting to the sofa. And when it came to every single deadline of all the letters and appointments to make were about to squish me into student pate, I found myself too terrified to leave the house. Didn't cut, but I drank a lot. Didn't make myself throw up, but I'm still eating at night sometimes, and I can't sleep and I'm hating my body enormously.
A lot of it is because of my worsening anxiety and OCD issues (I have to switch the light switch on/off at least three times before I enter into any darkened enclosed space. It's to warn spiders of my arrival :) and what's also making my anxiety worse are the Fluoxetine pills I've been taking (Prozac to everyone else). Whoever called it "Happy Pills" deserves a slap! I've been getting sweats, I have sudden bouts of tiredness in the middle of the day which has so far left me helpless for up to SIX HOURS. If I skip a couple of days I get the worst nausea and I feel like I'm being punished. I can't have an orgasm. It's embarrassing and personal, but that's the case. I've tried everything that doesn't require money! It's just not happening and now that I'm leaving I wonder if this'll fuck any relationships before they start, considering I'm still a virgin at 18 years (all of my friends aren't...and they call me the "sassy" one??? Ok, maybe that's just me - but it's true!)
All I can say about whether these things will dissipate, work itself out by itself or by more/less pills is up to the next six months. I'm working through it. I really am. I am so fucking determined to get myself "happy" - be able to stay happy and functional. Cos let's be honest. Maybe it's just me, but there is no such thing as a happy Superwoman. No way. No way. Even the day before I tried to take my life last November the thing I was most concerned about was not my health, but the three essays I had due and making sure my family never realised how fragile my sanity was. That's Superwoman; all she does is hide and succeed. When are you allowed - not forced, allowed by yourself - to pig out on the sofa, watch some Oprah, watch some crappy Soap opera and gorge on stuffed crust pizza? On prozac I'll probably be on them for a year and eventually get ahold of myself, but I can't function as well... I've had a metre-long string of blonde moments, included losing something that was actually in my hand, holding up supermarket queues like those type of women/old people everyone hates who don't know how to shop, and so on. Without it I had quite a few moments of brilliance, lots of confusion which led to lots of thinking. By thinking things through is how I've kept myself afloat the last 6 years of my depression, gotten countless A's and high scores, earned the teacher's praise, knew this self and who I was at that time. And I was able to function, and dictate, and
do things very, very well.
I am no longer Superwoman, and I may no longer be the gifted writer I once was. But I'm laughing easier, I can understand why I'm crying, I know what I'm suffering from and how to battle it, at long long long last.
And like, you know what? I may be severely lacking the sanity to deal with bank changes and the brain melting arena of student finance (as unfair it is to single parents grr) and forms, I am doing really good.
So I leave tomorrow, for the city of Manchester, to study Philosophy and Politics. Any Mancunians wanting to say hi? I'm going to miss London so much. I've been through the first crisis of book packing - at first it was the giant suitcase completely filled with novels. Now it's one plastic box. Then its my clothes. It's different cos I'll be living there more than I live in London, which feels nuts because London is my lifeblood. I love this city. I love the polluted air, and the
restrained tuts and outspoken have a go heroes, the crazy ass mini cabs and
taxis, listening to five languages on the same bus journey, the Somalis, the Polish (?) the rudeness,
the tube, the
London buses that are all the same price to use even if at extortionate prices. I'm going to miss charismatic homeless men carrying the clean train of a newlywed bride on Westminster Bridge (I'm serious it really happened!).
I'll miss the glittering, romantic, filthy Thames, I'll miss Westminster Bridge in the morning when you can listen to Pearl Jam in peace. I'll miss Twickehham Rugby Stadium,
Richmond College,
Ealing, Feltham, Hanworth Park and the gorgeous Tudor graveyard. I'll miss
BBC London News, Xfm and LBC Radio. I'll miss being in the centre of what I believe is the universe. I'll miss Southern accents and the arrogance, god the arrogance. I'll miss the London Eye and the Gherkin and Congestion Charge and Mayor Ken Livingstone and the random bookshops and little clothes shops. I'll miss Foyles a lot. I'll miss the museums, the art galleries the parks, the familiarity, the neighbours, my bedroom, my family, my wonderful friends who made mecry tonight at the feeling of missing them and their lives, because you know it's just not the same again.
All of you, all these things that I dearly love and will dearly miss, take a bow and hear this praise whilst the London air is the only chemical powering through my veins and before the capital of the north, Manchester barges through. Will it have my Lush? Will it have a Borders with a 300-year old staircase and a cafe at the top with squashy chairs and happy career women? Will there be anything to rival Soho? Will I find my quiet haven outside this place I live in? How long will I stay sane up there, and how long until I fall in love again? How long till I feel looked after, if ever? How long until I succeed? How long until I screw up? And how long until I won't miss my bed, my giant Sycamore trees, or Mr Bob, toughest goldfish in town?
I don't care too much because at this moment I feel as if I'm doing the right thing. I can worry about my Dad being left without his little girl, and my big bro without his little sister, but I've learnt
that I should NEVER be afraid of doing what I know is good, and what is right for me. How long it take for you to learn that lesson? Must dash, must pack!
