I'm Such a Fucking Downer

I think perhaps I shouldn't drink.

Not because I can't control how much I drink, but because I relax my tightly wound emotions when I drink. And then I fall to pieces.

"I am fine" is the phrase I keep using whenever someone asks how I am. And it's true, I am fine. But only until I let myself go a little. And then I am miserable.

But it makes no sense. I keep asking myself, "why am I so miserable?" I'm in LONDON for fuck's sake. I am LIVING in LONDON studying at one of the best schools in the world. I wish I could put my finger on exactly what it is that is bothering me so much. If I could figure out exactly what it is, I could go about fixing it. But here I am, so miserable I can't even hold decent conversation.

When I am in a new social situation, I usually put on my "fabulous face" to get me through the nervous moments. But these days I am guarded and nervous, and I hide it by being quiet. Which doesn't lend itself to meeting new interesting people, surprisingly. I'm just so wound up I can barely contain my desperation, and no one wants to be around someone who's desperate. I know I don't.

In short, I am boring because I am depressed.

The worst thing is that I realize I am fucking this up. This should be the most interesting, wild, creative time of my life. I should be out meeting people, doing things, seeing things, having fun. And here I am at home, wasting it by being miserable and lonely. I am so mad at myself! But I can't seem to fix the problem. I don't even know how to go about starting. And I have no one here to help me do it, either. No one to drag me out despite my protests, and force me to have a good time. And I need that right now. I really need it.

Determined to become a more social and independent woman, I planned to go to a pub alone last night. I intended to have a few drinks, meet some new people, and then come home. After dinner my room mates and I had a few glasses of wine while they helped me pick an outfit for my pub crawl. We were discussing boys, sex toys, and generally having a good raunchy girl talk, when suddenly I stopped having fun. They had to go get ready for their own evening plans, and I began to silently freak out.

That's when I saw my boyfriend online and begged him to come see me. I mean, I begged. I became so damn desperate I couldn't control myself. I NEEDED to see him. Of course he couldn't just pop over. The couple of thousand miles between us makes it hard for him to stop by for a few hours on a whim. But I couldn't stop myself from begging him, wishing more than anything in the world that he could magically appear at my door.

This of course put him in the undesirable position of having to say "no" to repeated unreasonable requests. Each time he said it I felt like I was getting punched in the gut. I wanted to throw up. I was so disappointed (even though it wasn't his fault), and right then decided I couldn't stand to live like this anymore. I decided that I was old enough to know that I am putting myself through unnecessary torture, so I made the drunken, grand decision that I would move home after this quarter was over.

And then my boyfriend got pissed at me, and rightly so. He got offline to start his day and let me cool down. Suddenly alone in my panic, I felt even more miserable and hopeless than before. Furious at him, and at myself I went to bed early. No going out for this redhead. My outfit for my planned night was still laid out on my bed when I crawled under the thin quilt to sleep. I found it in a messy pile at the foot of my bed this morning.

It seems I come apart every time I talk to my boyfriend. He is the only person I can talk to with any honesty about how I feel, and he's at the center of most of my feelings about being here. So the poor guy gets to hear all the crap and listen to me break down every few days. He's handling it really well, but I can't keep doing this to him. And I know he's nearing his breaking point with my complaining. I won't be winning any Best Girlfriend of the Year awards, I'm afraid. I'll be lucky to get a Miss Emotional Stability ribbon.

I hesitate to say, "I should be...." because that is a verbal set up for failure. But I should be happy. I should be. I really, really should be. Or at least I should be a little excited, or a little thrilled. But I am finding it hard to live in the moment, and see this opportunity for what it is. All I can focus on is how lonely I am, and how lonely I will continue to be if I can't shake this downer bullshit.