After the excitement of living in a new country wears off, after my friends moved away, when I finished studying, I realized just how lonely it can feel to live in a foreign country far from old friends and family. A strange feeling for someone who isn’t insanely close with their family who goes months without talking to their parents, and who enjoys being alone. I never anticipated depression or a constant feeling of isolation and let me tell you guys, it sucks! Some days I feel like ME and other days I feel so crazy that I think I should check myself into a crazy house. Sometimes I talk to myself so loud that Oliver will come into the room and cock his head to the side wondering who the fuck I’m chatting with. Just when I pick up the phone to dial the nut-house, I remember that the mental institution in Florence has been empty ever since they decided to open the doors and flood the streets with lunatics. Sometimes I think I can’t get by without finding someone to put me on Prozac and other days all I need is a glass of wine, or five.
Maybe I’m just not drinking enough.
I don’t think that most of the other expats feel this bananas. I think my circumstances might be a little particular due to the freakish amount of rejection and disappointment I’ve dealt with here. I’ll be honest, being “the weird one,” has damaged my self esteem a lot. I used to be resilient but I think I’ve been bent too far and I snapped before I could spring back.
It’s not Italy’s fault. Italy is beautiful. Maybe I’m just not cut out to sit amongst pretty things.
Hiding.
