mmipanda

My job isnt going too well.  I am just... shit at sales.  Yet that is the only job I can get.  They set me a target of 3 sales in the next 2 days [counting today] - I'm on 1.  And we only have a half day tomorrow.  Fuuuuck.  I will cry and beg to keep this job.



The more I think about going home, the closer the leaving date gets.  It was August.  Then, July.   I've since shortened it to April, after Easter.  And now i'm thinking... well HEY why not just make it March? or February?  I'll see my friends here again when they come back to Aus in May & July.  They're moving to London in a few days, so we wont be able to see each other here much anyway.  That means all my friends will be there, and I will have to visit them in horrible London.  I get so stressed when I go there, the pollution stings my eyes and i just remember crying in the shower of a morning before work, being treated like absolutely worthless shit by the manager.  I also remember exploring Camden and sitting on the big cement statue at Trafalgar Square with someone, talking about going there again for a picnic but never having the time - something we'll never do now.

I have many more friends back home.   All my family.  Somewhere to live, for free.  All my music and books and dvds I had to leave behind.  Creature comforts, I guess.  Plus the most important creature, Berk-face. <3 


Maybe I am just sick of struggling to get by.  And I dont see any point in it anymore.  I've wasted all my money on rent when I could've spent months travelling around like a true backpacker.  I live in a house filled with damp.  If we run out of toilet paper, we are out until I buy some [going on close to a week now, I'm not giving in.  I have a seret stash, shhhh]  I've paid twice as much money on the electricity metre and noone offers to split the costs.   If anyone spills something, it stays there until i scrape the congealed mass off with a knife.  

I didnt move here to play housewife.  I wanted to TRAVEL and have fun and see amazing new things nobody in my family has ever seen.  But it's so fucking hard to even make ends meet, I felt I had to spend every second working to cover my rent for the month.  And just wasted so much time and money.



As much as I love Brighton, I have not had an amazing day since I moved here in September.  At least in London there were some really special times.  Everything was new and I was so excited to be out on my own.  And I've just been gradually run down, shit kept piling up.  Resulting in nearly having a complete mental breakdown - I'm not exactly sure how you define one but I was so overwhelmed I felt catatonic, it was such an effort to do anything like walk or eat food. Yet I stayed, because I didn't want to go home in that state.  I didn't want to let everyone down, crawl home broken and empty.
Now that I'm pretty much through that stage, I feel like I can go home and not feel like a failure.  I coped, I got through the hardest time in my life almost completely alone.  I'll be eternally greatful to Emily for being there for me.  Having a coffee & venting with a friend is sometimes all you need to help you. 




Big rant is big.  I even used proper punctuation. Mostly.