When I decided to actively write about my life across the pond, I already had my first instalment planned. It was going to be some heavily thesaurus-supported narrative about the range of emotions I’ve experienced within in International Terminal at SFO, the point of which my new life was going to be beginning. So much has happened since I turned off my American cell phone and walked through the revolving doors of the terminal that I can’t even begin to write in the mindset of the hopefulness I had that afternoon. Who knew that switching off my phone and handing it off to my father for safe keeping would be so symbolic of the end of a major chapter of my life? And who knew that everything of it that I was clinging to would unravel so quickly, so painfully over the course of a few days? This isn’t the way it was supposed to happen, and this certainly isn’t where my life was supposed to be going.
My emotions are constantly yo-yoing to the point of pure exhaustion, only made the worse by my keeping my personal promise not to pour alcohol and various other substances into my system once I left stateside. If only I had known two weeks ago what I did now, I might have given myself a few more weeks before pledging to clean my system out!
No, taking the edge off by those means is probably the worst decision I could make. Instead, I’ve somehow got to suck it up and just simply process the events of the last few days. Then after that, with whatever’s left, I can begin on the last twenty-three years… God, the thought of that reality is so daunting, so terrifying that all I really have the energy to do right now is be sad and type.Clearly, this is a low moment, but I’m not quite so low that I don't think life won’t go on to better things. I just wish it’d hurry up and do so already. Don’t get me wrong- there have been high notes since I arrived, and I know there will be plenty more. Afterall, so it goes, make some lemonade, life will work itself out in the end, and all that jazz right?
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