I’ve been wanting to go back home since the first night i spent here. Back then i thought we’d bought a ticket for me to go back after around six months, so i wasn’t all that worried. Though my mum told me in January we got a one way ticket. I was a bit upset, but thought, “i’ll just have to get through it and then i’ll go back”. But now, going back has been written down as probably the biggest failure. There’s such high expectations that i simply cannot meet. Everyone asks me what i want to do and why didn’t i think about what i wanted to study while in school. How am i supposed to say that i never thought about it because i never planned to make it past high school? That’s not something you just bring up. I really just want to go home. I’m 19 and I’m really dependent of my mum, even though i try to pretend like i’m really independent. I’m not. A few things have happened that, i believe, have made me like that, but whatever. It’s not that i don’t want to have responsibilities or don’t want to work, it’s that i actually feel like i’m going crazy. I’m delusional most of the times, I can’t sleep, I can’t think properly, and i’m called lazy. It also seems like these days all i do is complain whenever my brain is too full and i type what i think. So many people would love to be living here, would love to live in this flat, to have the view that i have, and to be able to have a chill life. And here i am, wishing i never came here in the first place; wishing a car somehow runs me over whenever i go out; being miserable.
On sunday i had an awful conversation with my brother. It was probably the worst thing you could tell me,
“I’ve given you all the space and things you need, but i think you’ve gotten too comfortable.”
“I really hope you’re trying your best, because this is not working, and it’s just wasting everyone’s time.”