The First Post: My Time Spent Abroad (Better Known as The Worst of Times)
Blogging has always been a source of therapy for me. I remember my first blog was a Xanga back when I was a mere Sophomore in High School. I wrote extensive blog posts exploring topics dealing with my brother and how he was negatively affecting our family, stereotypical jock kids at school who I hated, girls I was too shy to tell I liked, how certain movies made me feel, and also posted poetry I wrote. I still have a copy of that Xanga backed up on my computer somewhere that I like to revisit when feeling nostalgic. I would go on to write other blogs--some linked to this Google account and available for viewing--and each one served a different purpose. I'm too broke to go to real therapy, but who needs it when you have a predilection for introspection and the same best friend since 2009 who you can literally tell anything to without judgment? I count myself as a lucky individual; however, this does not disqualify me from sadness, depression, anxiety, loneliness, or heart break. I'd say I'm a little too familiar with those five emotions. Blogging always helped me make sense of those emotions when nothing else could. The idea that other people would read my inner-most thoughts tantalized me then as it still does now. This blog won't be about movies or my family this time--not directly, anyway.
This story really starts in Galicia, Spain in 2014, when I accepted an assistant teaching position in the beautiful city of Ourense. Well, I lived in the beautiful city of Ourense and taught in the small pueblo of Cortegada; a city I have grown to miss, filled with children who will forever have my heart. It is here that I first felt the true meaning of isolation. I was born and raised in Tennessee, never being more than an hour and forty five minute drive from my parents. I was always surrounded by friends or acquaintances and literally couldn't go anywhere without seeing someone I knew. Some people find comfort in this, whereas, I wanted to get the fuck out... ASAP. I wanted to assert my independence in the world, but if I'm being honest, I was terrified. I was so anxious before I left for Spain, I literally watched TED Talks about how people deal with panic attacks and, at one point, even convinced myself I might have OCD (I don't). Did I tell anyone what I was experiencing? No. Did everything seem okay on the outside? Yes. Was it really, though? NOOOO. I repeat: NOOOO.
Fast forward to what would be the second most mentally taxing experience of my entire life (close second to my mental breakdown in college when I legitimately thought my strong emotional moods affected the weather pattern around me...*yeah, I know*).
Here is a condensed version of events in a very loose order: I would be without close friends or family for 8 months, live with 3 girls who didn't speak a lick of English (until I moved to a new apartment and lived with 2 girls who also didn't and one who I wish didn't), deal with heartbreak from a girl I was in love with unrequitedly for 5 years who I finally got to admit didn't feel the same way (while I was in Spain over Skype), drink wine and liquor each day to cope, be an alcoholic for the entire 8 months in Spain to deal with anxiety and depression, work with people who are really nice except they talked as if I wasn't there (imagine sitting in a car for 80 minutes each day while people speak a language you don't understand, all the while you are sitting there hoping someone acknowledges you with a simple gesture or attempt at English), live without heat for 2 months in a cold apartment, think of the loneliness parts of my childhood and send parents e-mails condemning them for not being there enough, forget what meaningful human touch feels like, continue to feel the most isolating depression of my life, begin to question my sexuality, conclude I am bi-sexual, tell my dad I'm bi-sexual, have him be cool with it, have those feelings wear off eventually, meet and hook up with a girl who ended up being a total bitch and who, one time when we were hanging out at a bar, said she was going to the bathroom and literally just left the bar without telling me (I would see her later at a different bar), continue to hook up with her randomly when I was drunk (losing all self-respect), dye my hair black as a way to express what I'm feeling inside, focus on writing, write very sad things (sadder than usual), decide I don't want to be a writer anymore after watching a shitty season of the show Girls and identifying too much with Hannah's realizations (okay, it wasn't that bad of a season, but fuck Lena Dunham), meet another girl who is not as bad, go on a couple of dates, make out with her a few times, realize she is very superficial, cut ties with her, go on a 2 week trip by myself through Europe, spend 5 days in Amsterdam where I drank too much but still had fun, visit a friend in Germany for a day and spend time with her family (also fun), head to Antwerp, Belgium, get very sick and walk around in the snow for hours waiting for my Couchsurf host to answer, drink a beer, book a hosel when she doesn't answer, become sicker, continue to drink beer, meet with the couchsurf host, spend 2 days not doing much because I still feel sick, go to Bruges, spend 1 night in Bruges getting sicker, eat spaghetti and continue to drink beer at a restaurant down the street from my hostel, go back to my hostel, sit in the top bunk and talk to my lower bunk mate who is drunk as I drop hints that I don't want to talk because I'm sick, have him not receive those hints and me say nothing because I'm too nice to tell him to shut the fuck up, decide to become an Atheist again, book an expensive plane ticket back to Ourense the next day and cut my trip by 5 days because I'm too sick to continue, lose money on all my booked hotels/hostels, continue with my year, have drunken realization in a conversation with a friend while walking through the cobblestone streets that I really want a good girlfriend and that I'm ready for a serious commitment, start to think about what made me happy in my youth, decide to start playing paintball again when I return home, obsessively watch paintball videos on YouTube, start working out at the gym to train, decide to do the program again the next year because I don't know what else to do with my life, return home, buy expensive paintball gear (and only play once the whole summer), get a job working at my family's moving company, HATE THAT JOB MORE THAN ANYTHING ON THE PLANET, have many sour feelings about my time in Spain..... and all of this leads me to the real reason I am writing this blog. And before I move on, I must be clear that although that is the condensed version of my experience, there were some good times mixed in there. Were they overshadowed and still very often laced in this overarching depression I experienced? Unfortunately, yes.
Now, the real reason I am writing this blog is because after my experience living abroad, I returned home with a new appreciation for that home. I loved my family more than ever, appreciated my friends who I had often taken for granted, and eventually met that girl who would become my girlfriend. Everything with her seemed great at first until it slowly didn't, but I would do mental gymnastics for the next 2 years convincing myself it was what I wanted. Imagine you just got back from living in a different country for 8 months and experienced what I just described above... do you think you'd be the best version of yourself? Do you think you'd attract a person who'd echo the best parts of you?
This, ladies and gentlemen, will be a harrowing blog. There will be lots of truth, confessions, cathartic cleansing, emotional purging, realizations, connections, sadness, happiness, and meaning forged from 2 years spent with a girl who I at one time called fiancee. My intention is to face these memories that haunt my emotional well-being and to exorcise the supernatural forces holding me back from fully enjoying the next stage of my life. I want to grow, learn, and move on. I want to be able to look back without any longing, anger, sadness, hope, or contempt. Frankly, I want to be someone who makes better decisions and attracts better people into my life because I make better decisions.
Will you join me?
This story really starts in Galicia, Spain in 2014, when I accepted an assistant teaching position in the beautiful city of Ourense. Well, I lived in the beautiful city of Ourense and taught in the small pueblo of Cortegada; a city I have grown to miss, filled with children who will forever have my heart. It is here that I first felt the true meaning of isolation. I was born and raised in Tennessee, never being more than an hour and forty five minute drive from my parents. I was always surrounded by friends or acquaintances and literally couldn't go anywhere without seeing someone I knew. Some people find comfort in this, whereas, I wanted to get the fuck out... ASAP. I wanted to assert my independence in the world, but if I'm being honest, I was terrified. I was so anxious before I left for Spain, I literally watched TED Talks about how people deal with panic attacks and, at one point, even convinced myself I might have OCD (I don't). Did I tell anyone what I was experiencing? No. Did everything seem okay on the outside? Yes. Was it really, though? NOOOO. I repeat: NOOOO.
Fast forward to what would be the second most mentally taxing experience of my entire life (close second to my mental breakdown in college when I legitimately thought my strong emotional moods affected the weather pattern around me...*yeah, I know*).
Here is a condensed version of events in a very loose order: I would be without close friends or family for 8 months, live with 3 girls who didn't speak a lick of English (until I moved to a new apartment and lived with 2 girls who also didn't and one who I wish didn't), deal with heartbreak from a girl I was in love with unrequitedly for 5 years who I finally got to admit didn't feel the same way (while I was in Spain over Skype), drink wine and liquor each day to cope, be an alcoholic for the entire 8 months in Spain to deal with anxiety and depression, work with people who are really nice except they talked as if I wasn't there (imagine sitting in a car for 80 minutes each day while people speak a language you don't understand, all the while you are sitting there hoping someone acknowledges you with a simple gesture or attempt at English), live without heat for 2 months in a cold apartment, think of the loneliness parts of my childhood and send parents e-mails condemning them for not being there enough, forget what meaningful human touch feels like, continue to feel the most isolating depression of my life, begin to question my sexuality, conclude I am bi-sexual, tell my dad I'm bi-sexual, have him be cool with it, have those feelings wear off eventually, meet and hook up with a girl who ended up being a total bitch and who, one time when we were hanging out at a bar, said she was going to the bathroom and literally just left the bar without telling me (I would see her later at a different bar), continue to hook up with her randomly when I was drunk (losing all self-respect), dye my hair black as a way to express what I'm feeling inside, focus on writing, write very sad things (sadder than usual), decide I don't want to be a writer anymore after watching a shitty season of the show Girls and identifying too much with Hannah's realizations (okay, it wasn't that bad of a season, but fuck Lena Dunham), meet another girl who is not as bad, go on a couple of dates, make out with her a few times, realize she is very superficial, cut ties with her, go on a 2 week trip by myself through Europe, spend 5 days in Amsterdam where I drank too much but still had fun, visit a friend in Germany for a day and spend time with her family (also fun), head to Antwerp, Belgium, get very sick and walk around in the snow for hours waiting for my Couchsurf host to answer, drink a beer, book a hosel when she doesn't answer, become sicker, continue to drink beer, meet with the couchsurf host, spend 2 days not doing much because I still feel sick, go to Bruges, spend 1 night in Bruges getting sicker, eat spaghetti and continue to drink beer at a restaurant down the street from my hostel, go back to my hostel, sit in the top bunk and talk to my lower bunk mate who is drunk as I drop hints that I don't want to talk because I'm sick, have him not receive those hints and me say nothing because I'm too nice to tell him to shut the fuck up, decide to become an Atheist again, book an expensive plane ticket back to Ourense the next day and cut my trip by 5 days because I'm too sick to continue, lose money on all my booked hotels/hostels, continue with my year, have drunken realization in a conversation with a friend while walking through the cobblestone streets that I really want a good girlfriend and that I'm ready for a serious commitment, start to think about what made me happy in my youth, decide to start playing paintball again when I return home, obsessively watch paintball videos on YouTube, start working out at the gym to train, decide to do the program again the next year because I don't know what else to do with my life, return home, buy expensive paintball gear (and only play once the whole summer), get a job working at my family's moving company, HATE THAT JOB MORE THAN ANYTHING ON THE PLANET, have many sour feelings about my time in Spain..... and all of this leads me to the real reason I am writing this blog. And before I move on, I must be clear that although that is the condensed version of my experience, there were some good times mixed in there. Were they overshadowed and still very often laced in this overarching depression I experienced? Unfortunately, yes.
Now, the real reason I am writing this blog is because after my experience living abroad, I returned home with a new appreciation for that home. I loved my family more than ever, appreciated my friends who I had often taken for granted, and eventually met that girl who would become my girlfriend. Everything with her seemed great at first until it slowly didn't, but I would do mental gymnastics for the next 2 years convincing myself it was what I wanted. Imagine you just got back from living in a different country for 8 months and experienced what I just described above... do you think you'd be the best version of yourself? Do you think you'd attract a person who'd echo the best parts of you?
This, ladies and gentlemen, will be a harrowing blog. There will be lots of truth, confessions, cathartic cleansing, emotional purging, realizations, connections, sadness, happiness, and meaning forged from 2 years spent with a girl who I at one time called fiancee. My intention is to face these memories that haunt my emotional well-being and to exorcise the supernatural forces holding me back from fully enjoying the next stage of my life. I want to grow, learn, and move on. I want to be able to look back without any longing, anger, sadness, hope, or contempt. Frankly, I want to be someone who makes better decisions and attracts better people into my life because I make better decisions.
Will you join me?
*NEXT TIME ON "FORGING MEANING FROM A BROKEN ENGAGEMENT AND OTHER FUN TOPICS...BUT MAINLY THAT ONE"*: Jordan goes in-depth on how his relationship with his ex--referred to only as N--began, and how it should have quickly ended (but didn't).
STAY TUNED!
STAY TUNED!
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