My previous entry caused me to reflect on the last time I travelled outside of the UK and how my mental state can prevent me from having a good time.
I haven't been abroad, or even on an extended holiday since I went to New York in 2008. I went alone and stayed with a friend who lived there. She would work during the day as I wandered and we would meet during the evening. I had always dreamed of going to NYC, seeing the Empire State Building, Rockafella Centre, Statute of Liberty, the Brooklyn Bridge, Central Park, the fire house from Ghostbusters. I even played on the giant piano from 'Big.' Or a replica of it, at least.
I experienced all of those, including the Natural History Museum, where we sang the theme to Jurassic Park at the top of our lungs. I met people on the street, had money stolen from me by two jolly guys who gave me candy in return and experienced a rapping tour guide. The highlight was standing on the pier at Coney Island with my friends Richelle, Matt, Steph and Traczie, at night, watching fireworks and then going on the cyclone roller coaster (I am even more thankful to experience this, due to Coney Island closure not long after). We finished the night driving through the city, eating a burrito place and watching episodes of Freaks and Geeks. I still often reminisce about that week and that night particular.
I left New York ecstatic that I had been able to spend time with my friend and experience such an amazing city. I had also left New York feeling annoyed and rather empty and indifferent.
It was at the end of the most trying 12 months of my life and a few months earlier I had popped. And I mean really popped, I barely remember much of that time and it's painful to remember the memories which remain. Relationships, friendships, my academic life and even, at the time, my parents marriage had ended or fallen apart dramatically in the space of a year, a year and a half. By my birthday, in May, I was exhausted. I would say things which were out of character, snap when I normally wouldn't have, be offended at things, excited about things that I normally wouldn't have. I even took sanctuary in basketball in an obsessive manner. The Lakers were playing well, it was the positive in my life. Then they lost in the finals to Boston. There went that. It's embarrassing to even look back at how obsessively I used the team as an outlet for my emotions.
I had gotten through life to that point managing stresses rather well, I had overachieved in a number of ways since getting in University and I had never truly fallen out with anyone or had an argument. Then, from 2007 to 2008 I had been betrayed numerous times and found myself losing grip. It was new to me, I didn't know how to handle it. In hindsight, being at university for most part, I should have sought out counselling of some sort. Instead, I beat myself up. I still knew that compared to many, I had it good. Great even, and that caused me to beat myself up even more.
It was June. I had just finished my final year film at university. I had taken a leap, trying something different, when it appeared that everyone around me was playing it safe, some even coasting and expecting others to carry them, which was one source of my stress. I had felt that we had a great group and a great opportunity to make something great, we would work on it after the year was over and send it out to festivals. In the end, I felt we blew an great opportunity, turned in something good, which could have been great had I fulfilled the potential I felt I was capable of and some others had done the same. Some did, others didn't. It was the biggest underachievement and disappointment of my life up to that point. I hated myself and everyone else around me.
We showed the film in a gala along with the rest of the projects, it was the first time I've ever witnessed something stand out yet be so forgettable. After I said goodbye to everyone, parents, tutors, fellow students and people from the industry, I walked home, alone. I loosened my tie and threw the project in the bin.
It felt cathartic, I was relieved, yet disappointed, but it was over. When I got home, I was a state. Surely I could move on? I couldn't, I needed to get away.
I emailed my friend, Richelle and she invited me to stay with her in New York. I don't think she was expecting me to take her up on it. I was at the height of my breakdown, I was practically out of body, watching myself book the tickets. A week or so later, I was on a plane to America. I had always dreamed of this, it was surreal. I was cool as a cucumber on my way there and then I met Richelle. All of my insecurities spilled out. It was like a broken tap, I couldn't stop them.
The first night, I opened my suitcase and I had packed bizarre trinkets which I felt would sooth me or work as some sort of good luck, it was ridiculous. It occurred to me right then that I was in the middle of some sort of mental breakdown, I was finally admitting it. Of course I was. I was in New York City, alone. I didn't know what to do. I was seeing a friend I had only ever had correspondence with via email and I was in an amazing city I had only ever dreamed of visiting. And I was cracking up. The past year had finally caught up to me. What a time for that to happen.
The first day was fine. I went on a sight seeing, film and TV location tour and walked around. I met Richelle that evening and we took in the Brooklyn Bridge. She took me sight seeing, even though she was exhausted from work and the unearthly humidity rising from the city had drained up both. I could see the stress she put on herself to make sure I had the best possible time and I appreciated this. Unfortunately, this only made me worse.
I spent the next few days alone, just wandering. I was having a great time but feeling awful. I was in New York, on holiday, getting away from the past year. I should be having a great time. No matter what I did, I couldn't remain even close to stable. The old cliché, you can't run away from your problems.
I over compensated during Richelle's company, speaking during every break of silence, trying to prove to her and myself that I was having a great time. And I was, but I was also clouded by whatever negativity the last year had draped over me and it was having an impact on me. I was not proud of it, but if Richelle had asked me how I was feeling, I would broken down right there. Thankfully, she was too tired to do that. I don't blame her.
The whole week felt like an out of body experience. I loved the experience, yet hated myself and my mindset throughout. I refused to let myself take advantage of the opportunity. The final night, I leaned against the railing on top of the Empire State Building, watched the sun set and the city light up. It was a stunning view. I felt so indifferent, it was quite cathartic. I just wanted to stay in that moment, not keep thinking about the past year and not have to go back home.
I returned home, furious at myself for not being able to shake off my demon's of the past year and allow myself to have fun. I had thought that having the time to myself, to think and put things into perspective within a different and positive environment would help. Turns out, it had the opposite effect. My graduation and being offered my first writing job in the proceeding months finally allowed me to relax and recover.
I do look back at my trip and experiences fondly, but not without some regret and annoyance. I have learned a lot since then and mellowed as a person. I still go through breakdowns, as I am neurotic and insecure, mainly do the path I have chosen in life. But I am far better at managing it and realising when it is happening. I would like to go back and take full advantage of the experience. Make up for it. One day I will.
But you can see now why I am anxious about this Malaga trip.
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