Before Christmas I was planning my move to Berlin, thinking about my last day at work, looking at house shares ads, planning a farewell drink up for my nearest and dearest. I was thinking about the things I'd miss, the boy, Rambocat, my mum, my mates, seeing my friends' babies grow up... I kept telling myself "Berlin isn't that far away, I could always come back to visit or just come home if it was all too much".
Despite the cold feet, I was resolute. The decision had been made. I definitely couldn't stay here anyway. To say I wasn't enjoying work was more than an understatement. I felt undervalued, frustrated, it all seemed so pointless. I never thought I'd be the kind of person whose self esteem was so tied in with my job. It's seems so obvious really. Feel shit about what you do for most of the day and you're more than likely to feel shit about yourself.
Then one morning at work my phone rang, the call was from a lecturer on the NCTJ journalism diploma. She had read my blog, this blog, and said I was just the kind of person they were looking for. I couldn't believe it, I thought I'd missed the boat. I wanted to do the course since I left university. The problem was, I was perpetually skint until I got my most recent job and was able to start saving a little bit of money each month: the Berlin fund. Of course I accepted in a fucking heartbeat.
Berlin was always a gamble. It was also my last resort. Whatever I said out loud or on here, I knew I was running away. I've decided to stay, decided to fight. I'm not resigning myself to misery and selling my soul, sanity and self worth with it.
I have no idea what 2014 will bring but I know it's going to be good. And Berlin? Berlin will have to wait xx
Gah, I've really neglected this blog... I've been so busy, August is always like that. Birth month, innit... I spent a long
weekend in Berlin at the end of August. We stayed in a beautiful flat
not far from Kotti and I finally got to check Mauer Park Flohmarkt. It
was heaving and expensive BUT I did get some very cool
old photos for the collection and a sweet little necklace for my
boyfriend’s sister. We checked the bearpit karaoke that I’ve heard so
much about and was simultaneously disappointed and heartened by the lack
of booing for the worst singers... I imagined myself
in the pit on my first Sunday as a Berliner (LOL) singing my heart out to
Bonny Tyler, a rite of passage in my new home. Or erm maybe not.
I’m now five lessons
into my German language class. As a consequence my weekends have been
quieter – I’ve been skint after spending all my money on cocktails and
photos of randoms in Berlin anyway....
I have a sign on my
desk at work. It’s just a tatty bit of paper ripped out of my note book
sellotaped to the bottom of my screen. It says one word: Berlin
I thought a lot about my travel plans for Berlin since my post a few weeks ago, no change from usual really. I came to the conclusion that because its so far away it makes it easy to get frustrated and feel like giving up. It was very much Berlin or bust when I decided. Berlin or die, even. So much of my life has felt like a live or die choice... I've realised giving up isn't an option and that I need to make the most of the next few months in all parts of my life. This was never about running away....
It's my birthday next month, I'll be 31. I've decided that I'd like spend it in Berlin, of course. It'll a good opportunity to remind myself why I'm uprooting myself from my friends and family, leaving a steady job, my boyfriend and cat behind, albeit temporarily, to live in a strange city where I don't even speak the extremely complicated language. That doesn't sound silly to me, it sounds exciting. Isn't that what life's supposed to be about when you're young and have no commitments.
That's a picture of me and the boy on our first trip to Berlin a couple of years ago. See how happy, and drunk, we look. Berlin life everyday, friend.
I've booked my tickets and now I'm just waiting for my birthday to roll round... I say just waiting but actually there's lots to look forward to in between.
Aside from Berlin, here are a few of the August highlights:
So far I have a flight, language class, a checklist and a large dose of self doubt.
The last few days have been so full of hope and possiblity. And now I feel like I'm back to square one again. That ever so friendly voice in inside is reminding that I'm fucking nothing.
A chasm has opened up in my stomach and isn't going away. Berlin feels like a bad idea. Life feels like a bad idea.
After
uni I went traveling, like everyone else. I came back from India sun
kissed, full of energy and life. It was 2009, year of economic doom and
gloom but I was happy, content just to have
a job, just to be useful.
I
didn’t mind working in a windowless room, alone, archiving ancient
social work files listening to dour music from the 80s. In fact, I quite
enjoyed it...
Since
then I've had a string of equally mundane jobs doing equally mundane
tasks. Ok well that’s not quite true, in one job I got to travel a bit.
Once I went to Leeds for a meeting and had a
curry and a sneaky beer on the company, alcohol wasn’t permitted on expenses. Not for us lowly project support officers anyway. You
can’t see me but I’m rolling my eyes.
I
used to be fun. I was never a what if person. I never gave myself a
chance to ask or be asked what if? I just threw myself in head first; I
worked it out along the way; you only fail if
you stop trying blah blah blah... Guest list, back stage, no queuing
ever, useless musician boyfriend who rapidly became useless musician
husband and now ex. The ex who shall not be named, yeah kind of like my
own Voldemort.
I’m
ungrateful. On paper, I’m doing fine. I’ve got a slightly less mundane
job than the one I had in 2009. I earn above the average wage, my
boyfriend is kind, considerate and gorgeous,
we have a cat and a great bunch of mates. I can afford nights out,
weekends away and my ebay addiction is ridiculous. But I’ve become
bitter and resentful. I feel trapped and I hate myself for letting it
happen. My lovely sweet boyfriend bears the brunt of
it. And I’m starting to resent him too, for putting up with it, for
sticking around... for loving me when I can’t stand myself.
It was as though I was both my own captor and prisoner - there was no escape. Goto jail,
go straightto jail, do not pass
go, do not collect £200. I decided that I had to die, There
was no way out, dying was my safety net. It all sounds very dramatic, it was. If you’ve never been depressed
you probably think that sounds bonkers, maybe it is. I’m still not sure
sometimes... I still feel like I’m fading away...
So
I made a plan, a proper plan not one where I die and my mates sit round
cursing and weeping, stuffing chicken supreme vol au vents in their faces trying in vain to hold back the tears.
Instead of necking a load of antidepressants and vodka, ending up dead,
a vomit covered mess, alone in my flat I've made a plan. Instead I’ve booked a language
class and a flight....
