Just sometimes, only sometimes

I've been wanting to write this post, and equally, not wanting to write this post. But me being me, and me having a blog, and me feeling like this is where I am most comfortable talking about these sorts things, means, well, I'm just going to do it. 

So here goes.....

I cried. So many times, when I was back home. Sure, the tears came out after my fair share of the devil's water (cue bubbly/vino) but I don't cry. And sometimes I think that's when we all say what is really stuck there beneath the layers of social bravado that we're all so good at projecting. Me especially. I've always been a coper. Never overtly needed much help, or support, or a shoulder to cry on. I was just always....fine. 

So it was a big thing for me to blubber like a mad woman on one too many occasions to my poor friends about how miserable I was. Miserable I am not. But I miss my friends and my family. I do. I miss them. And that makes me sad. And being there, at home, with them all for two whole weeks showed me just how much. I miss the comfort. The lack of a need to try. The history. The security. The laughs. Sweet jesus we laugh. I miss the banter. And the singing. I miss singing the Baywatch theme song. And dancing to Beyonce in the living room. The D&Ms. I miss the tap on the bum or the lazy hug in the kitchen. I miss knowing that they know everything about me. That we shared so many good times and hard times together. That we've lived in other countries together, travelled together, been hung over together, eaten Dirty Bird together. That we've grown into who we are today together.  I miss sitting down to a good meal with them, one that we've prepared, together. I miss knowing everything about them. The details of their lives. I miss evolving with them. 

Don't get me wrong, I LOVE my new friends. And I do not for one minute regret moving here, because they are brilliant people. But this city is hard. It's fast, it's busy, it smells, it's intense, it's hilly (so annoying), it's hard core. It's not relaxing. It's not good for the soul. The experience, maybe. But the city, not so much. And I think I've found adjusting to it, the move, the unemployment, the loneliness, the city, harder than I've actually let on, to myself or to anyone else. There goes that good old social bravado again. It's just that I really really really don't want to be that person. I don't want to be that person that isn't embracing this opportunity. I don't want to be that cup-half-empty person. I don't want to be that person that isn't happy. I don't want to be that person that wants to be somewhere else. 

But alas, for the time being, unfortunately for my self-conscious ego, I think I might actually sometimes (god I hate saying this) be that person. Just sometimes. Only sometimes. And I think I need to let myself be. I need to let myself be sad or lonely or whatever it is that I feel. Because that's the reality of what I'm facing. And things aren't always easy. And aren't always as footloose and fancy-free as they seem. And change is hard. Bloody hard. And I'm allowed to not be OK, just sometimes.....aren't I?