By way of explanation...

Conversation with my mum
Me: I was in Paris this weekend. I freaked again on Friday night.
Mum: Ah. Why did you freak?
Me: Don't ask.
Mum: Ugh, I can't wait until he finally fucks off.
Me: Jaja. [...]
Mum: You know why you're depressed?
Me: Because I'm fat?
Mum: Very funny. Because you have no job and no future and no idea where your life is going.

Really now mum.

So on Friday night I ran off to Paris. The trigger wasn't so extraordinary, just the usual shit really (and sth that does not belong here), but shit piled upon shit and it seemed like a necessary relief. I really didn't think it was such a big deal.

Most people's reaction was baffling tho. They got mad, they worried, they texted... and it made me wonder. I'd freaked out on my blog before... but just because I decided to actually act upon it and make a spontaneous trip (duly encouraged by my counsellor), all of a sudden everyone thought there must be sth truly wrong?

I used to do this all the time! With no crisis involved whatsoever! Once my friend and I went to Paris for ONE night - we left at midnight and came back the next morning. Shocking waste of money (as was this trip), but so worth it. That's what I miss... that's one of the reasons I had to do this irrational thing. I feel like I'm suffocating here... I am stuck on this island, with the same circle of friends, the same recurring issues, the same things to do, the same worries.

Yes I chose all of this. But I also chose to go to Paris on Friday. Because I could. Because I wanted to prove to myself that there was still some of that old me left, the one that could afford to not give a shit. It's an illusion really - I couldn't and wouldn't really run off - for 2 weeks or a month. I am too fucking scared. But this I just about managed. Gotta hold on to some of it at least eh.