Deanepay sent me a message that made me rethink about the last eight months of my life all over again.
In the past eight months, I have:
Worked as a roadie (during which I was given a hard time by Damien Rice’s drummer), got to climb around backstage in some of the oldest theaters in Ireland, meet what felt like half the population of Cork on a fool’s errand, (excluding my time as a roadie) I managed to get offers for not one, not two, but three different jobs (in this bloody economy, even), traveled to Paris by myself, hung out with an olympic soccer coach, kissed five Irish men, befriended a fellow American traveller who constantly pushes me to be a move adventurous person, drank with Trinity grad students in the pub on Trinity’s grounds, witnessed St. Patrick’s Day in Ireland, got to see the fucking Cutty Sark and the HMS Victory, walked the Tower Bridge, stood at Platform 9 3/4, travelled from Wales to Ireland by ferry, found my own housing (I still consider this a feat), spent Christmas with an Irish family I barely knew, lived in a hostel for a month, saw Dara O’Briain live, climbed the Eiffel Tower twice (once during a snowstorm!!), got a tour of an Irish castle, cultivated some fucking amazing friendships on Tumblr, and not once, not even when I was too depressed to go outside, did I hurt myself.
So, you know, things might not be perfect and I was knocked back on my ass for a while there, but I guess it’s just how you frame it. Or, how I frame it. Cause not only did I do all this, I did it with depression and anxiety, and that made it really fucking hard at times, but still.
There’s a long way to go and a lot more I want to see and do, and I have to be honest - the sudden influx of tourists into Dublin is kind of souring my mood a little, but I’m starting to feel like my life is mine to control again.
There were a lot of days I spent holed up in my room in Dublin, but, there were also a lot of days I was out trying to have an adventure.
/update from Dublin