Cry Me a Rio

I had another crying jag last night. This time it was tequila fueled. Not my finest moment, although I've been there before, and hope to not go there again. It's a really difficult thing to move to a new country and a new culture. Add to that all the other changes I've had to adjust to:

new country
new culture
new language
living in a small town vs. the large cities I've always lived in (and there are a Lot of changes that come along with this one thing alone)
being unemployed by choice

Now, I don't want you to think I'm complaining here - I mean, I've got this great opportunity to experience something a lot of people will never have the chance to - what have I got to complain about? But I am complaining.

This transition is difficult stuff. It ain't easy. And I haven't always had the smoothest transition. But I've also not had the transition from hell either. Maybe if I knew more Spanish things would have been smoother. But I didn't know much when I came down here. I am trying to study more each day, and I'm sure I'm learning things by absorption, but as usual I never give myself enough credit for anything I do. I never know enough, I'm never good enough, I'm never perfect. And lord knows I should be.

Where the hell that belief came from, I don't know. It's one thing I need to exorcise out of my life. I am not perfect, no one is perfect, and being imperfect is actually the more interesting and exciting way to live.

So this crying jag came out of feeling alone and left out. Here I was, surrounded by my family here, out at a restaurant celebrating Sergio's birthday and I'm feeling alone. Why? Mostly because I don't speak their language, and they don't speak mine. And they are all having a good time, laughing and talking about... well, I don't know what they were talking about. And that was the problem.

Plus, of course, alcohol is a depressant, which I seemed to have forgotten. So I went on a crying jag. But I kept myself in the bathroom while doing this so I wouldn't be too embarrased. I even thought about the fact that alcohol is a depressant and told myself to stop drinking. I guess I thought I needed another drink to mull that option over.

Silly me.

I don't think I did anything that really embarassed me. I mean, I did some stupid stuff - like drinking when I should have stopped, like feeling sorry for myself and not being able to pull myself out of it - but nothing so awful that I would have to live it down the next day. Mostly it was just internal mental torture. Plus a few external tears.

Today I felt better, especially after making my sister play long-distance therapist (bless yer midwestern self girlie!). And I am mulling over the idea of not feeling sorry for myself anymore. It's not serving me well to feel and think that way. It just makes me a more miserable person - on the inside as well as the outside.

So no more of that. And no more tequila fueled nights. From one of my sig files:

"good judgement comes from experience
and the best experiences come from bad judgement"