I’m Not Happy

Everyone who knows me, we need to talk. I just can’t live up to your expectations anymore. You want me to be happy so much that when I say, “no, I’m not” you say “oh, but you must be a little bit.” Can I take you a moment to remind you of why I’m in this country? It’s because I got a letter saying I had sixty days to leave. Sixty. Fucking. Days.

Can you try and picture yourself in my situation please? Sixty days to get your entire life in order, so that you can leave it. So that you can move to a country you don’t really know anymore, into a sewing room in your parents’ house. And don’t get me wrong, sewing rooms are great, but have you ever known a sewing room that had quite enough space for just sewing, let alone sewing and a person? And you’re looking for a job, any job that will have you, because you got that letter that meant you had to tell your awesome employers at your awesome job that you had to quit. And while this is going on, all your people who you spent time with regularly are 3000 miles away and you have to go to parties where people will ask you “Aren’t you happy to be back?” until you cry.

I cry several times a day now. I’m so full of sadness and rage and I have to hide it because you want me to be happy. When I answer “not really” to your questions, you tell me I’m wrong about my lived experience. You tell me that you don’t want to hear it. I have to worry that this sadness and rage will show through in job interviews, when meeting new people, even when talking to my friends. Because who wants to hang out with an angry, sad person? Those people suck, amirite?

I get nervous just initiating conversation with my friends, with my partner, because I only have so many conversations where I can be angry and sad before I’m just not fun anymore.

Also, the accents. Both the ones you put on and the insistence that I must have one now. Calling me British. Do you know why I got kicked out of my life? BECAUSE I’M NOT BRITISH.

As you can see, this isn’t really working out. I’m going to have to request that you either refrain from the above or leave me alone until you stop finding it so fucking fascinating that I moved back in with my parents.

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