Melancholy in Melbourne

Have you ever woken up confused and alone? You’re thinking, how did I get here? What happened to me yesterday? What strange bed am I in? Yeah me too. Although not in the way you think.

Aug 2017

Travel Ramblings

Have you ever woken up confused and alone? You’re thinking, how did I get here? What happened to me yesterday? What strange bed am I in?

Yeah me too. Although not in the way you think.

When I was 17, I moved to Melbourne, Victoria from Mittagong, New South Wales in search of something. I don’t know what I just knew I needed to move. I had been accepted to study drawing at the Royal Melbourne Institute of Technology (RMIT) which was right in the heart of Melbourne’s city centre.

As soon as my family dropped me off at my hostel, I had never felt more alone. But that was good. That was the exciting bit. It was the weeks, months and what turned into almost a year, that was the anxiety, depression and general weirdness bit.

I don’t know why I did it. I got into other unis that were closer to home. I wasn’t even old enough to drink or vote. How was I going to make this work? Well, to be honest, I didn’t.

I cried and cried. I ate many packets of jellybeans. I sadly smoked awful cigarettes on my front steps. I ordered two full meals at McDonalds, drinks and all so that the people working there wouldn’t know that I was taking all the food back to my house to consume by myself. I stressed. I ached. I walked around listening to offensively loud music on my ipod. I bought Starbucks. I bought Nandos. I bought vintage skirts. I ate again. It rained and rained. I called my mum. I called my best friend. I got locked out. I bought books. So many books. I took yoga classes. I flew home. I watched tv. I skipped class. I drew some things. I dreamed of faraway places. I painted some things. I made one great friend. I made many acquaintances. I dropped out.

A hard, long year; that’s Melbourne in a nutshell. But damn, what an adventure.