Corsica Pt. 3: Lessons (hopefully) Learned

leifleifleifHi. I leave Corsica tomorrow morning. I’ll take the ferry to Italy and catch a ride to Florence, where I’ll probably stay for a week, more or less. Then Rome. Then Venice. Then, if things work out with Petter and his family, I’ll start making my way to Sweden and stay with Petter for a week.

Corsica has been intense. The first week was a blast, but in a pseudo-manic way. I was diagnosed with bipolar spectrum sometime last year and have been in denial about it since then, but I’m starting to see truth in the diagnosis. It’s incredibly painful to admit, especially when my list of diagnoses is as long as it already is. PTSD, dysthymia, Borderline Personality Disorder, substance abuse, major depression, etc.

It fucking sucks. I’m so tired of feeling crazy. I’m so tired of my brain.

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Corsica pt. 2: Why sad girl loves bad boy and other childish things.

A good representation of what you’re about to read.

Bonjour. My French still sucks. I’m fairly certain people have given up on speaking French with me.

“Juh suisse Amerycane”

Today has been rocky. I had my first, “oh my god I need to leave Corsica or go back to the States or go to hell because I am an insane person and no one loves me” moment since arriving in Europe. I have those thoughts fairly often, but not necessarily all at once.

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Sort of NSFW: Corsica, pt. 1

Apologies for the disappearance. I’ve been meaning to write since I got here, but haven’t had time. And when I do have time, I’m too tired to do anything but sleep and/or visit one of the many bodies of water around the island. I’m working right now, actually. I’m supposed to be doing dishes or frying samosas or something. Whoops.

I’ve been at Potager du Nebbio for a week now and it’s vastly different from my Barcelona experience. Potager is an organic farm and restaurant near Saint-Florent, Corsica. We share the property with donkeys, sheep, chickens, baby chickens, two dogs, a zillion wild cats, and enormous hornets that sneak into our cabins at night and spasm around the lights. On my first night, “Sage” and I bonded over our attempts to either kill or capture the two hornets that greeted us after work. It ended with us sprinting to our bedrooms and praying that they wouldn’t sneak between the gaps in our doors.

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