Loneliness, love and living in London

After spending lockdown in the farmlands of Scotland, moving to London was a beacon of hope. Gatsby's green light. The opportunity to live my best Bridget Jones life. Except in reality, there's less Mark Darcy and more singing All By Myself while drinking wine and eating a full carton of Ben and Jerry's alone. Having said that, it does sound like my ideal night, and I am writing this in bed eating a slice of passion fruit cheesecake, but it's all about balance.

The move to London itself was a tricky one, involving a five hour train, a power outage and a £200 Uber fare, but after 10 hours of tears, tantrums and travelling, I finally made it.

I had a great job, a beautiful flat, and a naive sense of hope. BUT NOT FOR LONG. (If you didn't get that Horrible Histories reference I'm sad for you)

5 days after my traumatic journey down to London, I was feeling settled and excited for my new life. All those hours playing Sims 4: City Living were preparing me for this moment.

What I wasn't anticipating was being made redundant within a week of moving here. I would go into more detail here, but the bitter, jaded person I truly am would become very apparent very quickly.

But yes, I was jobless, thanks to a company takeover. This is fine. Not the ideal scenario but you've been dealt worse hands, I thought. I was surprisingly - I can't believe I'm saying this (my least favourite word in the world and much to the joy of my dear mother) - resilient.

And I actually got an incredible job within two weeks of this happening, which was insane and lucky and insanely lucky. Things were starting to look up.

Oh-ho, not so fast there bucko. The universe isn't through with you yet.

Despite the job hiccup, my first month in London was dreamy. Places were opening up again, I was catching up with old friends and meeting new people. I got to dress up and go to a fancy restaurant on my birthday with my best friends (and even got hit on by the waiter). It was nice. This was the London experience I was hoping for.

What I failed to mention there is after my birthday meal, as I walked around in crippling heeled boots with my body pulverising Bridget Jones knickers (we love the irony) sucking in my stomach to fit into a dress that I otherwise probably wouldn't fit into (but goddamn I looked good), I started to feel a bit nauseous.

Now I'm a lightweight at the best of times but three cocktails shouldn't be enough to make me sick. Eating four cheese pasta out of a cheese wheel at a fancy Italian restaurant however, well, that might just do that trick. But I thought walking around in the fresh London smog might help after such a large meal.

Then, at the late hour of 10pm, this 23 year old had had enough of her birthday and just wanted to curl up in her bed.

I told my friends I felt sick and was going to call an Uber and call it a night. And I rang my Uber. And we stood on the pavement waiting for said Uber. And I mentioned that I was feeling sick.

I'm sure you can imagine where I'm going with this, and what happened next.

It was one of those embarrassing moments where the people working in a restaurant nearby saw and brought me water. Humiliating, at the time, but pretty fucking hilarious to look back on.

It's looking back on this moment now where I wonder if this moment sealed my doom, because things seem to start to go downhill from here. I mean, not really, and I'm definitely being over-dramatic, but stay with me.

It's hard not to think it's me sometimes, when people from school and college are engaged or literal parents, and I'm over here feeling like I'm by myself listening to Bo Burnham's Inside for the 50th time.

Ultimately, my long history of rejection issues flared up (thanks high school bullies) and I've been having a time with it over the past few days.

It's harder than I thought it would be. Being in a capital city so full of people and life, yet still feeling so incredibly alone.

It's not all bad - I've been able to spend time with old friends. I made some amazing new friends. I even went on a couple of great dates. I'm rediscovering my self-worth and self-love (she really do be bangin'). I started this blog to write all my feelings out.

And even though lockdown was hard and I was struggling before the pandemic hit, this has really given me a chance to feel. All the feelings, all the confusion and anger and sadness and relief. And as lame as it is, it's always really beautiful in a way.

I'm a very small fish in a very big pond, but I think I'm starting to grow.

Love always,

Annabelle