american expat in italy – ⋆ Second Gen Desi ⋆

Pree February 15, 2024 Austin, Texas

Restoration

Reading Time: 7 minutes

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My 2023 was a year that might as well have been three. Harrowing, exciting, relief, and sorrow—some things fell so perfectly into place, and others threw me for a rollercoaster-like loop.

Last year felt like a whirlwind and because of that, I never really had time to reflect or process events (good and bad) in a timely manner. But recently, my body and mind have forced me to slow things down and retreat within myself. Only now do I have the patience to pen these thoughts down, along with seeking therapy again with the hope of starting a new healing journey.

I am proud and grateful for all the things I have accomplished and gained in the last year, but I would be lying if I said everything was perfect. There are so many traumas from childhood to present-day that I have been able to cope with or quash in order to survive as a high-functioning and high-achieving misunderstood woman with depression, but I do want a fair chance to finally heal.

————————————————– 𝕊𝔾𝔻 ————————————————-

A country somehow loved by many will unfortunately never be loved by me. I just don’t think I’ll ever be able to shake away the trauma I endured (maybe one day, I did recover from an eating disorder and I never thought that would happen) and at the same time, I will never be silent or afraid to speak up about it.

I can go on and on about how my experience in Italy was so distressing (and I have through written and audio mediums, lol), but what currently stands out the most is how much it has dampened my ability to enjoy neighboring countries too.

Almost a year has passed since I left without a second glance, but even with the comforts of home softening the corners of memories that were once so sharp and rough, my recent trip to Portugal/Barcelona in December 2023 was an odd experience for me mentally. I still felt tired, and seeing things like buildings and words and church squares that reminded me of Italy (what one would expect amongst other Latin/Southern European regions) unintentionally opened up mental wounds that hadn’t quite healed yet. This seemed so bizarre, as I had just been to Porto earlier that year, praising that it had been “so different from Milan in all the best ways!”. What happened?

All of these current emotions can be due to a mix of things. There are my personal traumas from living in Italy, but I could also be culturally bored with having lived there for so long, and that influencing my experience in other parts of Europe I thought I would enjoy better. There are so many variables at play here, but I will never be Italy’s biggest fan, that’s for sure.

Sintra is my new favorite Portuguese town. While I wish that each moment of this trip had been filled with blissful cheer, feeling tired and triggered by environmental elements out of my control happened to sting wounds that have yet to completely close…

I can permanently straighten my hair, paint my nails, and pay for his round-trip ticket across the Atlantic, but that doesn’t mean he will love me again.

No one likes talking about a break-up, because it feels like the biggest form of failure—especially if you’re the one that didn’t want it to happen. But I always prioritize honesty, and we need to be more open about our experiences instead of holding it all in… which hurts even more.

There is one person I will always associate my time in Italy with. For a little over two years, he was “my rock” in Italy, and like most relationships, we had our good and bad.

Up until October 2022, I thought it had been mostly good? I felt like I was sacrificing a lot for him from my end, especially in regards to finding a better job in Italy when my toxic post-doc environment began to sand me down raw. At the same time, I thought these sacrifices were investments for a bright “happily ever after”…one would hope that’s how it would go, right?

One Thursday after an exhausting train ride home from work, I stopped at a local poke shop to pick up dinner and casually began my weeknight routine of lounging in bed until falling asleep to Real Housewives. However, I received a long text that rocked that night and beyond—essentially, he had fallen out of love with me.

It was the first time in years I “pulled an overnighter” though I’d rather it had been for work than a mental crisis. The first people I messaged were my sister and best friend, and soon after I was bawling to my dad, the few people in my support system who seemed a million time zones behind.

While I would never act on hurting myself, in all transparency, those thoughts did pass. 😔

From that night onwards until our “official” break-up almost 8 months later, anxiety, insecurity, sadness, low self-esteem, and dejection ate away at me, even if I could pretend everything was fine for those I needed to be fine for (people at work). I didn’t want to hyper-focus on his every move, online and off, but how could I feel calm when a bomb was just dropped on me? Being around him every time he opened his phone set my heart racing. I knew I had no control in this situation, but I was still figuring out my exit plan. In the meantime, I had to at least try to “win back” the love he once had for me…I had to troubleshoot, the one thing in my life I’ve never lacked motivation in.

I consider myself a practical person (hence, my fervent application submissions for jobs back home when I realized my personal life in Italy was looking dire), yet part of me also wanted things to magically fall back to how they once were.

But even when I had the greenlight of a decent job to return home to, and he agreed to visit me in my new city for a week—to give it one more chance—my gut told me this was it. Two days after he arrived, I couldn’t help but cry at least once every day until he left, because it was it.

It truly was an odd experiment looking back. Heck, it could have been part of a reality show on failing relationships (will a one-week getaway end with him saying, “yes, I’ll stay with you now”?). At least the relationship ended on my turf, but that didn’t mean the uncontrollable sobbing would automatically stop.

With time, the darkness my mind was clouded with slowly dissipated. Distractions (both desired and unnecessary) have helped me to move on the best I can, but that first relationship (when it fails) will always leave a scar.

I used to spend a lot of time here…now it truly does feel like a memory.

Things can be “good”, but if the underlying trauma hasn’t been processed, depression will rear its ugly head again.

Speaking of distractions, I dove headfirst into doing what I could to move onto the next (and hopefully happy) chapter. Fostering a cattle dog, attempting new creative pursuits like modeling and dance, finally landing my dream job (relevant to my education), attempting new relationships (both friendship and romantic), and living a comfortable life thanks to the financial perks of said dream job happened in a matter of months. Like I mentioned earlier, it was like living multiple lives in a matter of a year.

Yet even if good things happen, I still yearn to grow and achieve. If I put in the effort and I don’t see the pay-off, it’s hard to be happy with things as they are. Anger has given me a lot of power in the past few years. I’d even say it was my only way to survive for so long, which is difficult for most to relate to.

In moments when I’ve felt like no one is in my corner, I’ve retreated. Retreating isn’t failure—it means it is time to rest. The world can be cold and heartless a lot of the time, and we only have so much energy. It’s normal to want to be around people, but to also desire alone time.

Maybe it’s the recent freezing temperatures, but nothing sounds more exciting than staying in bed all day, focusing on restoring my energy versus how to please others.

I kicked off 2024 being as selfish as possible – looking out for my energy and not wasting time on people who can’t put in the same effort as I do, fostering a PUPPY, going on more spontaneous trips, even if I have to go solo and for “short” periods of time

————————————————– 𝕊𝔾𝔻 ————————————————-

I like to give myself a word for each year. Normally I “feel” it going into the year, and for 2024, I feel “restoration” is my guiding word.

“Some common synonyms of restore are refresh, rejuvenate, renew, and renovate. While all these words mean “to make like new,” restore implies a return to an original state after depletion or loss.”

At 31 years old, I’m not sure what that original state really is. When I was 10? But I have a stronger urge to be selfish, in a way that I put myself first like never before. I think that’s the first step to restoration…

I see it manifesting as making spontaneous trips or doing activities I want to do without seeking permission or asking/thinking about others first. It’s leading the pack without worrying if there is a pack behind me. It’s preparing to be alone, but open to genuine company.

It’s no surprise that my body and mind want to slow down after a high intensity year. I need every morsel of energy I have (which is not a lot to begin with) to contribute to this restoration process.

And if there’s one thing I’ve learned in all this, the only person I can truly count on for a lifetime is me: I’ve got to give her all I’ve got if I am going to have anything left to give.

Pree October 23, 2021 Torino, Italy

Torino Personified

Reading Time: 4 minutes

Dear Torino,

It’s 8am on an unusually chilly, mid-summer morning, but I suspect you’ve already been awake since dawn. You’ve put a moka on the stove, and gave Cappuccino her kibble.

What’s next for the day?

Porta Nuova, one of the major train stations in the city

A brisk walk around the city’s famous piazzas? It’s familiar, it’s routine, but doing that today feels unsettling.

On the way to Piazza San Carlo & Piazza Castello

81 years have been spent in this city, and you realize that’s been a lot of time. Wasn’t it just yesterday that you were walking hand-in-hand around the fountains of Piazza Castello with a handsome, young diplomat?

No, it was a dream that may or may not have happened 60 years ago…

And before diabetes, there was always Café Al Bicerin to look forward to.

Most kids remember the first sip of wine their parents allowed them to take. But you know that doesn’t compare to the experience of one’s first Il Bicerin.

The iconic cafe’s signature drink – Il Bicerin

A warm, rich glass layered with coffee, hot chocolate, and cream, only made more heavenly with a side of biscotti. Such a treat now would have to be timed well to avoid a sugar-induced coma!

You see Cappuccino is starting to get antsy. A walk outside is now mandatory, but if not at one of the piazzas, then where? Deciding where to go ends up becoming a walk in itself, but then you realize you are in the vicinity of the Palatine Towers, a strapping Roman age relic that has stood well against the test of time.

You were never one for history, always daydreaming about the future and escaping to a modern Italy. But after years of chasing that illusion, it’s felt less exhausting to retreat back to what is familiar and appreciate la dolce vita whenever possible.

And of course that means food and drinks and amici, but it’s been years since you’ve attended weeks upon weeks of gatherings.

In fact, wasn’t it just last week that another dear friend was put to rest? Time seems to have let you be, winning the title among your group of childhood friends for longest-living ragazza was never the plan.

Despite the looming, bleak outcome life seems to have in store, redirecting oneself back to daily distractions seems to help. Especially if Mole Antonelliana is that distraction.

Mole, a building of monumental proportions…Alessandro Antonelli got that right.

When it comes to distractions, crossing the Po River to see Torino from the top used to be a magnificent escape.

Crossing the Po River, amongst the backdrop of Torino pride 🚩

Leg pain and fatigue get in the way from making the steep climb nowadays, but it’s something you would have urged your kids and grandkids to do if they had ever graced this planet.

A feisty, furball like Cappuccino on the other hand? Good luck chasing her stubby legs up a vertiginous incline!

Borgo Medievale seems more approachable right now, although another long walk through the park doesn’t sound appetizing to a grumbling stomach.

It’s nothing like Disneyland—a teenage dream that even your world-faring parents couldn’t help you fulfill—but at least you take pride in its authenticity.

Fontana di Nettuno is nearby and always stirs a chuckle…as a fiery Leo, you find Agosto to be a tad timid, while Settembre and her Virgo charm seem to be asking for a friendly competition…

Alright, it’s been an incredibly long walk, but before collapsing onto the bed at home for a lusciously, long afternoon nap, una coppeta of gelato seems much deserved! Diabetes should let a few spoonfuls pass on through without a fuss😉

Sweet caramel and pistacchio—flavors that always wrap you with comfort. Gelato—Italy’s gift to the world that despite the unknowns and uncontrollable outcomes of life, life is still a sweet adventure.

An adventure that Torino genuinely fulfills in a quiet, reflective manner.

Pree May 6, 2021 Milan, Italy

International PB Craving

Reading Time: 6 minutes

Peanut butter was never a favorite of mine growing up, yet as I got older, it became an essential staple. But before that realization, I had a looooooong period of infatuation with other food spreads.

When I first tried Nutella as a kid, I was enamored. And when I learned that people on the other side of the globe—in fancy Europe—had Nutella on flaky croissants or on toasted bread for breakfast, I was convinced I was born on the wrong continent!

Peanut butter just seemed boring in comparison…it wasn’t even that sweet, so what was the point? I was the crazy child that would have rather had a jam-filled sandwich than the American PB&J classic. I know, crazy.

So when did things change?

When I got to college, and fell into the world of food blogging and food reviews, while also being restricted by an eating disorder. All of this led me to become obsessed with “protein-fortified” snacks that were marketed as healthy and for fitness enthusiasts—including peanut butter.

Nuts ‘N More was (and I believe still is) a popular brand specializing in “protein-packed” peanut butter, but stood out from the likes of Skippy and Jif with their collection of unique flavors—like Maple Pretzel, Birthday Cake, and Salted Caramel! Brands that struck gold in the protein bar and protein cookie industries weren’t the only ones dipping their toes into the pool of creativity—peanut butter was also becoming a canvas, and I was all for it!

After moving to Italy, I realized very quickly that Italians didn’t see peanut butter as a kitchen staple. When I paid my first visit to an Esselunga (the Italian equivalent of a Kroger I suppose), only two brands of peanut butter were on display.

One of two brands of peanut butter I’ve seen stocked on grocery shelves in Italy.

But there were tons of nocciole and pistacchi spreads—my dream was being overcompensated on one hand, while something too familiar to me was fading away in the aisles of an Italian supermarket.

If you ask Google about peanut butter in Italy, you get redirected to another blogger’s experience—and how you’re better off bringing it from outside the country!

It took me about six months of scooping through hazelnut spread jars for me to realize that my heart does have a soft spot for peanut butter, and that I missed the crazy flavors that I could find with ease back in the US.

And it’s as if Instagram read my mind, because the next thing I knew, I “found” Joey’s Spreads on my discover page, a small business churning out peanut butter from the UK. A single, top-view pic of their birthday cake flavor was enough for me to log onto their site and order myself a 4-pack of their offerings.

Ya know, treat yo’ self or something like that?

Yes, I paid almost 60 euros for peanut butter. But it was “fancy” peanut butter. And I saved 4.19…

Seeing as I used their “JAN” coupon, you can guess I made this order early this year. As with any company using shipping services in 2020 onwards, Joey’s gave me a heads up that delays due to COVID could impact the shipment and delivery of my order, but I didn’t think it would take almost two months.

I got in touch with them via email a month later, and then IG because I was impatient 😅. At least Joey’s was considerate about it, and replied straightaway. We kept in touch via Instagram DMs, and even though weeks were continuing to pass by, it seemed as though they were on top of checking in with the postal service they used.

Then, on fateful March 11th, my jars arrived.

(L to R -> Blueberry Muffin, Birthday Cake, Cookie Crumble & Carrot Cake)

Seeing their presence on my kitchen counter was a huge thrill after a particularly tiring and long day at work. I couldn’t hold back my excitement and had no issues deciding which flavor I’d try first.

I received the box in the morning, but didn’t have time to drop it off at home before leaving for work. So all four jars were taunting me for the entire work day until I could get home and consume them in peace 😆!

Of course, without a doubt, I decided that I would try Birthday Cake first.

I’m the kind of person who prefers a frosting-to-cake ratio of 75-to-25…if not more on the frosting side! And the more brightly-colored and sprinkled a frosting is, oh how better it is.

This jar had a generous layer of creamy pink frosting at the top with colorful bead-like sprinkles. If they want my opinion, I wouldn’t argue if they decided to change up the frosting-to-peanut butter ratio so that half the jar was frosting 😋. I think the point was to mix the frosting with the PB, but are you kidding? I think fellow frosting-lovers would agree—who in their right mind would do that?

The peanut butter itself had a nice crunch, but was still soft and chewy. So even though I inhaled all of the frosting, the PB itself was decent on its own.

Next was 🥕 Carrot Cake 🥕, because it had a frosting-like addition to it as well 😛.

Oh boy was the frosting delicious…it was actually so smooth and mixed with the PB almost to the bottom of the jar. To be honest, it was probably more like icing in consistency! The first flavor note I detected with my first spoonful (PB+icing together this time!) was that of orange. When I flipped the jar around, ‘orange’ was literally listed as one of the ingredients 😂. The next thing I knew, I struck an orange rind and a clump of raisins. Classic carrot cake things I guess?

With Blueberry Muffin, I was given a heads up:

And Joey’s was right, the jar had indeed “firmed up” thanks to a long trek across the pond and over to mainland Europe, but this did not impact the flavor.

I actually didn’t mind the crumbly texture, sharply-defined mini peanut chunks, and juicy blueberries (despite the fact they were dried, lol). The blue color reminded me of Sesame Street’s forever-hungry character Cookie Monster 😂.

And finally, there was Cookie Crumble:

This was a fun flavor to “go archaeologist” on. I was on a mission to dig up chunks of cookies, but I found mini chocolate pieces instead. Eventually I did find what I *thought* were cookie pieces—they at least had a crunch to them, so I assumed them to be so. Overall, the jar tasted and smelled like a giant, crushed chocolate chip cookie mixed with smooth peanut butter. Mission accomplished.

Overall, each jar of Joey’s Spread is a whopping 500g, so the amount you receive justifies the price. If I was living in the UK, I wouldn’t mind ordering from them more often. Their flavor offerings make up for what I’m missing out on back in the good ol’ US of A.

But realistically speaking, as much as I do miss peanut butter, I’ve gotten used to just seeing hazelnut and pistachio-based spreads in the grocery store, and being content with it. I mean, that’s what lil Pree used to dream of, so the least big Pree can do is buy a couple jars and indulge 😉.

Moral of the story is, Italy doesn’t offer anything spectacular in regards to peanut butter.

Shipping finely-ground peanuts from the US (yes, even with frosting mixed in) is not worth it, in my opinion.

So next best thing? Ordering from Joey’s Spread when that international PB craving hits.

Pree March 9, 2021 Milan, Italy

Day by Day

Reading Time: 10 minutes

Before that night in late spring of my junior year of high school, I could not comprehend how painful a mental breakdown truly was.

I played singles varsity tennis that fall. I had been awarded the position of first chair flute in county honor band that winter. And that night, I had completed two regional competitions for Robotics as president of my high school team, bringing home an award for our website as well—-something that had been a personal project of mine finally received validation, yet it triggered my anger.

Logically, I had nothing to “cry over”, yet the dark idea that it would all come crashing down triggered the tears, guttural yelling, and body slams against the floor of my parents’ bedroom.

My mom with her own mental illness, fueled the fire with her share of yelling and ridicule that I was the one that needed help. My dad, shocked at the scene going on before him and unable to stop my incessant crying and self-harm, threatened to call the police.

But this only pushed out more tears, and at one point, my body couldn’t take it anymore. I continued to lay on the floor listlessly while my parents calmed down as well.

The police never came, but Dad thought I should see a therapist. I was resentful, given the fact that my mother had not seen a doctor in years, but part of me felt the urge to see someone, with a sprinkling of curiosity.

————————————————– 𝕊𝔾𝔻 ————————————————-

I have lived with depression since then, with it popping in and out of my life at varying intensities, depending on how kind my environment was to me.

An eating disorder was mixed in as well, sometimes making it unclear what was first to influence what.

The depression, along with OCD tendencies, popped up along my PhD journey as well, with one of my darker episodes occurring at a time when so many unknowns were at play… the biggest of which was the worry of how soon my first, first-author paper would be published, if I would be able to graduate, and if it was even worth all of the anxiety and emotional breakdowns I was going through.

It was around this time I decided to see my third therapist, but also consider taking medication for the first time. When I received the news that my paper had been accepted, that itself lifted away the weight of the world that was pressed so firmly at my shoulders for the past six months, but I still felt it necessary to seek out professional help.

Dr. S was an immense help through the first half of 2019. It may have helped that my environment suddenly turned friendly, but she helped me battle the ennui I was now experiencing as I inched towards a summer graduation.

At first I saw her once a week so she could get to know me better and monitor me as I started taking Lexapro for the first time. I was on 5mg initially, but was bumped up to 10mg. Beyond a few headaches and fatigue, the pill got acquainted with my body and lifestyle, although I personally didn’t feel any changes.

Especially since I still felt cyclical anger and irritability.

Dr. S was a trained psychiatrist, but would not continue writing prescriptions for patients unless paired with counseling sessions. I enjoyed our sessions in the beginning, since I was able to vent to her about my desire to start anew outside of SoCal. She knew about my plans to apply for a fellowship in Italy, and how I yearned to have the opportunity to meet new people and travel all over.

When my plans were starting to gel by November 2019, I began to grow tired of my sessions with Dr. S. Like with the therapists of my past, I had hit a plateau with her. I felt like I didn’t need her anymore, and that my depression had retreated once I received confirmation about Italy.

Of course with COVID in early 2020, my plans changed dramatically. I was “stuck” in Tulsa (although now I see it as a blessing I wish I could relive again). Being with my family definitely played a key role in mitigating stress. I was still taking my Lexapro, but popping a pill each day without knowing if it was truly serving its purpose was beginning to irritate me, to say the least.

Dr. S wrote me a prescription for 90 days to take with me as I settled down in Milan, but who’s to say if it got me through my two weeks of isolating self-quarantine?

Because my mind was already set on starting fresh and throwing myself into a different world, I felt ready to stop the Lexapro. I didn’t want to rely on medication to modulate my mood for the rest of my life, especially if it wasn’t doing its purported action in the first place.

Things seemed to be going wonderfully at work.

I was finally opening up and starting to date for the very first time in my life.

In fact, I was lucky to meet someone so early in the “game” who I clicked with instantly.

And with all of this new-found happiness, I wanted to see what my body could do on its own…in an environment where I felt in control and eager about navigating through.

So I stopped taking Lexapro in mid-August 2020. I informed my Dad and a close friend of my decision, both of whom knew of my recent depression history. My Dad, knowing the obstacles I have faced when it comes to doctors and their diagnoses understood why I chose not to wait until I found a doctor, but my close friend was more concerned. While I acknowledge it would have been helpful to see someone within weeks of arriving in Italy, I knew that with the painfully frustrating administrative system in place—especially in regards to healthcare—it would have been a nightmare to wait for a second opinion.

In my battle with depression over the years, I quickly realized that when it came to my body and mind, only I could be the one to decide what felt right for me.

I felt “normal” for about a week, after which painful, throbbing headaches began to make an appearance on a daily basis. I was starting to feel easily triggered by what I would normally see as minor inconveniences. On my early morning runs, I would have to stop mid-run because I would be on the verge of tears…

Things started to feel uneasy at work. I found myself silently hyperventilating at times, and I often had to duck into the bathroom to let myself had a good cry.

I knew fully well I had nothing to be upset about. I stopped taking the medication because things were going well. I wasn’t too concerned about these symptoms arising because I was expecting them as part of the withdrawal process.

Everything would be better in a few weeks…

But it seemed as though things were slowly retreating and heading in the opposite direction. The throbbing headaches did stop after three weeks. I wasn’t crying uncontrollably everyday either, but my mood was no longer at the same elevated level that it has been in mid-summer.

And perhaps it was because my environment, the one I thought I had control over, was starting to become more overwhelming than I ever imagined it would be.

Having the patience to learn and speak Italian was becoming a stressful chore.

Work was becoming something I was slowly starting to dislike. I resented the idea that my position wasn’t as flexible as I thought it would have been. I felt like my skills weren’t being appreciated. And having these feelings woven through a five-day work week was an feeling that grew unbearable by the minute.

As fall turned into winter, I thought time would make things better, but with the rise of COVID infections, we were back in a lockdown in late October. I was resenting the fact that I had yet to travel outside of Milan or Como, and I was counting on the winter holidays to make my Rome trip a reality.

But that of course didn’t happen.

At least I wasn’t alone during the holidays, but my anxious thoughts and depression still would not leave me, even though I knew I had a full week off from work to take in the last of 2020 (although, what was really there to take in?).

I kept thinking about how I was “wasting” my time off because I wasn’t able to travel. Or ruminating over what experiments I should be planning my first week back at work, even though that was the last thing I wanted my thoughts to dwell on…

Castel Baradello hike the day after Christmas. It was a beautiful sight, but my mind was gripped with anxiety about my week off ending soon…

And with the arrival of 2021, things still seemed to not “feel” any better. Yes, I was finally able to move into apartment that wasn’t the size of a claustrophobic closet, and with a balcony (something that was a top priority), but I still felt unsettled 😔

I thought I would appreciate a long, cold winter after months of painful humidity and encapsulated heat, but I guess I didn’t know what I was asking for when it came to an Italian winter. The weather became piercingly cold, and the sky always seemed to match my mood—gray, dreary, tired, depressing…

I tried to keep my mind away from the gray by appreciating things I knew would bring me joy.

Like, (finally) buying a Nespresso machine so I could have coffee on my terms.

Or stopping for adorable cats that ‘meow’ back and don’t mind being coddled.

And even trying to shift back to daylight runs vs. the nighttime runs I had a habit of partaking in during the summer. Because every ounce of sunlight helps.

Work continued to aggravate me. I still felt like I was doing tasks that weren’t adding to my skill set, and that what I was doing had no relation to what I thought I had signed up for.

Looking back, I find it ironic that in the phone calls I had with my Dad during this time, I’d semi-joke about having a breakdown at work given all the emotional turmoil that had been building up for the past several months.

And, then it happened right on cue 🙃. Before I broke down into a solid cry that drenched even my blue disposable mask, I was having a meeting with my boss, during which she expressed her disappointment with how things were going (I would later learn that she had been described by others to push people to their breaking point in an effort to get the most work out of them). I didn’t have the energy to explain my situation, so I let my emotions do the talking.

She seemed to understand immediately, and offered help where she could. At least that situation got me into a doctor’s office for the first time in Italy 🙄. I knew counseling had helped me in the past, but this time, I already knew what my trigger was.

A stressful, overwhelming environment.

————————————————– 𝕊𝔾𝔻 ————————————————-

Since my breakdown as a junior in high school, I have accepted that depression will always be a condition in my life, and that it may need managing from time-to-time.

When I felt out of control with where I would be going to college and troubles at home with mom, diving into an eating disorder was my solution.

When I felt deep anxiety about the fate of my PhD, and the paper I was anxiously trying to publish for a timely graduation, Dr. S and my willingness to try medication for the first time was my solution.

And I thought Italy would be a long-term solution. Especially for the irritability and ennui that popped up in recent years, but it turned out that Italy was an issue of her own.

COVID has been an obvious key player in this, and it’s hard to say how things would have turned out if I had arrived in Italy back in early 2020 as originally planned, and if the world had not been shaken by COVID.

But ongoing events have made me realize that the biggest trigger of my current depression “flare” is directly associated with the very reason I came to Italy in the first place. And how do you manage and cope when the very thing that is your livelihood causes so much distress?

Recently, I’ve been fortunate to have possibilities open up. Knowing that there may be a way out has put my mind at ease, but at the same time, there’s no guarantee that the solution to cutting myself off from the triggers here will help me somewhere out there.

That’s why I’m trying my best—with whatever ounce of energy I do have—to take things day by day. Making sure to sip my coffee, savor a relaxing dinner at home, and pet that furry cutie before each run…

When it comes to using medication to manage my mental health, I personally do not want to get near it ever again. I’m sure it works wonders for some, but that doesn’t mean it works favorably for everyone.

Managing my depression has led me to prioritize my happiness no matter what. I acknowledge that what I may constitute as happiness right now in life could change over time, but even so, I believe that if we make it a priority to live in ways that ensure balanced levels of happiness, we can encourage the same from those we interact with on a daily basis.

An infinite loop of happiness, wouldn’t that be nice?