Anywhere But Here Syndrome

I suffer from a sometimes tragic condition, which I have lovingly called “Anywhere but Here” Syndrome. Sometimes it strikes suddenly for a day and is gone just as quickly.  Sometimes it slowly builds up and lasts for weeks at a time before fading away again. It’s that feeling that I would just be happy if I weren’t at X but instead at Y.  I’m unhappy because I’m at work, and if I were just back in my apartment, I’d be okay.  I’m unhappy because I’m in my own apartment in Connecticut, and if I were just in my parents’ house in Virginia, I’d be okay.  I’m unhappy because I’m in the car, and if I were just sitting still I’d be okay.  I’m unhappy because I’m sitting still, and if I were just going somewhere I’d be okay. I’m unhappy because I’m somewhere I know, and If I were someplace exotic and novel, I’d be okay. I’m unhappy because I’m somewhere strange and foreign, but if I were somewhere I frequented often, I’d be okay.  It’s a feeling that leaves me all kinds of twisted up, and has me simultaneously wanting to move out to the UK and back to Virginia Beach, and getting frustrated because I know there is no way to fulfill both desires.

All it really means is that I am unhappy, and unwilling to own up to it, or take the responsibility of making myself feel better.  It’s not my fault; it’s all these different circumstances, and if I had it my way, I’d change this one thing, and be happy. It’s just time to put on my big girl pants and suck it up.

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