I am stressed.
I am officially stressed.
Do not downplay the amount of stress I am under right now.
It is not funny, nor can you explain me out of it, nor can you logic me out of it, or otherwise talk me out of it through any other way.
The money I will be spending is mine.
The job I will be giving up is mine.
The friends, family, photo albums, mementos, and cat that I am leaving behind are MINE.
The turtle I will be giving up to a friend, that I know my family will throw into the sea once I’m gone, is mine.
Just because I know that I won’t die doesn’t mean that I’m not worried about living a no-life because I wouldn’t have money to play some hockey or buy some popcorn and watch a movie.
The lifestyle that I will be giving up is mine.
The person opening bank accounts; buying plane tickets; running around the British Consulate; explaining to my boss that I’m leaving; going to job interviews and all that will be me.
The person with an uncertain future is ME.
Just because I will find a job, even if it is any odd job, doesn’t take away all the other reasons that I am stressed.
So stop saying it’ll be alright.
Because I know everything will end up alright. But I am still stressed. So shoot me.
I have every right to be.
Stop pettifying my worries.