I'm really nervous for exchange.

I wasn't before, I was really chill and my attitude was 'it'll be fine, I'm adaptable and can pass as socially adequate. I'll be improving myself and it'll be an amazing experience and what could go wrong?

I knew a lot could go wrong.

But it was much more fun (and helpful) to think about the positives.

It's getting closer now however, and I am becoming apprehensive. There has been one or two quick fantasies of calling the whole thing off. I won't of course. Pride certainly wouldn't allow me to do that, and I wouldn't want it to. I do things outside my comfort zone because it almost always works out well for me and this is such an amazing opportunity and in such a large family, it's satisfying to be doing something none of my cousins have done (especially considering I am doing the degrees of two of my cousins already and coveting a third).

This isn't something my family expects of me either. Not that they'd put me down but they know me as the shy one, who read too much and had too few friends and never as the outgoing child. To the best of my ability, this is me being outgoing.

I want to do this, because it's a) very adult, and I am almost 20. When I leave I'll have turned 20 which is exciting. I've been looking forward to leaving my teenage years ever since you-know-who, because I wanted to be able to dismiss that whole series of events from that point forward as completely irrelevant- "I was a teenager then!" I also want to prove myself as competent, being able to cook and tidy up after myself and do my laundry and make travel plans. Independence is a big deal for me, because I have relied my entire life on the people around me. I have always preferred being looked after to looking after. However, that is a childish attitude that I want to shed. I think it's healthy to take responsibility for yourself, your actions and your decisions. If things go wrong, or the consequences of something I do are heavy, I have to take that on board and deal with it myself. I'm not saying I'll be Atlas, but, in the infinite wisdom of Tyra Banks, "Take responsibility fo' yo'self."

My anxiety stems almost entirely from this though. I love my Mum and Mia and my friends and family. I like my room and I like knowing where I live and how to get places. I like my car. I like having a bucket load of support systems around and I think it's natural to fear losing it. I am scared of culture shock, of not making friends, of crying myself to sleep and being lonely and scared and missing everyone desperately.

I don't want to quit and come home after 2 weeks because I can't hack it out there. I don't want everything to go wrong and I don't want to be caught with a boogie board bag full of drugs ala Shapelle Corby. I certainly don't want to be a murdered girl, travelling Europe alone and never being heard from again. I don't want to fail my classes or have University life not live up to my expectations. I don't think they're unrealistic, but I don't want to be miserable and not be able to travel weekends and not enjoy myself.

Very soon I am going to have to start to make firm, set-in-stone decisions and that is scary to me. Very much so. Visa applications is going to be the most major pain in the ass stress and accomodation is going to be the most terrifying because if I get that wrong, that'll determine who I meet, if I make friends, if I meet people that want to travel with me, if I meet hot guys, basically, if my exchange is successful or not. And since I can't live on campus and I don't want a full year lease, I'm basically going to be haggling and emailing, modifying a regular lease in order to have somewhere to live, so that's, you know, great. Because we all know that communication and bargaining are my greatest skillset.

Not.

I'm not losing weight as well as I'd hoped, I got a bit discouraged and put on weight this week, and then to celebrate that, of course I ate everything. And that just feels normal to me, because my relationship with food is legitimately that fucked up that a binge is just, yeah, I do that.

Even knowing full well that'll just make everything harder later and make the exact problem and struggle that triggered the binge worse, I still do it. I get it in my head that eating healthy is no way to live, and that it sucks and that I'm missing out. It's so fucking crazy that I don't understand moderation. I just give in, give in, give in to temptation, every time.

Do you know how sick the idea of photos of me standing in front of the Eiffel Tower sounds, when I look like an ugly elephant? It makes me feel ill and want to throw up and makes me think what is the point, and not want to take any photos at all or that I'll look back at those photos in 20 years and just regret that I couldn't have self control for a few fucking months.

It's just everything, all the little things I can't handle. Big things, big concepts, yeah, throw it on me, travel Europe, go backpacking, sounds great. But, book a flight, work out home much baggage is allowed, get to the airport by public transport and talk to someone at the desk at a hostel and pluck up the courage to ask the question I desperately need to know the answer to... I don't know if I can do those things. Or if I'm lost, and my phone is dead and it's getting dark and I don't know what train to get.

I burst into tears at Thirroul train station once- and by once I mean like, last year, because I screwed up my trip badly and didn't know what I was doing. I let my mum 5 voicemails. I am not a jungle cat, adept in the wild, I'm like a guinea pig. Those things are cute as fuck, but zero survival instincts. They squeal and give themselves heart attacks.

That is me because right now I totally do look cute as fuck, I feel v. pretty, it is good. But also incapable and not for use in real world.

Eep.