Russia Has Sucked My Soul Dry

There is a reason I haven't been blogging regularly since I arrived in Moscow. Ever since I stepped off that plane, I have been struggling with monumental depression. Some days are better than others, but generally they are never much better than mediocre. I spend a lot of time with myself, be it alone in my room or as an anonymous passenger on the subway. I have experienced a number of blog-worthy things in the last ten days. It's not that I have no material. It's simply that, at the end of the day, when I settle down in my room for the night, I have nothing to say. I feel like a heavy wet blanket is smothering my mind and rendering me silent. I don't have the energy or the desire to write. Every morning when I wake up, I tell myself that today I will blog. But by afternoon my mind is so worn down by loneliness/social alienation/depression that I just don't have anything to say.

Generally, I am a pretty depressed person. I'm very sensitive to external stimuli and quick to pick up on subtleties. I am easily brought down. My whole life has been this way, and I have spent most of it using up tons of energy to push those things away or to be able to function in spite of them. Functioning in spite of depressors requires an immense amount of mental energy, and most days I end up defeated by those depressors. I very rarely triumph over them, and when I do, I am so incredibly aware of how transitory my bouts of happiness are that I end up not being able to fully enjoy them. I just keep hoping that, as long as I live my life like a normal person, go through the motions, and even attempt to over-achieve, happiness will eventually follow. My reputation as an over-achiever stems from a desperate desire to overcome what I consider to be an exhausting, difficult, sometimes not even worthwhile, life.

Okay so, all of that was really depressing to read, I'm sure. But let's be honest with ourselves here. I'm not blogging exclusively for your entertainment. This year in Russia is an experiment in self discovery, and writing is just another instrument in my toolbox to help me along the way. The fact that I am broadcasting my thoughts to the entirety of the web community and facebook is questionable, I know. Sometimes it bothers me. A lot of the stuff I say is awful, lewd, or just downright depressing. Sometimes I worry that anything I say could come back to bite me in the ass when it comes time to begin my "career" (whatever and whenever that may be). Sometimes I worry that I will end up alienating people. But there is a small, pathetic little hope in the back of my mind that the people reading this will connect with bits and pieces of what I'm saying, or that they will gain some greater insight into the real Buff that assists them in deciding whether or not I'm a worthy friend/person. This hope trumps my fears of rejection and self-incrimination. Maybe (almost certainly) in the future I will regret broadcasting my bare soul to all. It's pretty inevitable. I can't look back on my past without cringing; it's instinctual and automatic. But all I have to say is: whatev.

Let's get back to current events. I have been in Moscow for ten days, and all told I have pretty much completely adjusted (depression notwithstanding). It didn't take me long, actually. As my readers will know, those first couple of days were pure hell, but soon after that I fully recovered. Now I am back to the regular old depressed Buff with a comedic edge, only I don't really have many people to tell jokes to, since my Russian is at the level of a five-year-old. I have made a few new friends, which I am quite happy about. I have spent a little time with my old friend Nastya and her boyfriend Rene, although not as much time as I would like. I have also befriended a French student here at MGU named Jawad, who I probably spend the most time with, mostly because we both live in campus. His English is quite fluent, so we are able to freely communicate. We quickly became friends because of our similar feelings of alienation and loneliness after moving to Moscow. It seems that I am doing a poor job of making Russian friends and an excellent job of making English-speaking friends. It's funny how all the English-speakers find each other so quickly. For my own well-being, I should really make more of an effort to befriend more people (especially Russians). But I've found that after a long day of Russian lessons and traveling around the city, I don't want to do anything but be alone in my room. Why am I so lame?

I actually think I am going to go work on some Russian homework right now, and then come back and write another installment of my blog. Writing this post has sapped me of my energy and I need another $6.50 cappuccino anyway...