Fresh beginnings?

So here I am in New York City, Queens to be exact. A new chapter of my life has opened, I am supposed to seize the day. But for some reason, this book feels like one of those novels you pick up with a broken spine, missing pages, and smeared ink, one of those books where you just know that yes, you can judge it by its cover because no one has checked it out of the library since 1912. I, as the author, am having writer's block. This city is so wonderful and beautiful and overwhelming and yet I feel like a homeless rat at the subway station.
There is something so interesting about my luck, I do feel like some supreme being is picking on me for having such a lovely collection of dresses in my closet. I'm sorry you are jealous... God? Basically after almost 19 years of living, I have learned nothing besides the disappointing nature of my life and mankind in general caused by my eagerness to rest my soul on strangers' shoulders. Now, I know I am not a starving AIDS-ridden child in Africa (although I got my nose pierced at a shady salon so maybe my T cells are in danger after all) I still have a very morose perception of my future. Even though I should be hopping up and down on my bed because finally I am at freedom to re-live Animal House and to do all things collegiate, as previously stated, I am a rat in a sewer.
The skin of this apple (get it, Big Apple, New York ha) is that I am at a school where I have no aspiration to educate myself. Also, I don't actually see myself becoming much of anything before the age of 60 with a St. John's education. It should be easy to stand out among this abundance of saggy-panted, fake thugs (who actually are wealthy) and the fake Jersey girls (most of which I'm not even sure are aware which currency we use in the United States) but I am having a lot of problems. I have no energy whatsoever, and I am too cynical and mean to actually attempt participating in class. Not to mention that I am somewhat tongue-tied when speaking in a crowd of people but either way, I believe that sharing my opinion in a crowd that does not know nor care about me is a very egoistical thing to do. The real shocker is that journalism is in fact my major. Good luck to me on that one.
The meat of this apple is my family. Dear old mom and dad are 1500 miles away and can still make me feel like the rat I am. With my utter hate of tennis and my abandoning of the sport I participated in for ten years, I will mark the death of all hopes to be part of a happy family. The resentment and tension are felt over the phone line which is why I haven't had a normal conversation with them since they drove back to Dallas the very same day they arrived and left me to take care of my "collegiate business" on my own. I pictured myself crying every night over my departure but they have made it very hard for me to have a conscience. And despite me acknowledging how they were right on my choice of school, everyday they have a new fault to rub in my face. I love them so much, but this doesn't feel quite the way it should.
The core of this apple is that I am missing my lover of one year plus. Moving to this city was our joint fantasy at some point, which I guess we were too naive to drop because of a funny thing called love. This boy and I had probably the most remarkable relationship once upon a time with constant happiness and flowers at every turn. Of course with life, most good has to stop. Tiny fights became similar to the War In Iraq, with two hard heads pushing against one another. Then massive fights escalated to atom bombs. And now, we are 7 minutes apart, and at the same time a whole world away. I have messed up a lot with Spencer. I've said some awful, awful words to him during times when we should have lasted just based on our love for one another. And we did last, but having scars to prove we did just doesn't cut it. I faultily believed that if I threatened someone enough with me leaving them, they would become that much more appreciative of me. So in turn, this boy I love, has left me during one of the toughest times of my life. All that echoes in my head are our plans and crazy promises to one another. And while I blame him, I mostly blame me. I let our differences tear us apart. Now he doesn't want anything to do with me until he is ready, if ever, to have a relationship with me, maybe. Me spilling my heart to people isn't helping me much because I get the same advice over and over. I only want to spill my heart to him. In result, I've taken on the crazy ex-girlfriend role with my 6 page long texts begging to be with him and recalling our past and my sobby voicemails asking for second chances and revealing my shock and awe at him leaving my life and treating me like a stranger. To me, no matter how awry things went, I imagined us getting this fresh start in New York City with all the places to see, the people to meet, the music to hear, the shows to go to, the cuddling to do, the alone time to spent, the love making to finally achieve. Who knew? Maybe he did.
The seeds of this apple are that I am now emotionally shot. I want to believe that I can shut myself down from all emotion but I am not this person. I spend all day walking around with my 2 friends like the zombie I am in hopes to get my mind off of things. And it for the most part it works, I don't let myself start crying about the happiness I fucked up with my family or with Spencer when I am in this social, "happy" setting. But then once in awhile, there is that reminder, that US Open commercial, that happy family, that Bob Dylan reference, those skinny, tight pants and black Vans, that sound of a guitar and that's when I really break down. My highs and lows are about as different as Gandhi and Hitler. The lows hit me so hard my entire body shakes and I can't light my 50th cigarette for the day. I am in utter disbelief at this cesspool I am drowning in. I just try to mute everything out but when I wake up in the morning with a bed and a room half the size of my bed and room in Dallas and no dog to wag its tail in my face and no mom to cook me lunch and no dad to buy me random gifts, I can't help but cry. When I wake up in the morning with the pillow my love once sewed me for Christmas and look at my phone with no missed calls or lovely texts to wake up to and put on the underwear I bought strictly for him to see, I can't help but sob. All these things I have ruined because I saw the bad in it all and didn't appreciate the moment I was in have really added up. I'd like to believe I can rewind some of it but the VCR is broken. And neither my parents nor Spencer will let me be the technician. If they could, I would really outdo myself and apply what I've learned into this new beginning.
Eithey way you slice this apple, it's rotten. I want to not feel this miserable but no amount of begging gets me my way and only time can heal wouds, but along with all this, other situations that have happened these last 2 weeks serve as salt. I want to not be this weak, weak girl but I really put all faith I had into people this last year. I don't know how I can believe in anything more again, so this new beginning feels more like a dead end.