This is the sort of introduction that can be found at the beginning of most teenage girls’ diaries. The sort of introduction that weighs heavy with emotional instability, delusions of grandeur, hormones and the pain of budding breasts.
*Why are my arms so weak? It’s like I did that push up last year for nothing! *
Actually, I suppose that’s more like Winona Ryder at the beginning of Girl, Interrupted but you get the picture; shit got real and I slept funny on my boob.
* You see a lot, Doctor. But are you strong enough to point that high-powered perception at yourself? What about it? Why don’t you—why don’t you look at yourself and write down what you see? Maybe you’re afraid to. *
It’s been several months since I stopped writing partly because I felt like I had nothing to say. I wasn’t enjoying what I wrote. I was over the relationship that drove me online in the first place and I saw little point in continuing using it as a billboard for my new, amazing and happy single life. I was done with being mean for fun. I was done using the blog as motivation for things that I was too afraid to do for myself. I didn’t know what I wanted or where I wanted to go. I was creatively and emotionally barren.
* Stick a fork in my Jerry. I’m done! *
What with the breakdown of my fathers marriage and the emergence of my own mental health issues in the intervening months, it became readily apparent that something was wrong.
* It’s the truth universally acknowledged that the moment one area of your life starts going OK another part of it falls spectacularly to pieces. *
I thought that if I could turn my sadness and loneliness into jokes and humourous situations for long enough I’d eventually break through to genuine happiness. What happened was I started to confuse the two. They both lost meaning and I became totally disoriented. The world seemed dull and lifeless.
* I have a problem? You say more inappropriate things than appropriate things. *
I’ve always smiled or put on a brave face when I say something bad because it’s easier. It’s always easier to pretend that everything’s OK. To joke about the fact I’m a spinster rather than to come to terms with an almost year long bout of celibacy due to my own insecurities. It’s important to feel things. Good and bad. So when you keep pushing away the bad, the good things don’t feel the same and you get tired. So very tired. And then the bad starts to win.
* Oh, Mrs. Dalloway… Always giving parties to cover the silence. *
That’s where I’ve been for the past four months. Trying to make some serious changes in my life to be a better person.
* And so if the government could just get to the kitchen, rearrange some things, we could certainly party with the Haitians.*
In doing so I’ve managed to gain a lot of insight into how I think. A pedagogical approach has given me the necessary drive to do what I want for me and not for what I think people want me to do. I can learn from the good as well as the bad and accept them both equally.
* I’ll show you how valuable Elle Woods can be! *
So I’m on the mend and ready to divulge details of my (l)awful existence and bring a little more reality into my life as Mister Spinster. Break out the brie and slankets it’s time to party…as soon as I finish these exams.
* I don’t think that I’ve ever been stressed out. Why would I be? I’ve got practically no responsibilities, my job’s a breeze and I’ve got a KILLER rack. Good morning. *