This is gonna be a difficult one to write. I don’t really know how it’s gonna go, so I think I’ll just bang my head against the keyboard for a bit and see what comes out on the screen. I’ve been away from here for a couple of weeks because I don’t really know where my head’s been at. It’s like my brain has been on vacation for two weeks but it hasn’t taken me with it, and has just left me thinking “Where the fuck are you!? I didn’t authorise this leave! I can’t function without you, come back you utter, utter bitch”.
I always feel very vulnerable when writing about my mental health. Having had approval issues for FUCKING FOREVER there’s that nasty side of my brain that tells me I’ll just look like a sad, pathetic little loser who can’t deal with the simplest of shit, and then the other side doesn’t give a flying fuck. I find it hard because to talk about your mental health there needs to be an element of understanding where it’s come from and why you feel this way, you have to judge yourself.
I honestly think I’d rather just post nudes of myself on the internet and let everyone else tell me what’s wrong.
I underestimated what this blog was doing for me. It gives me routine, something to occupy my time with, and an actual reason to get out of bed in the morning. And I do it because I enjoy it, and even though one day I’d love to be able to make money from it (can’t I just skip to the part where I get paid to travel 24/7 and look fucking fabulous?) right now it’s my little corner of the internet which I can use either as an outlet, or to review a lipstick. I sometimes get a bit disheartened when I focus on the numbers side of it, but after a slightly overdramatic twitter meltdown I’ve actually discovered there are actual, real life people who do read what I write, so it’s nice to know I’m not talking to a brick wall.
I’ve spent so much time trying to find my zen place – somewhere I can feel relaxed and content. But I’ve realised that when I sometimes manage to achieve it, it’s because I’ve unintentionally let my guard down. I hate feeling vulnerable. I may as well be lying naked on the floor in the middle of Times Square during rush hour. I’ve worked long and hard to build my walls up, and I’ve had a lot of practice at my “I’m fine” face so the last thing I want to be doing is letting my guard down willy-nilly.
If only I had the courage to go into the parts of me that’d been hurt, scorned, or let down. There are many places in my head and heart which I’ve cordoned off with ‘INCIDENT’ signs, like police tape at a crime scene. It makes me think that if I were brave enough to do that, I’d make a good songwriter, poet, or a doctor performing open heart surgery.
I’m gonna say it – I’ve fucking struggled recently. I don’t even know why. You know when you’re feeling a certain way you can’t seem to explain, but then, for example, you hear a song and you’re just like “well hi that’s me”. Yesterday I was listening to The Pretty Reckless and ‘The Devil’s Back” came on, and it hit me like the shit hitting the fan. Then there are times you forget about it. I went to see the Impractical Jokers on tour the other day, (definitely didn’t fangirl and lust over Sal in the slightest, I kept my cool 100% of the time…), and even though I found myself feeling nervous for no reason whatsoever, I laughed like I haven’t in a long time.
I’ve had a hard year, I feel like I can’t catch a break and there have been times when I’ve genuinely thought that everyone would be better off without me, but I know I’d never have the balls to do anything about it, so I’m still here talking to you now.
I’m gonna end this post now before I ramble any more shit in your direction. Thanks for reading. Cheers then. All the best. The end. Bye.