So its happened; it’s come to the point where it is now unavoidable. I’ve found myself in the unfortunate situation where I’m not only an adult, but one that I physically dislike. The recoiling in the mirror is no longer charming or affable.
To be fair, (to myself and you that reads this) I have to acknowledge that I’m fucked up, I fucked up, I’m fucking up and still going to fuck up. The crippling anxiety has become worse, and the impending mental health breakdown is made more evident by the whiskey, Whispa’s and weekend blackouts.
Swimming through my floordrobe each morning in tears looking for that one black top, (which is evidently found under the couch downstairs) doesn’t scream ‘grown-up.’ Or putting financial blinkers on each time I draw money – is testament to the fact that its time I do a little reflection.
This is very much in contrast to the appearance of structure, thriftiness, emotional calm and professional order that I exude at work, despite fantasising about pornography in quarterly reviews (upon reflection this could be adding to my lack of financial savvy in my personal life)
The self-loathing and self- flagellation I take with me in numerical calories to the shower each day weighs equally heavy on my heart; to the point where bathing becomes a preference over standing in front of the mirror in the shower. In the same way I am fronted past the steam, this written catharsis attempts to reflect and let go, and in some sense of showing the shame…helps in sharing a laugh.
So this happened…this isn’t some wafty love letter to a ‘New York Carrie’ or masturbation over love and womanhood, namely because I live in London and have a day job and shit. And this isn’t some self-discovery or ass-eating session (The modern naval-gazing if you will) Nor is it a would-be haiku to Lena Dunham and the upper-middle-class self-entitled millennial bullshit. Instead, this is a more realistic millennial approach to realising, in myself that, I aint that special, ain’t that put together either, and I’m becoming more attuned to the fact, that in of itself –
I’m failing fucking miserably.