Right now, I feel allergic to sleep. So I'm blogging.
Sometimes I have these really poisonous thoughts and I don't know how to shake them but I feel like if I write them here they'll either languish in cyberspace and die on their own or someone will read them and tell me they feel the same way and I'll know it's not so strange.
I like to wear weird clothes in weird ways and it feels good in my bedroom while I'm getting ready but the second I step out of the house and people look at me in my wacky outfits, I always imagine that they're thinking "if that girl was thinner, she might be able to get away with that". Or if I was pretty and elegant, I could wear the hats I like and the jewellery I want. But I'm this incredibly ordinary-looking, chubby girl who just loves to wear bright, primary colours with bow ties and top hats and stripey socks and it's just painful for the people who see me.
Everyone acts like you graduate from high school and everything changes and somehow you're fixed and you become an adult but you don't. There's no age, no line, no rite of passage that will turn you into a mature person if it's not who you are. And I'm so afraid I'm not. I don't know how to pay an electricity bill and my bathroom cleaning skills aren't up to snuff and ringing up to order pizza or arrange Doctor's appointments still scares me. My friends drive cars and pay rent. Why am I so incapable of that, still?
People always look at me like I'm crazy in tutorials when I speak. The fine line I walk between insecurity and over-confidence means that half the time I think it's because I'm blowing their minds with my left-of-centre theories and the other half I think it's because they're imagining gluing my lips shut to stop the stupid from coming out. And what if all this thinking I do, all this study, all this talking, never gets me anywhere and I don't achieve anything and these royally awkward and self-reflective years at University were all for nought, just one long, indulgent daydream?
My Dad had a skin cancer cut off his (bald) head a few days ago, has ten fresh stitches and thus needs to wear a hat for a while to cover it. So I think I'll wear hats all of this week out of solidarity with him and also as an opportunity to indulge my hat fetish in a way that is justifiable and educational. I thought I might make it part of my "looking at a looking" assignment for an Anthropology course on our relationship with the body. People like to stare at the fat girl in the hat, as I've mentioned earlier, so it should provide easy fodder for my notes.
There's so much more, about how I'm obsessed with losing weight and growing my hair out right now so that people will like me, and how I want to go a week without speaking and see if it makes me a better person (one that people will actually like rather than tolerate) and how half the time gender studies discussions make me love my female identity and hope for a great future and the other half I resent everything, most of all gender studies discussion.
My life is this great, happy, busy, stressful, awful place to be and I'm lovehating it constantly. Especially now.