transparency is sexy (an unedited raw 3am entry)
My dear journal, it’s been a while since we’ve met properly. I’ve written up and scrapped at least five journal entries at this point since we last spoke. Found myself unable to finish or publish each entry due to them being too honest, raw, and confessional. Subconsciously, knowing people in my life may occasionally read my entries, made me less transparent. What is the point of writing into the void if I am not being completely raw and honest? If you know me in real life, I don’t care if you read this; truthfully, I don’t, but you might not enjoy it.
So here is a collection of everything to catch you up to speed. As I write this, my eyes are still burning, and my head has started banging from earlier. Had a panic attack in the bathroom, lights off, of course. It’s a ritual at this point, one I made last year. Used to lock myself away in my old bathroom, headphones on and lights off, waiting for some sort of peace. I used to have two to three full-blown attacks every evening back then. I don’t have that many anymore. Been thinking about last year, mainly Last Winter, a lot.
Went for a walk last week because working remotely has me feeling all comfortable, and I'm getting cabin fever. Terrible for my daily step intake. Easy not to leave the house. Somehow, I ended up walking the old pathway I used to take Last Winter, but in the opposite direction. Somewhere between fields of horses and roads packed with cars, when you never know when you’re allowed to cross or not. Tripped and fell into the shops when it was still light, scoped the aisles for God knows how long, picking up products, holding them tightly, only to put them back down after a few minutes. Ended up buying some Korean collagen toner pads because the Koreans really do know what they’re doing with skincare, don’t they? Despite the fact that many of the Korean skincare brands us Western consumers interact with and buy from are actually American companies. Brands and products that people in Korea have never heard of.
Anyways. By the time I left, it was dark outside. When I used to walk this road, especially in the dark, I could hear my heart beating in my ears and an itching under my skin, dying to let me be fully consumed. Felt like some sort of rebel for walking in the dark back then. Was scared of walking in the dark. Was scared of a lot of things.
Found myself thinking a lot about back then, Last Winter. The person I was, the things I thought and didn’t think of, and things I was too scared of. Ended up recording a basically twenty-minute voice message to myself, ripping myself apart and cursing everything I used to do, not do, think, not think. They say you should give your younger self some grace, but I didn’t. Still don’t, most of the time. Made a lot of bad habits, rituals, Last Winter. Evident by the whole lock-yourself-away-in-a-bathroom-with-the-lights-off go-to panic attack defence. Another ritual I used to do, which I don’t do as much, is to be a ghost.
Lying in my bedroom, trying not to show any sign of life. Which I can pretty good at doing when I want to, thanks to last year, I did it a whole bunch back then. Mainly, when I first moved in, acting as a ghost that occupied the room on the right of the second floor. How to open and close blinds without making a noise, slowly trying on and off switches, tiptoeing across the room, and climbing into bed without making a sound. I stopped caring a bit after I established myself as the ‘weird roommate they’d never see and wasn’t sure could speak’, got used to showing signs of life. Never loud, though, just normal signs. Sometimes on the particularly bad days, I’d fall back into that habit when I was too anxious, or the noises from my roommates were too close, too loud, for comfort.
Called up [Redacted] about two hours ago, 1 am, still in the middle of my attack. Normally, I wouldn’t reach out or even tell anyone when I panic. Happens to often, and I’m used to just getting on with it. Couldn’t this time, I hadn’t had an attack like this in so long, gasping for breath while trying to be quiet so no one hears me through the thin walls. Calling [Redacted] probably wasn’t the best move because he actually wanted to talk about the exact thing that had set me off. Adding fuel to the fire. Muted myself more times than I could count just to try sound not so pathetic. Ended up opening up quite a bit. Told [Redacted] how I used to be so angry at him a few months ago, and how in love with him I was Last Winter. Funny, only a few months ago, I swore he would never know that and I’d take it to my grave. Feeling really dramatic these days, hoping my period hurries up because it’s late again, and I want to blame everything on it. But i cant.
God, this entry is such a downer, can you tell I’m writing this at 3;41AM? You wouldn’t think I’m completely fine right now, happy even. Which I am.
Could sit here and write about how I laughed so much my stomach hurt when [Redacted 2] put on a wig and became this Italian character who had bangers after bangers. How I wore my glasses outside for the first time in ages, only to remember the look of texture on a net. The massive nets by sport pitches, blowing in the wind. Tell you my theories about who killed this girl in a show [Redacted 3] is making me watch (it’s really annoying because I have so many questions and they just sit there. All smug, no answering. If they werent cute and I didn’t need someone to show me more media, I’d hit them). Brag about how incredibly blessed I am to have my Mother. Warn you for the blog that will likely write itself after last Thursday night of overindulgence.
Thursday night. Preparations.
Borrowed an oversized grey blazer from [Redacted 2}, that she thrifted on her trip to Berlin, I assume base off the tag and the fact she went to Berlin last year. Safety pinned pink ribbons in a corset-inspired style down the arms and the back, adding white lace to any pockets. How two pins of Robins, which reminded me of my Mother, so I pinned them each to the collars. So excited. Everyone preparing their outfits, makeup and hairstyles. Preparing and planning their everything shower days in advance. This is our Met Gala.
Had planned to put ribbons in my hair to match my outfit. Couldn’t look at my hair or myself without wanting to cry. 48 hours before our Met Gala, accidentally dyed it black. Only cried once so far. Was dyeing my hair to refresh it for Thursday, only to be overcome with notions. Got to dye happy and accidentally ended up with a full head of black hair with bits of ginger and strips. So many strips. Dark hair doesn’t suit me. I love my ginger hair. It may sound dramatic, and admittedly, it is, but I genuinely cried when I was finally alone. I just don’t look like myself. I hate it. I’ve had countless horrible haircuts or dyes before, but none of them felt like this. Didn’t care too much back then. I suppose I’ve turned into someone who cares about their appearance. I wonder if that’s a bad thing. Either way, it’s a tragic dye job. Set my alarm for 8 am the next morning to run to Boots, hoping for a miracle. I miss my ginger. I miss looking like me.
Thursday Night deserves its own entry, one that is well taken care of and isn’t just a throwaway like this. There are so many entries, reviews and articles I want to write. God, I want to write more again. Feel like I haven’t done this in forever. 3;48 AM, work at 9;30. Should probably sleep. I do love all my friends, I want them to know that, and I want to love them right. That’s all really.