The World is falling apart and I’m very fragile.

The World is falling apart and I’m very fragile.

Well, who would have thought it? It’s only taken a pandemic and the world for it to essentially fall out of its ass, to make me want to start writing again. As you can imagine the impending doom that is hovering over all of us at the moment, and of course not to mention my best mate raging anxiety, have all made for a lovely long stint of the spicy boys meaning I’ve not wanted to do anything for the best part of a month.

So for the past month, all I’ve done is live vicariously through my animal crossing, and watch all six seasons of Sex And The City, which I would argue is a very productive way to spend your time in quarantine, I did also turn twenty-two and reach my full potential of Karen the wine mum. But due to current circumstances, I have decided that my birthday did in fact, not happen and therefore I am still only twenty-one. So, all in all, a very good month I would argue?

It is a well-known fact that I tend to have an existential crisis or just general mental health breakdown around my birthday every year, and of course, this year was no exception. On top of the annual breakdown, I have now become what I can only describe as a very shitty and British version of Carrie Bradshaw. But you know minus the Manhattan apartment, the column in a New York newspaper and the dating, so, in turn, nothing like Carrie Bradshaw. (Listen in my mind I have channeled my inner Carrie, and I am her but you know minus the problematic shit that she comes out with.)

The past couple of weeks, months, years who knows at this point, time is an illusion and being outside for longer than an hour, is a myth, a big old ancient myth. However long it's been since this shit show started as been massively difficult for everyone, not just me, that goes without saying, this is the weirdest start to a year we’ve ever had and I don’t think that’s about to change anytime soon. I think we’ve all got pretty used to this bizarre state of living now, it’s become the new ‘normal’ which it shouldn’t be because I mean this is far from normal. My pasta intake as increased from twice a week to four times a week and I don’t know how much more pasta I can take, which is something I thought I would never say.

Again probably just like everyone else possibly ever, my mental health is starting to fall apart once more, and when I say starting I mean it already has fallen apart, and it’s in tatters and will be for the foreseeable. I feel beyond fragile in every sense, like when this is all over and I can FINALLY see everyone, I honestly don’t know what I will do. I’ve got so used to this sorry state of living now, that seeing actual people again scares me, like even when I go to Tesco, seeing actual people confuses and scares me like what do you mean other people exist?

If I can sum up how I feel both physically and emotionally at the moment, I would say I feel like an undercooked chip, I’m greasy and I feel as if I might snap at any given moment. If we’re being honest I’m SO impressed with myself that I’m six weeks into being isolated, and only this week have I watched lost in translation, which is my version of therapy it has the same effect and it cost nothing so I would argue it’s just as effective as actual therapy. I have also started passively-aggressively listening to The Smiths, (I know you’re probably wondering how can you listen to The Smiths and be passive aggressive, but trust me it works.) suddenly its seven years ago and I’m fifteen again.

And just like seven years ago I’m still fighting the good fight with the spicy boys, listening to Hateful Of Hollow and wondering if I should dye my hair back to black, and cut a full fringe back in. Apparently some things never change and it took me a pandemic to realize nothing’s really changed in the past seven years, and I haven’t really either, a terrifying thought, or maybe its just the shit show of the world currently that has sent me back to the person I was seven years ago?