Netflix and Panic.

A Dordyline panic attack live in action. (With added "She cries at everybodies party..." comment from random friends mother at the end.....this was my life)

I was an incredibly shy child.

I bawled at the very thought of a Happy Birthday serenade, I crawled on the floor to avoid visitors, I ran away from sleepovers early in fear, and I worried daily.

I never understood my emotions. My family labeled me dramatic, I bottled it up and the world kept spinning. I didn't know how to properly communicate the hefty weight that lived in my chest, or the wind that constantly blew though my head muddling the sound of the world around me. I didn't know how to explain the worry that twisted my organs into balls of bloody matter trying to burst through my skin.

I didn't know how to let anybody know, so I just cried and got on with it.

As I grew, this constant fear and worry manifested itself in peculiar ways. Instead of a mysterious presence running rampant within my body I would try and tie it to tangible things. I would google the likelihood of dying in a car accident, of being doused with acid, or losing mobility of my limbs. I would research how you take care of a sick relative to feel prepared for a future that may arise. I would google how to prevent SIDs in the children I didn't have and wake up my (now ex) boyfriend with a groan...

"I turned the brightness down! How did you even know I was awake this time?" I would complain while furiously smashing my keyboard looking for answers. He would angrily pull my computer away and demand I go to sleep before rolling over and dozing off, most likely to the sound of my accelerated heart smashing against my ribs.

At times, it consumes my entire life. My obsessive compulsive tendencies take over my mind and body, counting steps as I walk and massaging my cuticles in order under the table or during long Uber rides. Counting keeps my mind calm, it keeps me guilt free that if something happens I will not be at fault, because I did my counting.

I'm 26 (well, almost) now, and I wish I could say I was learning to cope, but that would be nothing but a fallacy I want myself to believe. Heck, just this morning it crawled into my Monday....

"Only three pumps of bubble bath? You only want your parents to live for 3 more years" The cloud appeared forcing me to dump 50 full pumps of bubbles into my bath leaving my body slimy, but my brain satisfied.

I used to cope by living a life filled with interesting and obscure stories to keep eyes off my mind. I would roam around town desperately searching for people and experiences to fill the time in between panic attacks.

I loved spending a blurry hour or two in a dive bar with a few friends before running outside, sticking my hand in the air and falling into a yellow cab heading for another adventure.

"Sing-Sing"

"Goldbar"

"The corner of Orchard and Grand"

I would command before staring out the window as New York City wizzed around outside. Three seconds later I would jump out, brush past sidewalk smokers and push my way through a crowd to find my friendly faces.

I would go and go and go some more until I was forced to stop, disappearing fast and quick to cry and worry and overanalyze every thought and emotion I had ever felt.

"Where did you go last night?" My friends would push as I laughed it off with an air of mystery.

"I swear you are doing porn..." A friend once pushed, after I would not explain where I had run off to the night before.

How do you tell someone, who doesn't understand, that every now and then you need to explode in order to rebuild yourself to somewhat resemble a person?

How do you explain that the mysterious week you didn't answer any texts and completely dropped off the grid, you were actually alone in your apartment sitting around waiting to go to sleep again.

How do you pull someone into an experience you don't even understand yourself?

When you find out, let me know.

I have taken up painting pictures while listening to audiobooks to calm my mind....I have no actual artistic talent, but hey it sure keeps my mind busy.  

The Lonely Girls Guide to Figuring it Out

Whoa.

It's been over three years since I even looked twice at this poor little blog, which is sad because I love having this electronic record of my messy 18-22 year old self that's trapped within it's posts. Today I randomly saw that this little pocket of my past had 874 views last month. Now, for a dying blog that hasn't been touched for years I don't think that's half bad! To top it off, I've been going through a bit of a... rough patch...if you will....

So I'm back.

For no other reason than my own sanity. I used to write to make other people laugh, or feel better about their own situation, now I'm writing for my own confused self. In 2019, I'm not sure blogging is really still even a thing. The world now lives in video, or Instagram stories, nobody has time for blogs anymore! So this is really for an audience of just little old me, like a semi-public diary I can look back on one day!

So what's happened in the three years I've been away?

I left New York City via one way flight to Los Angeles a few years ago now. I left confused and unprepared (honestly, slap that on my gravestone) with just three suitcases in hand (and after hysterically crying and having a complete meltdown the night before.) I've gone through breakups, seen friendships bloom and also crumble, had countless jobs, took my ass back to school, searched for myself at the bottom of tequila bottles, dyed my hair, plumped my lips, gained weight, cried a bit and now here I am.

I'm 25.

When I was younger I thought 25 was the perfect age to get married. I thought I would toil away at my career in my early twenties, settle down and have kids by 27.

My younger self was so wrong.

In fact I can honestly say I haven't felt any less together than I do at this very moment. These past few weeks I've either been traveling between cities for work, or working from home which means I've spent way to much time with myself and my mind, and it's crazy how loneliness can really do something crazy to your head.

I used to think my best quality was my confidence in who I was and what I had to offer, my ability to not need any other person. I was always independent and completely fine with doing my own thing. I could do whatever I wanted because I wanted to do it like packing up all my belongings and moving to New York City, or to Los Angeles. I approached each day with an I don't fucking care attitude and was the queen of just keepin' it moving.

But what 25 has taught me is I'm also incredibly scared of a lot of things. I can't be vulnerable. I care too much about what others think of me. I'm so afraid of showing weakness that I just don't try because you can't fail at things you never start. I am guarded, and apprehensive. I don't say yes enough. I'm so extremely afraid of being hurt that I don't let others in at all. I isolate myself and I build everything up inside me until there is nowhere for it to go but shoot out of me in every single direction.

I have decided to make a change.

I want to put myself out there, and figure out who the heck I am! I don't want to look back on the next five years of my life and realize I stumbled around in the same circle through friendships and relationships and jobs and nights out and days in and tears and tequila bottles and ended up at the same place. I want to figure out that rubik's cube that is myself if it's the last thing I do!

This little diary of sorts is how I'm going to hold myself accountable.

Let's see how this goes...

Time is money....Time is of the essence....Time is drunk and needs to take a seat.

I'm forever jealous of those people surfing through their early 20's with ease. Who are you mutants? Where did you come from? Are they accepting new applicants? I would love to apply to whatever cult it was, I will gladly drink that Koolaid.

I just realized that I've started to wander down a path in the this blog post I don't want to go down. A path that leads to a 500 word ramble about confusion and direction, when in all actuality I have plenty of one and not much of the other and for once the scale tips in my favour. I am currently confusion-less (actually that is a lie, I am still very confused as to how boys wear skinny jeans without their boxer/briefs/mankini getting all bundled up, but that is for a different post). I know what I want, or at least I know the correct route to take.

If you are an avid reader (aka if you are my mum) you will know I had planned on being in Los Angeles by this point in time, instead I am writing this from sweltering New York City and for once I can say this is out of choice (and let's be honest there are worse places to be.) The Dordyline of yesteryear (ok, yesterday) would have wrote a scathing rant on the perils of being stagnant. The new and improved self is looking at the glass half full of opportunity (and Pinot Grigio.)

Over the last few weeks, I have learned to accept that time is not flying by as fast as I may feel sometimes, yet it is not frozen like it can seem. I can't let it pass me by, but I can't hyperventilate my way through it either. Things happen when they happen, that great opportunity left to make way for something better and hustling is paramount to success.

I will make things happen and that I'm sure of, but they wouldn't happen in the next three seconds no matter how hard I click my heels and this is the most refreshing epiphany I've had in a long time. 

Tune in next time for another episode of You've got this Girl written by a tipsy 22 year old who is really good at stumbling in the right direction. Now if you would please excuse me I have apples to smother in peanut butter and apartments to google.