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helen-cs · 1 year

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A Response to July 30, 2017

Thursday, March 30, 2023

I’m writing this, 5 years later, as I try my hardest to finish this Geography of Hazards essay at Lait Night, in the Dead of Night, that was due yesterday (of course, some things never change). I knew around 5pm or so that I couldn’t fulfill my wish of finishing it on time, so instead, I fucked around online and got obsessed with e-paper screens with a fast refresh rate, so I could build my own computer with no wifi and just a word processor like the Pomera DM250, so maybe this can be the year I can reign in my dysfunctional, unorganized mind. Only this year I do very wholeheartedly feel like this can happen, with or without the Pomera. I’m extremely confident in my hopes and dreams this year, believe it or not.

Like all fine procrastination sessions go, I end up back on my old Tumblr. And I end up reading the post above, and I’m at a loss for words. I don’t know what to tell her, I don’t know how to describe how awful, wonderful, scary, gut-wrenching, and euphoric the past 5 years have been.

First of all, did you know that you have to pay to not see ads on Tumblr now? I have Big Girl money now so $40/year isn’t that bad, but jesus christ. It’s a constitutional freedom to be able to see pictures of sonic’s feet without interruptions. The memes became better on Instagram, then Twitter for a bit, but now I’m back here to see what this old piece of shit has to offer. I’m lying, I’ve always felt a soft nostalgia for Tumblr.

Anyways, back to debriefing you about everything. I’m pretty sleepy, and won’t have time to tell you about everything, but last year, your boyfriend’s cancer got pretty bad. There’s a distinct line drawn in February 2022 that signals a clear Before and After, and its more distinct and inerasable than all the other lines that you’ve ever drawn. I remember the old passive suicidal thoughts we used to have. Sort of related, but Fiona Apple once said, re: speculations about if any of her songs were about her childhood rape, that “It doesn't get into the writing. It's a boring pain. It's such a fuckin' old pain that, you know, there's nothing poetic about it." That’s kind of how I feel about them now. The anxiety and misery and pain of that time, Helen, was real. It was more real than anything, I remember. And I wish I could take it away from you. But I’m also here to tell you that it’s such an old, old pain now. I’ve wringed all the poetry and romanticism out of it that I can, and I can really say that with time, either it transforms into something lighter to carry, gets absorbed into your personality, or time slowly erodes it away like it’s paleolithic rocks in the sea.

Either way, I can say that .. I don’t really think about it all that much these days. Maybe it’s really because it’s wormed its way so deep into my brain that it’s just one of the flesh parts now. Who knows? Regardless, after reading about the pain from all those years ago and comparing it with how differently I think about it now, I think it’s a bit bittersweet. I know I desperately wanted it to end. But I think, it’s always been a bit surreal to imagine that pain not feeling as real anymore, to be a “thing of the past”. And now that it is/might be, I feel more distant from myself.

We wish desperately for a rebirth but don’t realize it means leaving the comfort of who we always were. And even if it does end up being better, which it is ... it feels like letting an old friend go.

Speaking of going, I think I’m extremely sleepy now. I hope you’re sleeping well too, thouugh I know this was the summer before 1st year uni and you definitely weren’t sleeping right haha. By the way, you end up dating K. And he ends up becoming your first real heartbreak. Broke up with you a month into university, probably for J. But J’s a really nice girl and you both don’t deserve what you guys went through. You still wish you never dated him, but that’s the way it goes - lessons learned, life to live. And don’t worry, you handled it like a champ. And I’m not saying this because I pity you. Everything’s going to be ok. And you can trust me when I say that.

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helen-cs · 7 years

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First post.

Saturday, July 15, 2017

maybe something to start us off? I’m not even sure if I’ll be keeping all my entries on tumblr or if I’ll move over to something like wordpress; there are a lot of interesting memories stored in my main account, and it might feel weird blogging on a digital gravestone of my old interests and hobbies. But it’s convenient here for now.

It’s summertime, so naturally, the less there is to keep me busy the more time there is for irrational and anxious thoughts. About a week ago, I broke down because of the overwhelming fear that I might have to face what I’ve already faced for the past 6 years for the rest of my life. 6 years more, and another 6 years, and another 6 years beyond that. It’s hard to imagine a time where my sense of self-worth is maybe rooted onto something more stable than the validation of others and fitting into the social norms that I have, apparently, so desperately desired to be a part of ever since I started middle school that it’s ingrained into all the social decisions I make. Or at least, that’s my personal psychoanalysis.

A few days ago, I told a friend of mine, K, that I have a lot of empathy for people whose personas seem to be ungenuine, because I know firsthand how difficult it is to put yourself out there to a world you feel like has constantly rejected your attempts to be Real(tm) and Genuine(tm), whatever the hell that means. It’s much easier to inherit the traits of a personality type that you idealise, to get to where you think you’d like to be in life. But you’re not really listening to your own wants, you’re kind of, just, taking the template of a perfect lifestyle that you’ve seen time and time again and trying to replicate it, hoping to achieve even a minuscule amount of the happiness they project? How could being yourself be so easy when you've subconsciously moulded yourself to fit the ideal image of whoever you idealised for years?

Why do I listen to rap? Why are my screenshots filled with outfit inspo from beautiful indie/alternative girls? Why do I follow mainstream culture or do ANYTHING, if it isn’t to replicate what I have come to see as the epitome of success; wild-but-not-too-wild outfit combinations, a headstrong but kind attitude, the ability to befriend anybody, a large group of faithful friends? I’ll admit my desires aren’t really that materialistic or far detached from concepts that can actually bring happiness (friends, a passion, etc.), but I always hope that these things will bring me the Ultimate Happiness. The happiness that will last a lifetime, the final hurdle that I had to cross in order to have an anxiety-free life, where there will be a distinction between a time where I had passive suicidal thoughts to a future where I can be calm, collected, and at peace.

I try not to believe in such things anymore. There is no one-stop cure for anxiety, and there is no solid deadline for when the screaming in my head will end. I think it’s just a machine; I have to oil it every so often, or else it starts rusting and malfunctioning. And it’s a job for a lifetime too, with so much fucking overtime. I might never, ever be rid of that anxiety. I might just have to watch it fester inside me until it makes itself at home.

I’m tired. it’s all pretty tiring. good night.

#unedited #july 2017

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