yay I’m blogging. I’m 21 and I made a blog! maybe this will be good for me, I think. maybe I can keep doing things that are good for me.
🎶I want sweet revenge / I want him again🎶
So not true! (I tend to start diary entries with the lyric of a song that’s stuck in my head– especially cool if relevant.) But no, I’m single, and I don’t feel particularly wanting of either vengeance or re-coupling at the moment, though the moment tends to be short and infantile. That being said, when I talk of the recent, it certainly is the most important thing, and, wouldn’t you know, it takes a quite specific form, seemingly out of nowhere, which surely plans on vanishing within a bit. There we have the reason for this blog (see: name.) Digging in: something we should all be doing more, scraping art and thus pleasure out of our lives; momentarily my sole commitment, while it lasts, while anything does.
It rained today, and thinking about the water calls my attention to how crystal-clear things have been in and around my little being as of late. I told my therapist on Monday (tonight is Wednesday’s) that perhaps, the good, long days I’ve met over the past week are the result of another hypomanic episode, not unlike the one in April which got me diagnosed with bipolar ii. She told me that, frankly, she wished I had never come across the term; I’m doing well, and nothing’s wrong with that, and I should be proud of myself. She’s right, of course. Consider the heinous acts of socializing, self-esteeming, sweating, and getting shit done— not bad things, just what I’ve been wanting for so long!!* So maybe I’m unipolar (aka it’s just depression lmao.) Fruitless conclusion? Methinks. Moods, each and every last one, still dominate me (ooh la la), and I won’t turn my focus away from them now, as I’m just starting to write the perfect cheatsheet. TLDR I’m sensitive, perhaps not clinically, but does it matter?
🎶My baby loves me, I’m so angry / Anger makes me a modern girl🎶
Real. And complicated. While patriarchy has been sooo top of mind, along with an atypically roaring orange feminist fire in my heart, roughly shaking ‘gender ideas’ have been floating around my head, too. I suppose one of them floated through my fingers and called a hair salon yesterday afternoon. The spirit of gender must have simultaneously took over the air in my lungs and let me schedule a cut for Friday. And I’m so mad, at everything, more than normal; I think about the shape of misogyny, and I’ve somehow become re-appalled at so much, because there is so much, and it hurts, very actively— maybe it’s that things have come so up to surface recently, like I said, clear. But?B/c?And? When I get ready to be out in the world, and I’m there, taking time with reflective surfaces, I look at my face and I see something different than usual— someone more me, suddenly present, too. I greet them, haha, hello! Who are you? And what will you look like with short hair? Maybe more like yourself, whoever that is, whatever we’ve been dealing with. I’m sorry I may have pushed you away for so long, but I promise that I’ll get to you eventually, through the brush. Avoidance is something I am great at.
Not all of the time, though. Last Friday–the one that ended up too good it got me shaking in my refusing-to-take-my-prescribed-mood-stabilizers boots–I strutted (strat?) into the Disability Resource Center on campus, before noon, and I did something that I had been avoiding for ~500 days, something that haunted me day-in and night-out for truly that long. Here, I will not disclose what that was. But what matters is that it was stupid, meaningful to me in a way I would not wish upon anybody, and I cried on the T home, with relief and joy and a puff of laughter. And I did talk to real people about it, and only let out a couple tears the second time. Now I’m writing on the web about it, really putting it out there: I make mistakes! I am capable! I’m going to fucking graduate college!
*I recognize that it’s a little sad to be so startled by the presence of my own well-being. But it’s a true picture, and I am quite comfortable with it. :) There’s a story I tell myself, about my life (and I’m sure I’m not alone in this)— when it comes to the past couple of years, it’s…rough! And that’s okay, if only because it has to be. It’s left me with certain inclinations, sure: My therapist (who is awesome, if so much is not already clear) tells me I get anxious about becoming anxious. Yeah. She also says stuff like it’s 'safer to blame yourself than eyeing the system’ [my note] which I think is rad. I appreciate her and her help in dismantling my black-and-white thinking. Thanks, Andrea!
🎶I’ve got sun in my muthafuckin pocket, that’s for sure🎶
SorryNotSorry for not being able to get enough of Olivia Rodrigo’s new album— sue me! Can you be surprised, dear critical Kate follower, when I’ve been pulling so much existential peace from rewatching Pretty Little Liars at night and flourishing notably within my oft-adored bedroom? No, you cannot! And it is with this activity in mind that I close out my first blog post. Part of me wants this to sit and collect internet dust. Another part of me wants it to get like, max 3 notes (that’s what they call likes on Tumblr, right?) If you’re reading this, hi. So silly, so so silly.
Tastefully,
Kate
9/13/23
p.s. super duper into a specific kind of indie music recently. playlist titled 'rememba’ is a cookie jar.