Find Missing Missy Here (So! Worth! It!)

They say life begins at 40. Maybe it’s because so many things get clearer. Or murkier? For me it’s been the former – lots of weird revelations this year. But then again, here I am, 8 weeks from the Big Four-Oh and resuming therapy…

A lot of my peers turn 40 this year (#ElderMillennialsRus) so I guess the zeitgeist is floating around and stuff. It almost feels contagious, in a way. Or maybe corona sent the entire planet into a quarter-life crisis, arronno.

The thing that’s taking me back to my shrink is I’ve lost interest in life. Again. And I’ve sabotaged my career. Again. And I’ve been watching narcississm videos and going HAM on bibliotherapy. Again. And I’ve started getting stress cramps and migraines. Again. And I’ve stopped sleeping despite ol’ reliable. Again. And I’ve resumed eating so I’m afraid I’ll get all the weight back. Again.

(It wasn’t anorexia, it was just four years of zero appetite and female-pattern hair loss that left me 20 kilos lighter. Also, I have no issue with other people being fat. Or curvy. Or plus-size. Or slim-thicc. I just don’t want it for me.)

Any time a friend recommends their therapist it’s like… I’ve seen their work. Not for me.

— Justin Clark (@justinhclark) February 16, 2021

I’ve stopped a lot of things. I’ve stopped needing to be right. Or smart. Or nice. (I still do those things compulsively, but I’ve stopped feeling like I need to, and that’s something I guess.) I’ve stopped wanting to be known because it always ends in tears. I’ve stopped defending myself or wanting to be the ‘good guy’ in the story. Because people will think what they want to think, so I’ll stand in as the villain they want to see – why waste energy I don’t even have?

I stopped logging into Twitter because it kept making me sad and mad, but I still check some accounts off the browser to keep up with things. Sometimes. I find I do a lot less doom-scrolling that way. In theory at least. And I stopped expecting people to care. Because life is hard, and a lot of us don’t.

I never leave my house, and when I do, I wear neon-coloured onesies and matching marvins to the kiosk. (Most days, the brighter I look outside, the darker I feel inside.) I know the things that are bugging me. And I know I need to just get over them. But god knows how. Or maybe my shrink does. And judging by her wait list, I’m guessing a lot of us are asking for extra sessions.

I don’t always feel like this. But it seems I keep coming back to this dark space. My shrink told me as much – that first session in 2015. She said the depression and anxiety I express is more about my world view and wiring, so it’s a matter of managing this shit, not curing it. I guess it’s time for routine servicing then.

TL;DR: Be safe. Pet a cat. See a shrink if you have the money. And tell a boy he’s pretty. Also, I need to learn PhP and clean this place up because chei!

♫ Strip Me ♫ Natasha Beddingfield ♫