I’m going to start this little diary exercise slowly, ease into it. I don’t want to blow my cringe-worthy diary load all in one mis-spelled blast.
Not because I think anyone will be shocked by the ranting of my hyper-dramatic 12 year old self but because the idea of printing this stuff, thought quite funny, also makes me feel sick with nerves. As a now 33 year old woman I have approx. 16 years worth of diaries collected in some old suitcases in our disorganised, under-utilised office. Every disturbing event or lack there of is chronicled from the ages 9-25 ish.
My intention with these posts is to describe what it felt like to be an anxious teenager (it was really shit). I’m not doing this just so we can all have a laugh at my terrible hand-writing, grammar, spelling and melodrama, I am doing this for my anxious brethren. Those girls who I know are out there, their brains going 100 miles an hour filled with anxious thoughts 24 hours a day who feel like they will always be this way. I am here to show you it gets better. If you are socially anxious, you will find your stride eventually. If you’re scared of talking to boys right now, it’s not the end of the world.
I want to crack open the mouldy, back of the pantry walnut that is my brain and show you what an extra 15 odd years of living has show me. What I’ve realised is that we are ALL scared sometimes, even the people who seem to have it all together. They had shitty times, embarrassing moments and felt the scolding heat of social mortification the same as we did.
Turns out, even the coolest boy may have had a bad first sexual experience ending in piles of vomit and a whole bunch of piss taking friends (that story will appear in a later post… )
I’ll start off small. Just the tip.
Who remembers these things? Did we all do ‘love maths’ obsessively? Perhaps it was just me. This is a page from my diary some time in 1994 when I was 12. I was still crazy about the aforementioned friend of my older brother, badass and all around cool guy, Jonathan.
I have kindly edited this image from my diary with some ‘see no evil etc.’ monkeys so I don’t disclose any other names. I don’t want to expose anyone else’s mortifying past as well as my own.
I pined over boys in this way, from the safety of my room. Boys whom I had crushes on for years but never managed to speak to for anything more than minor pleasantries. I never managed to slip into the small talk that I wanted to repetitively smash my face in to their face until our faces were covered in each others saliva, because that’s what ‘pashing’ came down to aged 10-13. My anxiety stopped me from being confident and forth-right about what I wanted but it also made me petrified of what I would do if I were ever in the situation to make good on these day dreams. So I didn’t get in those situations. I stayed home and hid.