Hello… (avoiding eye contact) Hi… Hey…  (pretend Woody voice) Howdy, how’s it hangin’?… I like your face… Phew, awkward hellos done. I think I got away with that. I don’t think anyone noticed I’m uncomfortable.

Er, I’m not entirely sure what the frick I’m doing. Hmm, hungry. (I’m off for lunch…)

Three hours later: Procrastination, avoidance, a thousand arguments with ‘Moaning Myrtle’ (my inner critic, a.k.a. ‘MM’) about exactly what the point in this is, and I think I’ve finally convinced myself that this might be a good idea.  (MM: It’s not.)

I’m a 32 year old teacher (wannabe singing-sensation), currently living in my mum and dad’s spare bedroom with my husband. Uncomfortable, you may think? And yes, you would be bladdy well correct. Don’t get me wrong, my parents are the actual bomb. They totally don’t judge me (to my face) and they understand that life in 2019 is pretty tough (in a ‘1st world problems’ sense). We can’t afford a mortgage, we can’t build, we can barely rent a house that isn’t mouldy with a shower in the kitchen (true story). I feel like a failure. I feel like a failure who didn’t even show up for the exam. And I’m constantly questioning why life is so hard (wow – could I be anymore inconsiderate?). I do try to remind myself daily to feel grateful for the fact I’m healthy, I’m loved, I’m (somewhat) liked, I’m all right at my job and I can put a coherent sentence together. But for some reason, that doesn’t seem to be good enough for me anymore.

I do have this rather annoying thing which I think is called social anxiety. I tried to go to CBT (Cognitive Behavioural Therapy) once but I chickened out when it got to the good stuff. I went in all soaked in self pity but then when the doctor started querying my anxiety, Moaning Myrtle piped up. ‘How dare you judge my life! Do you know who I am? I’m not stupid. My brain isn’t broken! No. Nope. Absolutely not. I’m better than this.’ I attempted to ignore her until the end of the session, but it was too late. She’d etched out those thoughts in to my brain like baked on Sharpie pen. I smiled and thanked the Doctor after the half hour was up, then ignored every phone call from the GP from then until I was better… which was never. I’ve been trying to go it alone ever since. Self help books, Google search obsession, attempting weird and useless ‘life hacks’. I’ve lost some friends along the way, and chucked away good opportunities to make new ones. Missed out on experiences. Avoided loads of fun and exciting chances. All due to fear. How fucking ridiculous…

But so what? We all got problems, right? And I’m pretty frickin’ sure that most of your problems are much worse than mine. Which makes me question whether I really have anything worth while to say or share. But I have this overwhelming need to talk. To divulge. To air my dirty self-centred laundry. Why? Because I think a lot of my friends, family and acquaintances are all feeling a similar way. I can’t hold up enough fingers to demonstrate how many people I know who are suffering with some form of depression, anxiety, confusion, doubt, fear, unfulfillment, and I want to explore the reasoning. I want to know why now? What is happening to our brains, our environments, our world, which is causing such discontent. Are we just more selfish? More greedy? More intelligent? Less intelligent? Stunted and blinded by social media? Is the world evolving, yet humankind isn’t? Why are we so desperate for incessant and instant gratification and acceptance?

I’m not going to pretend that I have the answers. I’m not a psychologist. I’m not an ologist of any kind. And I’m certainly not going to be selling you any sort of Personal Development Programmes where I charge you £399 for the promise of mindfulness and financial stability. I’m just brain-vomiting. (MM: Mind-shitting). Writing a journal like all those gratitude gurus tell you to. I just happen to be doing it online. With an audience.

So, strap in. I’ve got a lot of unhealthy thoughts, and I’d really like you to join in. Who knows? Maybe we’ll find ourselves skipping through the daisy strewn fields of Dorset celebrating the fact that we’ve figured out the meaning of life. Or maybe we’ll open a can of egotistical worms.

In the words of British Telecoms, ‘It’s good to talk’. Join the conversation if you want to share some of your own crazy…

Catch ya later,

Rhea
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