It got to the point where I couldn’t leave the house.
A small, round bruise on my leg would send me into unshakeable despair.
“I’m going to die,” I’d repeat to myself.
My suffering boyfriend, the man who didn’t sign up for this, would hold me and remind me, like he always did, that everything was going to be ok. You are ok.
And that’s the kicker, right? You know you are ok, so why are you feeling this way?
Minor panic attacks were hitting two or three times a week, while the major ones, the “PLEASE, SOMEONE TAKE ME TO THE HOSPITAL BECAUSE I’M PROBABLY HAVING A STROKE” moments, were once or twice a month. It made me irritable, it made me flakey and it made me want to retreat from the world.
Throughout my twenties, I was confused, I was sad, I drank, I passive-aggressively texted paramours, I threw myself into my job, I changed who I was for the worst. All of these ugly feelings and character manifestations happened, but there was one (more…)
I have a friend in her early twenties who is beautiful, intelligent and very gifted. She’s the sort of person you spot from across the room and think, “Her. She’s the one I want to talk to. There is something special about that one.”
Everyone knows this except her.
She doesn’t believe it.
Right now, she has found herself at a complete loss as to what to do with her life. This confusion has led to a certain amount of paralysis in creating; where do you start when you’re not sure what direction you’re going? This paralysis can often be amplified by a newfound real world insecurity once you begin comparing yourself to your peers and erroneously, people older than you.
When I talk to her, I find myself getting riled up, remembering the days when I felt exactly like her. The words that leave her lips are identical to the ones I found myself saying at 22, 23, 24.
I try so hard not to project my own experiences upon her when conversing, but it is difficult. I want to (more…)
I always knew that 28 was going to be a pivotal age for me.
When I still worked in Hollywood, 25 would be the age that the ball really started rolling career-wise, and 28 would be the age that I, for the lack of a lesser cheesy phrase, “made the big time”. I wasn’t sure what “making the big time” exactly entailed, but I knew it involved financial freedom and a certain amount of career notoriety that would prevent me from drinking at home alone and writing emo music lyrics on my mirror in marker.
Of course I never accounted for the fact that I would soon view my career path as repugnant as a public restroom on Venice Beach.
Well, both 25 and 28 were important ages, but not in the ways that I imagined they would be. At 25 I left the film business and moved to Austin and at 28 I left working 9-5 and went freelance. I also fell in love with an amazing person. I also started growing this cool Rogue-esque white patch in the front of my hair.
I’m halfway through my 28th year and (more…)
2012 marks the last year of my twenties.
Previously, saying that made me collapse into a fit of inconsolable defeat. Once, on the phone with my father about my car being paid off when I’m 30, I fell to the floor during the middle of the conversation. All it took was me saying, “Well, when I’m 30…” and my brain processed that as someone taking a bat to the back of my knees. My father heard heaving gasps on the other line and waited for my two minute bawl fest to conclude before daring to continue the topic at hand.
I never thought I’d make it past 29. Not because I have a craving for horse tranquilizers or a death wish obsession with Kurt Cobain, but because it seemed nearly impossible to imagine a life past that. My brain simply would shut down when thinking about my 30s. Or maybe, much like the Mayans, my internal calendar simply stops on 2012. Being an only child of divorce, I never planned out my future to include things like marriage and children, so a life after 30 seemed (more…)
Last week I wrote a post about how self-help/how-to lists are often written by people completely unqualified to tell you how to live your life.
This week, I’m writing a self-help/how-to list about surviving your 20s.
Hey, my blog is not called Hipstercrite for shits and giggles.
I’m not even finished with my twenties, so I’m certainly not the best person to heed advice from, but I’ve come across many articles about how to survive your 20s and I think they’re full of crappola. Most of the articles will say something like, “Find balance” blah blah blah. Well, that’s bullshit. You’re going to be a basket case of questions and worries and imbalance for a good chunk of your 20s. The best you can do is try not to let yourself go insane.
Looking back on my 20s, no amount of advice or wisdom from others was going to prevent me from making the choices I did. I was going to do what the hell I wanted to do, but looking back, I certainly learned a lot from my mistakes and wished maybe (more…)
|your standard moody twenty two year-old self-portrait
Yesterday I turned 28.
Because of this, I’ve been finding myself hurling unwanted advice at young people lately.
When you’ve almost made it through your 20’s in one piece, you feel that you’re obligated to let younger people know that it will all be ok. That all the questioning and confusion and bad decision-making will get better.
That is assuming that everyone was an early twenty-something messbag like I was.
That they spent the better part of their 21st and 22nd year drinking alone in their West Hollywood apartment taking pictures of themselves drunk in the mirror and typing horribly structured journal entries that started with phrases like, “Why won’t someone hold me?!” or “The right side of my face feels numb, but I’m ok with that.”
That they would randomly break out into a cascade of tears at dinner with friends for no reason. Then excuse themselves from the table and disappear for three days.