My Mayhem Mind Madness

Consider this post a behind the scenes, a day in the life of my brain, or something. 

You, me and everyone else knows that I’m not a poet or songwriter. I’m just a rambler. Sometimes, I still cringe at the thought of calling myself a wRiTeR. This is exactly what this post is gonna be. A ramble. It will be even more rambly and stream of consciousnessy than usual. Raw and rawrrrr. As you might have noticed, I am making as little sense as possible already, and using words that don’t really exist. Consider this a warning. If incoherent, cryptic, and personal ramblings are not your cup of tea, then I suggest you leave now. If you stay, don’t say you haven’t been warned, lel.

I draw inspiration for my writing either from my mayhem mind or conversations I have (with people, I mean, not myself.) But hey you know what, I am not afraid to admit I talk to myself pretty much all of the time. It just isn’t the type of conversation I mean here.

I think I mentioned before that I started reading through my old journals. Well, buckle up because the other day, I found a fucking masterpiece. This is how early 2010s me (=me in my prime teenage years) once described (what I then didn’t really quite know was) depression in a diary. I must have thought I was edgy or something but please just read it: (Back then all of this made perfectly sense to me, and reading it today, years later, it still makes sense to me. Feel free to interpret the following quality piece of writing however you like)

• • watching a film on mute
  • eating soup without a spoon (Today-me thinks I wanted to say with a fork)
  • taking a picture without the film

Lol cringe I know but now it’s 2020. And things have changed, but like, not really? Occasionally, I’m still stressed, depressed, and suppression obsessed. My mayhem mind, today years old, would describe it less eloquently though.

I’m not watching a film on mute anymore.

In 2020, my serotonin-void brain is all about watching Netflix on full blast while simultaneously instagramming, sexting, texting, snapping, tweeting. Haha jk I don’t really tweet. Its like I’m doing everything in my power to prevent myself from being alone with my thoughts most of the time. As if I’m scared of what I will discover. I’m not sure if I do this consciously or not, but on ordinary days, I have realized that I definitely do NOT confront most of my thoughts, head-on. Now you might think: “Hah, but don’t you do this when you write LIKE THIS? Or when you journal? My answer: Sometimes, yes. But not all the time. I often write about trivial things in my journal, and obviously on my blog, too. I mean helloooo, have you read my thoughts on broccoli yet?

Today I don’t eat soup without spoons, or with forks, either.

I just eat soup, like a nOrMaL person, among many other things. In fact, today I have realized that my good old carefree days of watching Tom & Jerry have been replaced by eating pint after pint of Ben & Jerry’s. I love and hate food. I am a stress eater. A comfort eater. And often I’m just eating extremes, junk or organic, or I am curious about random food trends. Acai bowls? Smoothie bowls? They usually make me clog the toilet but oh boy do they look pretty. Mandatory shit joke: I meant the food bowls. Not what’s in my toilet bowl.

Taking pictures without the film doesn’t matter today.

Because this has been replaced by taking pictures only for the digital highlight reel. This explains why sometimes I don’t eat. Wait that’s incorrect, I mean I do, but only after it’s all cold and soggy because it’s all for the insta, where lately, all girls take pics with the “natural babe” or some shit filter. Not me though; I show my unfiltered pimples. You knew that come on, keep up. I’m n0t LiK3 oTh3r girLs, obvi. If it weren’t for my story highlights (which there are like, 100 of), the past years of my life would be a fucking blur to me. And from what I am seeing in the world today, I can say that frankly, I’m concerned that I’m too woke for my own good. That fake features are the ideal now. And that vices are disguised as self-care. I know that I worry about things that are beyond my control. Which is the worst thing you can do because it puts you in a permanent state of anxiety. But I can’t help it sometimes.

97% of the reason why I do mundane things online, why I even ‘exist’ online is for my own entertainment.

Like posting instastories for example. It’s only to distract myself. Not sure from what exactly tho? I’ll try to expand on that now, wish me luck coz I don’t know if me trying to explain it will make much sense.

I can’t fall asleep without some stimulation. Lul get outta here you perv, I’m not talking about masturbation, I meant stimulation in a different sense. Like for my eyes, or mind, or something. I remember some nights where I could only fall asleep if I tire myself out by scrolling through Reddit, all until I fall asleep with my hand still holding onto my phone. Or sometimes I would just listen to music as I’m scrolling through dank memes. Lately, my prefered way to distract myself is to watch yet another episode of whatever my current Netflix obsession is. (currently, it’s Vis a Vis / Locked Up in English. Please watch it, it’s so good.)

Now I notice I do all of this because I can’t stand being alone with what I think and feel. Like all the bad stuff creeps up to me at night. This is why I am not a night person, either. Distracting myself like this somehow quiets down the negative stuff. At least to a degree where it’s comfortable for me to live with. I’d say my pretence is on point, while my anxiety’s in excess. My early, infantile, naive angst I now just call my millennial mayhem mind madness. I will stop with the alliterations now, I promise. But real talk, no need to worry, I get by completely okay; I consider myself a high functioning sad human.

Like I said in the beginning, things have changed but not really? Once depressed, always depressed? I don’t know. I just know that we’re all more or less stressed, depressed, and suppression obsessed. Neither of us is unique or special, but we kinda are at the same time, no? Actually, everyone’s pretence is on point, while the anxiety’s in excess. The infantile angst has simply turned into a mayhem mind madness.