SEASON TWO PREMIERE

For a while now I’ve wondered if this little website project that I had started back in May even made sense - life was slow and peaceful for a while. But it also involved a lot of work, and I found myself straining further and further from journaling, not even mentioning this website. I thought I understood what it meant not to have time in high school when I would pull all nighters solving maths equations. The month of August has proved to me that YES, you don’t have time but also only now you’re beginning to understand what the word TIRED actually means. 

I mean, pain in the back, a little bit of crying, deep comas (girlfriend in the coma I know, I know… my girlfriend should really listen to The Smiths more because she would understand how perfect of an opportunity it would be to reference this when I resembled a fucking corpse, falling off my legs), veins popping from lifting heavy stuff.

But why?

BECAUSE I FUCKING MOVED OUT. 

ACT I, SCENE ONE: Should my heart beat so fast? It's kind of fast and I doubt it's because of Javier Pena on my screen. 

(Actual image of my body in the constant state of fight or flight.)

If I had told my past self, let’s say me from October 2022, that I would be right now be an independent adult, not really a silly teenage 23-year-old teenager, her eyes, brain and intestines would explode. Simultaneously. Last fall and winter were the absolute mental health lowest E V E R. I discovered that panic attacks sometimes make your heart pound for no particular reasons when you watch Narcos, cozy in bed. I found out that my intestine system is going to suffer, puking from stress for the very first time. Nothing felt like it should. I distanced myself, cut myself off, didn’t feel like doing anything, talking with anyone, tried quitting smoking because of how little money I had, with a raging demon in my body screaming for nicotine every second of my life, in a result, not really ever quitting and always smoking on the side (a perfume in the winter jacket pocket was a must - because it would cause me even more anxiety to admit in front of my mum that I’m smoking again after doing so well for two months without a cigarette. What can I say? That bitch wasn’t anxious!). I tried making friends, failed to do so, feeling like the problems of every single person in my life were making me drown even deeper into a very dark void I thought I would just float in forever. February must have been my lowest point, loosing nights, scrolling aimlessly through TikTok, writing my MA just not to think for a while. But even then my mind was racing, analysing:

is my mother mad at me? She seems quiet today and there was this one word she said in the wrong tone - I probably should do more around the house. But how can I do even more? I barely have time to even rest, or rest without my heart racing on a verge of crying. Oh god, I really do suck, don’t I? My friends hate me, oh god, I forgot to reply for eight hours again. Maybe I should just quit contact with everyone. Then my heart wouldn’t palpitate every time I see a notification on my phone. Are my desktop and phone always that messy? Oh god, I have 50 spam emails that I haven’t deleted, because I suck. Let’s write a to-do list in which I plan every millisecond of my day so I can feel like I deserve rest even though I cannot sit down if every single piece is not perfectly arranged in my tiny bedroom but the dust accumulated every day so I need to swipe swipe swipe that floor and polish my Funku Pops! Oh god, I hear my dad’s voice. He is probably coming to my room to scream at me and I am NOT sober. I am scared. He knows. Everyone knows. Probably the police is on its way and I’m going to prison. There are cameras in the house. My dad checks the websites I’m visiting and he reads my messages so they know I secretly hate them and that I read lesbian smut on Ao3 if I can’t sleep.

And then, it gradually became quieter. Sure, I had my low weeks and semi-calm weeks. I can’t exactly pinpoint when it happened but something in my brain clicked. I think it was the day I was watching Narcos and suffered from yet another fit of heart palpitations. I realised that what I was actually doing, watching Pedro Pascal edits, being obsessed with new episodes of the Mandalorian, consuming this Spanish cartel TVshow like crazy, was reconnecting with my inner child. The girl who, although bullied and quite lonely, always in her head and own world, loved being hyper fixated on things. I don’t recall the last time I had energy to have any hyper fixations. Maybe it was the Adam Driver just before pandemic struck. And what did I realise? That I need those tiny obsessions to be happy. Why? Not only did I realise that it’s nice to do things 10-year-old and 14-year-old me would lose sleep over doing. I also realised that I might be… autistic? Well that came a little bit later actually. First, my brain decided that it’s high time, after realising most of that pent up anger and sadness and shock, to say fuck you to my parents. Well, not to their face, but in my brain. Make them take accountability for being emotionally immature, never saying I love you, and for traumatising me with religion and Jesus. Somehow, huge weight was lifted of my shoulders. I stopped worrying if I do enough, I started to ignore my emotionally unavailable mum’s moods, started to go out more, fell in love with cinema again, I was walking ten thousand steps every day. With a tiny thought on the back of my brain that summer might help me save up enough to move out after I defend my thesis. I re-discovered my passions, came up with a 5-year-plan to work with Pedro Pascal and started looking for opportunities. I took on more work courses, applied for a data-analyst position and got it only to be fired two months after rating dildos, decided to apply for an internship competition with scholarship which I won and secured myself a place at an indie cinema. Along the way, I think I was coming back home with my girlfriend and she told me she thinks I might be autistic.

ACT I, SCENE TWO: I AM EITHER A WITCH OR AUTISTIC

(Me reading a book about clairvoyance during my linguistics lecture, choking on a spicy peanut; oil on canvas)

I laughed. What was I supposed to do? I knew close to nothing about autism and being on a spectrum. I rejected the idea, it was simply ridiculous. The topic came up again when another close friends laughed “sometimes you behave like people I see spreading awareness about autism of TikTok”. I laughed again. But then, just for fun I took one of those online tests and was surprised with the high score, letting it fall into disregard nonetheless. This was also the stage of my life that I started believing in signs from the universe, more aware. I deadass swear some books that I read in those months were meant to find me. One of them mentioned my city and the main characters was the blueprint of my person. So I was like: what if the universe is actually trying to tell me something with how much the autism question comes up. I started educating myself, distanced from the issue. Sceptically I noticed that well, I do stim quite a lot, I do hyper fixate, I too am unsure of certain textures, foods, could eat the same meal for days, I have a thing for stripes and comfy clothes that don’t feel tight, I am OCD as shit and organised, I don’t understand emotions sometimes, especially when I don’t know the person. Okay. Quite a lot of things. But what finally convinced me are my a tad unconventional panic attacks. I never truly felt represented by the descriptions of panic attacks in the media or on the web. And then I found out what the autistic meltdown is. Long story short: I am going to start my diagnosis in December. Because I want to know, because it kind of seems like things make sense and before I thought I fucked up my brain, blaming myself. Maybe it’s not true, maybe I am not autistic. But ever since I started applying methods that are supposed to be helpful for the autistic community my life did become… easier. 

ACT II, SCENE ONE: HEY SIRI, PLAY MOVING OUT BY BILLY JOEL

(I thought I was going to be stuck at home for the next year but I'm going to celebrate my 24th birthday in my own apartment)

Summer looked like it was going to be busy right? The internship, my language school work. And then suddenly the topic of moving out came out. There were lots of trials and fails but finally after a month of casually talking about it and trying to make it work we had our conclusion (not without a horrifying face-to-face talk with my dad in which he basically renounced me as his daughter and my girlfriend’s mum saying that we are on our own because she wants nothing to do with her daughter’s lesbian lover that is just “experimentation). We were going to rent my brothers apartment but since it was basically in disarray we had to renovate it. We thought our project would last the entire August and September. I renovated the apartment in just a little bit over a week and was moved in the next day. Well, in the process the pipes the kitchen and bathroom fell off, I lost my keys, the lock in the door broke trapping us outside and we had a bug infestation. That of course wasn’t the end of our adventures. I wasn’t even sad on my last night at home. I was quite happy not to be triggered every day and couldn’t wait to have my peace. I packed everything in two hours and then personally carried it to the eleventh floor. My muscles have never hurt so much my entire life. I re-painted the entire apartment, the door (hey are apartment also doesn’t have a bathroom door yet!), bought a washing machine and saved a kitty. Pukla is a tiny kitty and my daughter although I never wanted to be a mum. She had her surgery and flees but right now she’s a happy demon that can ran away with toast bread in her mouth. A lot of things to happen in just two weeks right? Well. You’re wrong. Something is wrong with our pipes and we flooded the apartment below us. On our first night there. Quite nice, isn’t it?  The situation is still not resolved but I hope it will be soon cause. Dear god. I want to take good shower. I also work so much I can barely keep my eyes open and started to take aforementioned naps, but I gradually feel more awake. And the Pedro Pascal plan is also working cause, hello, I am translating my first movie ever? That will be shown in a cinema? 

In this season I am Killer Queen. 

If there’s one conclusion to be reached here I would say: manifestation works. Everything that I said I’m manifesting came true with a speed of light. The internship, moving out, having a cat. It didn’t come easy though. I had to work, not give up and hope. I think this is the perfect mix. Work hard, don’t give up hope.

Welcome to the second season of my life, 

I am turning twenty four next month.

Mar.