I’ve been reading a book called “Dear Diary” by Lesley Arfin. It’s fucking hilarious, all about the nonsensical drama that encompasses every pubescent female’s life. She took all of her old diary entries and put them in, then she explains them from the point of view of a grown-up who has since realized how ridiculous it all was. It’s such a realistic account, and I could totally relate to most of what happens in it. She even interviews her old friends and all the bitches. It makes me wish I had kept all my old diaries. I would be horribly embarrassed to look back at them because even though I was never a huge follower and had my geeky/creative thing going, I still got caught up in the social politics. And it would be sooo lovely to see how fucked up the lives are of the chicks who started calling me fat just because I developed a large chest before any of them even had time to think about getting plastic surgery to compensate for their lacking self esteem. Of what I’ve heard from old classmates, most of them got knocked up by their equally dull boyfriends and weren’t able to finish their community college degrees in cosmetology or whatever the fuck it is that girls who only care about shopping and partying want to do with their lives. Ah, sweet revenge.
As the book goes on to the middle school and highschool years, the author stops wanting to be cool and popular in class and instead wants to become cool and popular within a hardcore/punk scene. Me and a lot of my friends also went through that in mid-middle school too. Ahh, the good days of sneaking out to see shitty punk shows at Lightpainter’s and random skinheads’ houses.
But during this time it wasn’t just some phase like the pre-teen witchcraft bouts or gambling with pogs in third grade, it was like my awakening. I got into most of the bands that I am still in love with today like The Smiths, Morrissey, Danzig’s bands and a bunch of others (while some other bands I was previously into I vowed never to speak of again. Korn, ICP….eww). The music I got into had a voice I could relate to, and it inspired me to start drawing. All my life people told me I had a knack for the visual arts but for some reason I magnetized more to writing, acting, dancing and reading a ton instead. I can’t explain exactly what it was like but I just had this gradual epiphany in 8th and 9th grade that art was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. Looking back those bands had a huge part in inspiring that. I just wanted to create, to get all my teen angst and emotional frustrations out and it drove me find my niche.
By 10th grade I pretty much turned into the person I am today, plus a few traumatizing experiences that I’ve learned from in later years. But prior to all that, I didn’t know how to deal with my anger towards my childhood and my mother and in short, I sometimes acted out in ways I am completely embarrassed by today. I’m sure most of us can say that. We were all insufferable little twits at some point in our adolescence.
Then it gets into experimenting with drugs and alcohol, another common staple in a teen life. She becomes an addict and I’m still reading the last parts before she overcomes it all. I definitely experimented with various substances with my friends but I never got an addiction. Instead I kinda became a hermit with my art, music and later a boyfriend. It’s really interesting to read into the mind of an addict in her book though, you can feel the hopelessness. Of course, I’ve read tons of books in which a main character was a junkie and things like that but this one is non-fiction. It’s strange, reading it has sort of clued me in to the sort of things my mom has going on in her head while struggling with addiction. I’ve never forgiven her for how much her behavior had affected my life. I mean, I love her because she’s my mom but I just couldn’t understand for the life of me why she can’t just fucking stop and get over it. But after reading Lesley’s account, I can sympathize with how the dependence affects the mind. I still think it’s the flaw of a weak mind to give in to addiction and never commit to a permanent recovery, but people aren’t quite themselves under the influence. Anyone who’s gotten shit-faced knows that. That’s why it’s so fun to do it (only occasionally for me). Aaand I’ve lost my train of thought. I think what I’m trying to get at is that this book is not only great for anyone who’s overcoming, or has overcome an addiction, but also for those who have had to deal with it somehow in our lives. Sadly, that is true for most of us. It’s not a depressing read, it’s witty and just, well, honest. You should all read it (You’d love it Dayna!)
I didn’t mean for this post to become a semi-parallel between the book and my life. What I intended to write about was this odd realization I came to during one of her entries. In it she was doped up and in a completely helpless state, and a sad but very funny event occurred. I looked at the month she wrote it and remembered that I was in NYC during that same time. I could have walked right by her, or been sitting near her in some bar (illegally, of course) and not had any idea that in a few years I would be reading about what was happening to her in that exact moment. It’s so strange, humans are naturally really self-involved. I never really think too much about people outside of my circle of friends, what they’re doing at this moment or what strife a stranger may be going through. The times I have thought like this are when I’m people watching to do sketches. I get curious about why that tall guy looks so fucking brusque, did he just kill someone and bury them in his yard? That shit really is going on all over the world, people being murdered, people falling in love, falling out of love, losing their naivety, etc,etc. But we so rarely actually consider these things. It all makes me feel so insignificant, but not in a bad way. Just that I’m one tiny portion of the masses that are existing and yet all that normally matters is what is happening to me. It’s all so damn obvious but when you think about it, it seems a monumental thought.
