Unintentional Hipster

I just like wearing women's jeans, not eating animal products and writing shit nobody cares about. It was an accident, I swear

Personal Expression

So I grew up kind of weirdly, I won’t lie to you guys. There were some things that went very awry in my younger years, and I guess that a lot of them are realistically still going on now to this day. But I guess I’m still a very, very long way away from being anywhere near grown up, however long it is that I’ve spent pretending that I’m more mature and more understanding and more grown up than I should be.

It wasn’t anything weird my parents or any of my family members did. It would have been nice to have been something so simple, but realistically I can’t blame them for anything. I feel like if I went to a shrink they’d be completely dumbfounded cause there’s just nothing. Yeah, we had some fights. Nothing dramatic. Yeah, we had some money issues but we’ve never, ever been without anything.

And it certainly wasn’t anything to do with bad friends. My friends growing up were great-nothing out of the ordinary. I cared too much for certain friends and took on a lot of their pain and problems as my own yet it was in a very stereotypical way. You know, leaving my phone on at three o’clock in the morning so my crush could call me in tears to have somebody to talk to about her devastating boyfriend issues (“He didn’t say he loved me today omfg my life is over.” “Well, anybody who wouldn’t love you would be insane.” “Aww thanks! BFFL!”).

And it wasn’t poor luck in romance. Yeah, I went through some pretty bad relationships and developed what can only be described as an intimate relationship with fear of rejection, but I was a teenager. Of course I was going to get cheated on. Of course I was going to date girls more mentally unstable than I was, with whom I was simply too incapable of taking care of myself to take care of them as well. If any man hasn’t dated a woman who is crazier than he is, he’s probably been dating the wrong women. It’s the crazy that makes the love real.

It was some sort of self-entranced, artistic soul, bent on a discovery of things that people weren’t willing to talk about and share with me. Things that I didn’t understand and could not live without knowing. Experiences that nobody really need inflict upon themselves. But I was comfortably middle-class and without any objective-or even subjective-reason to feel how I did. And if I was feeling things that were realistically reasonless, what difference would living the experiences that should make me feel that way make?

The self-discovery that immanently presented itself to me over time through those things I constantly subjected myself to started to sort of…twist away from the end goal it should have reached.

They didn’t make the feelings any worse. But they didn’t make them any better either. Things started to sort of crack. I got really confused, because all of my emotions seemed be dictated under absolutely no logical formula. Good things happened-bad things happened-neutral things happened-it was all the same. But the way I felt was never dependent on it. Then the confusion ceased because it seemed that the confusion was just a slight figment of my imagination as well.

Now, this was only a phase. Admittedly a very long phase-and I think my conscious mind is far more to blame for that than my unconscious mind ever could be. But something cracked during that time. I sort of became somewhat unattached from my own emotions-I liked to try and focus on what I knew was real and at that time all I knew was that I really liked bourbon and cigarettes. I started losing a connection with how to express myself with other people. Words would flash about in my head and then they just simply couldn’t materialize in my mouth.

I lost a lot of friends. I drove a lot of lovers away. I alienated my family. I completely lost myself.

I immersed myself wholly in the guitar, adamant not to lose all forms of self-expression. I lived my entire life within a few notebooks sprawled all over my room and word documents slyly hidden all through my computer. In those, I found I was actually able to understand why things were happening and what they were doing to me and the others around me. Shit started to make a bit more sense.

I started my first blog-it was on Myspace. I used to get people arguing every single point I made, questioning the basis of my “knowledge” and then having other people who agreed with it argue with them. It was nice, I felt like a successful, coloured blogger on youtube. I used to publish all the songs I wrote on there too-in hindsight it was a terrible idea (if you can’t tell already cause you haven’t been reading my shit for very long or at all, I’m a dreadful poet…but I like doing it I guess and I’ve always liked to share things I liked). Haw well.

I couldn’t express myself through any other medium. I spent so much time in my regular life pretending like nothing was wrong, so when things began going right I couldn’t remember how to show emotions because I’d spent so long trying not to. To this day, I still can’t cry. I’ve cried about three times in five years-not including the time I got caffeine poisoning on the side of the road at two in the morning on Oxford Street waiting to play a gig.

It’s funny how things go. So many years after that last blog-here I am again. Finding myself brimming with emotions befitting a thirteen year-old girl and having to take it all out on a blog again. Jolly good then.

I still find it kind of strange. I find it incredibly easy now to put my feelings into words. Of course, they don’t really possess the poetic brilliance of…well, a poet (am I making my point here?). But I say what I mean and it’s efficient. I find it near impossible to raise my voice in anger and difficult at best to cry in joy. I can’t cry and my eyes won’t show anything. But I can verbalize everything.

You won’t notice a waver in my voice between I hate you and I love you. And you’d never know which it was until you heard it.

This has been a very personal blog for me, take it however you please. I felt like sharing another little piece of my life with y’all, friends or strangers or otherwise. It’s been on my mind for quite a few months as of late.

Hope the coming week treats us all well, wherever in the world we are.

Toby Fredkin


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