My friend Jenny has a hilarious vlog up today. I recommend you check it out. She really is that adorable. No CGI tomfoolery.
Yeah, I sorta want to punch her sometimes too. She can’t help being cute. Really. It’s some sort of genetic thing. Is there a charity for that?
Anyway. In the spirit of fun and blogger camaraderie, I started drafting a response but I realized that there is a good reason I’m never invited to these parties. My advice went to a dark place. Not suitable for the light and cute themes these other women were pursuing. But it helped me. So here it goes:
Advice to my teenage self.
Holy shit, kid, pull yourself together. Lie to your parents, sneak out and get some help. You are suffering from a disease and even though they don’t want to discuss it, even though they are ignoring your screams for help, IT IS REAL.
You are not a bad person. You are making bad choices. You are attempting to cope with the voices in your head, but it’s not working, baby girl. This is not the way to make yourself feel better. Quit eating your feelings. Quit hurting yourself. Quit lying.
Get some damned help.
Get out of that toxic church group. Ignore that narcissistic asshole who call himself a youth pastor. He doesn’t care about you. He cares about rewriting his youth and being “cool.” There are some good people in that environment. Find them and tune out the rest.
For God’s sake, tell someone what is going on. It doesn’t have to be like this. You don’t have to be paralyzed by sadness, anger and anxiety.
It will get better. I promise.
See what I mean? I wonder if if there was help, way back then in the 80’s. I don’t know. There’s help now and I’m so incredibly grateful for it, I could (and do) cry.
And for the record, I did not have the chin on hand pose. Mine was cheek on hand. In front of aqua fans. Lord.
I am also guilty of excessive spiral perming.