There goes the fear
Everyone can relate to the fear, and so that’s what the topic of today’s blog is.
The fear is usually caused by drinking heavily, and the next morning it saunters up and slaps you round the face during your shit hangover.
Things that the fear offers you are, for example, the opportunity to remember telling someone they are a stupid-assed prick. A vague memory of it will return, and then it develops to reveal that that person you called a stupid-assed prick was actually your boss.
After this revelation, the anxiety begins and you manage to convince yourself you’ll be getting the sack, and then after the sacking your boss will have tarnished your name at every other company so you will perpetually struggle to find any work ever again. Then, as you will no longer be able to afford to pay rent/buy food, you will be homeless, hungry, and all your friends and family will disown you because you will smell as you can’t afford toiletries, and then you will die.
So you go to your savings account to see how long you can survive, but then it turns your account has been hacked and it’s all gone. So you begin an online meltdown. Then suddenly nobody is texting you because they obviously all hate you, so you start lashing out at your friends and they all block you.
Often the fear will come to you whilst you are showering. I’ve actually recalled some of my antics in the shower and I’ve screamed out loud. My house mate came running in and found me sat down on my phone in the shower (I have a clear plastic device for showers so I never miss a text from a boy). I was frantically going over Twitter to see all the embarrassing things I’d written.
After a night out I refuse to watch back any Snapchat or Instagram stories because if I did, well then the fear would win. And I would delete both those apps and never use them again.
How to deal
If you’ve acted like a total bitch face drunk and the next day you wake up realising that the hot guy with the big dick is never going to speak to you again, which leaves you frankly mortified, don’t be. Because it’s not you, it’s the fear. And the fear is just false feelings.
Although let’s be real, if you said it when you were drunk you probably meant it anyway, as after all “a drunken man’s words are a spoken man’s thoughts…” or whatever; so you really deserve all that is going to happen to you.
If you have read any number of my blogs you’ll be thinking: “My word, LostItGirl, do you just have the fear constantly?”
Well, no. No I don’t. Not anymore. And here’s how I got control over mine:
I name it and shame it.
My fear is named Britney. If I’m lying in bed and a rush of shame overcomes me, I go “Oh hey Britney, what ya gone done?” And then she will begin to tell me.
“You fell over in front of the 6 foot footballer you’re obsessed with and cried.”
“You tweeted the most pathetic Drake lyrics.”
“You went to a sex party.”
“You took a picture in your underwear for a boy on Snapchat but sent it to your whole story. It’s actually still up there now and it’s been 12 hours.”
“You texted your ex to inform him that you still love him.”
“You did an impression of Shakira in karaoke in front of Calvin Harris.”
“You took a Xanax and cried. Before taking off all your clothes in public.”
“You stole, lied and cheated.”
“You also gave a lap dance to a potential business associate.”
This was just what Britney told me I did last night, and it certainly had the potential to ruin my day.
But stressing over these actions and what people think of me, well… It wouldn’t be for me.
We must control the fear, otherwise we will all stop going out and acting like shitshows and that won’t be fun for any of us at all.
If regret attempts to overcome, I listen to Britney/the fear and all the shit she says I did. And I say: “Well Britney, it seems like we had a great night. And at least seven people are now gonna hate us. But that’s ok because we have too many friends anyway. We needed to cull a few…”
And before Britney can set up shop in my head and ruin my whole day, I call her a bitch, we both laugh about it and move on.
You must never ever let the fear ruin your day.
So now, I’m not remotely sorry that last night I climbed over all the furniture in some “exclusive” nightclub. Or that I sent nudes. Or that I went on Twitter and told everyone they are cretins. Nor am I sorry that I woke up all my house mates at 6am. And I refuse to apologise for kissing a girl.
It’s how a LostItGirl survives.