A Book Review?!
Currently reading:
Who Fears Death by Nnedi Okorafor
Beware the Woman by Megan Abbott
Books finished this week: 1
★★★★☆
Where this book came from: Preordered a signed copy from B&N, babyyyy
Why this book: Bret Easton Ellis is my problematic king. I’ve read five of his novels now and have been completely engrossed by every single one of them (even American Psycho, and I fucking hated reading American Psycho).
(I will probably never say anything like this again, but just watch American Psycho instead. Trust me.)
Thoughts: (Where do I even begin? This review has been a long time coming, so I feel a bit of pressure to make it extra-good. Sorry in advance if it doesn’t live up to the hype.) Everything in The Shards just felt so visceral and real and, god, sometimes I hate that I love Ellis so much, but I do love him——or, at least, I love his work. Even though the writing is repetitive and prone to wandering off on tangents, early on, it all flowed like music and kept me captivated. I want to live in this Los Angeles of the early 1980s——even though it seems fucking horrible and full of vapid people. That said, the book does begin to meander a tad too much, and it’s definitely overly long. At some point, the repetition stops building tension and just feels, well, repetitive. I found myself thinking, Okay, I get it, you’re taking another ‘lude, WHERE IS THIS ALL GOING. But once the spooky serial killer stuff kicks in, it kicks in, to the point that I found it tough to sleep for a night or two after marathon reading sessions, sure that every sound and shadow was the Trawler coming for me. And the last forty pages? Hoooooo boyyyy. I am so glad I stuck with this to the end——not that the writing ever let me go long enough to even consider not finishing.
Library updates:
One of the biggest changes I’ve noticed about myself since starting on anxiety meds (finally) back in January is how much easier it is for me to communicate with people. I’ve always been awkward around people, especially new ones, and I’ve spent a lot of years of my life worrying that everyone is judging me for the weird thing I said or for the social cue I missed. When I say everyone, I mean literally everyone——from my friends and my parents to doctors to store clerks to the guy giving me popcorn at the movie theater. Many, many times, I’ve convinced myself that I am absolutely going to be “this weird girl who came into the store today” in someone’s after-work story.
Pre-pandemic, I finally felt like I was making some progress in combating those thoughts and feelings. Working ensured I spoke to a variety of people every day——in person, over email, on the phone——and my social circle, though always on the small side, was slowly widening a bit, as I made new friends and became friends with their friends. In the weeks just before lockdown, I also started doing things by myself more, mostly going to see movies and Broadway shows when I felt like it. I was edging out of my comfort zone.
And then the pandemic happened in, and then lockdown, and I lived alone in near-complete isolation and a state of panic and terror for at least six months. Any confidence I’d managed to build up in both my personal and professional lives eroded and I, like most other people on the planet, completely forgot how to interact in polite society. I reconnected with some friends I’d lost touch with or made more of an effort to talk to friends who lived far away, which was nice. But——and again, I know this is not unique——I was suddenly afraid to go to the store again. I didn’t know what to say anymore, now with a side helping of surety that I was going to die if my mask slipped off my nose.
I started going to therapy for the first time to combat things like that, only to have my BetterHelp therapist ghost me (fuck you, Charity!!). I’m so glad I eventually worked up the courage——a whole year later——to try again, and that that therapist politely suggested, as I was sobbing about something or other in one of our Zoom sessions, “Have you ever thought about medication?”
Yes, ma’am, I certainly have. Let’s make it happen.
Though the negative thoughts sometimes sneak back in, I realized this week that, somewhere along the way, they at least stopped guiding my behavior. Even a few months ago, I may have skipped stopping into a bar for a quick drink to kill time before catching a train home because I was panicking about both missing the train and what the other patrons would think of me, the weirdo sitting alone. Now, I’m not so afraid to talk to people and to do what I want to do. And I’m thankful, because I’ve had some really interesting conversations and done some really excellent things because of that change.
I noticed these changes mostly after leaving my physical therapy appointment on Wednesday afternoon. My physical therapist is so nice and so easy to talk to, and I feel like seeing him weekly-ish over the last two months has allowed me to work on both my plantar fasciitis and my conversation skills. We share a lot of common interests, so I already know I can hold up my side of the dialogue and become genuinely interested in what he has to say. Plus, thanks to my Lexapro-infused outlook on life, I’m a lot less shy about sharing my opinions. There was a time when I spent most conversations saying only, “Ha, yeah,” because I didn’t know what the other person wanted me to say, or because I didn’t want to express a thought that didn’t align with the other person’s. Now, I just . . . say things. Imagine that.
This confidence extends to saying no to things, too——plans, requests, what have you. I know for a fact that I’ve delved into my psyche on this topic before, how turning down or canceling plans made me feel like an utter failure, like I was tumbling into a dark hole I’d never crawl back out of. I would be friendless and lonely and unloved forever, simply because I decided I did not actually want to see a movie on Saturday afternoon. I’ve finally accepted, after these many months, that I’m just someone who thrives on socializing in short bursts. Sometimes, it really is the best thing for me to sit at home and read a book, or focus on getting grad school work done so my brain feels less cluttered. I had to find the confidence to do what’s right for me. I had to stop worrying what other people might think of me for my choices.
I don’t give (as much of) a fuck what you think. I’m living my life; it’s my life to live.
Closing thoughts:
Practice giving as few fucks as possible. Slowly decrease the number of fucks. It doesn’t matter if you never hit zero fucks, just as long as you don’t let the fucks get in the way of you doing what you want to do.
