by Katy Wix
The thing is I need help. I can barely look after myself. I owe it to my future daughter to sort my shit out as t’were. Today being a good example – all I’ve achieved today is eating a strawberry yog. That’s all I’ve done. I sat on that sofa and I ate a strawberry yog.
The problem is … I think I’m addicted to self-help books. Yeah, I’m sure that’s it – now I say it out loud. That’s the problem. I can’t get enough, can’t take my eyes off them.
I often find myself standing in the self-help section. They’re huge. So many titles and I need them all. Somehow I need them all – every single title could have been written for me. Do you think the term hypochondria also applies to mental health anxieties as well as physical ones? Or perhaps the self-help book obsession is just a symptom of an anxiety disorder?
Am I turning into Woody Allen – that’s one of my concerns – one of the things that seems to keep me awake at night at the mo. Too much angst, you know, and then worrying about my worrying and the thinking about my thinking until I think my brain will pop. I try to think of calm seas – I try and breathe like a happy sea – gentle in and out as the waves do.
First it was Buddhism and I learn that life is suffering, but then I read about the law of attraction and that actually life was only bad because you were attracting bad things with your thoughts. But then how can that be – I’m an ignorant piece of shit for even thinking that – someone starving in Africa has brought it upon themselves by having negative thoughts? Hardly!
Connection is key but we should also learn to be independent. Love is the answer but don’t be too compassionate or you’ll get walked over. Practise gratitude but also know when you’re worth more! Think nice thoughts about yourself but don’t be in denial! Be in the moment but learn to be responsible and organized. Be grown up but do get in touch with your inner child. Be vulnerable but be assertive. Love yourself but don’t be a narcissist. Follow your bliss but don’t be so selfish! And it goes on and on and on … and I can’t help but notice you’ve stopped listening.
DRUMS
I was in a band. 6 Music even played one of our songs a couple of times: Kookaburra. It featured the sound of an actual kookaburra. The rest of the band were totally sceptical about that, but the track was so depressing and then, suddenly, out of nowhere, a kookaburra ‘laughs’ loud and clear. Surely the irony wouldn’t be lost on the listener that the kookaburra is mocking and laughing at the very music industry itself. And if someone didn’t get that, then they probably wouldn’t appreciate the rest of the album, which is just called Album, incidentally, so if anything it was a way of phasing out the wrong kind of listener.
Anyway, we did ok, got a bit of press attention – did a little tour; student unions and arts centres mainly and the odd, and I do mean odd, music festival on a lonely island somewhere no one had ever heard of. They used to write about our look, you know. It was awesome – the court of Louis XIV meets new-rave … so for example a silk chemise twinned with a neon whistle.
I was single at the time. I’m not trying to justify it but it must be hard, you know, to stay faithful, when you’re on the road. There was only one guy in the band, he played bass and oh my god – we’d come off stage and these hot girls would just hurl themselves at him. I dunno. It was just so easy. They were so easy and available.
But it doesn’t work the other way round. When I came off stage, I would get these shuffling spoddy weirdos who would just ask me things like:
‘Some drummers angle the hi-toms towards themselves, while others, for example Clem Burke the drummer in Blondie sets them horizontally. Is this just a preference or is this advantageous in any way?’
I’m not kidding.
It’s so sexist and unfair.
These girls just see power. If he worked in Asda, it wouldn’t be happening, but you put someone on stage for a couple of hours, stick an instrument round their neck that hangs conveniently around their crotch area the whole time and you have a recipe for infidelity and hi-jinx.
I mean it’s textbook ‘guy in a band’ stuff. Tiresome doesn’t even cover it. He was so porky and ordinary. I got literally nothing. And weirdly, I get more sexual attention now I work in an office.
EXCHANGE
This isn’t working. I’m sorry. It started out ok. The letters were great. You’ve really helped me with my German, but you’re making me look bad – you keep doing the washing-up and please put some clothes on! My dad has only just had his pacemaker fitted. As I say, letters were lovely, but now you’re actually here, in my house, not working for me mate.
Oh and you know the jig’s up, don’t you? The jig is up!
You weren’t punched by a ghost, on your arm. How do I know? No bruise. I checked. If a ghost had punched you on Monday in Dusseldorf then ergo you would still have a bruise and you don’t.
Just put a longer pair of shorts on or something. He has a weak heart my father and he certainly doesn’t need to see a young woman displaying her sexual development in front of him, ok? Conversely, when, and it’s a big if, I come to stay with you and the rest of the Baumgartners in Baden-Wurttemberg, I will definitely not be taking anything off – in fact, I’ll be putting more on. Two pairs of trousers for me, yes please!
I want to remember you without bitterness, I really do, so if you could just …
And I don’t know if it’s the cultural divide, but let’s face it – we ran out of things to say to each other on day two. You don’t get any of my Simpsons’ references. It sucks.
Not sure what I was expecting, but in your letters you just seemed so …
Well, you heavily implied that you smoked and that you’d had sex and neither of these things are true are they? All you’ve wanted to do since you got here is visit castles, which brings us conveniently onto lie number two: hip hop. You don’t have a clue. You clearly adore musicals with all the passion of the midday sun. Really disappointing.
I’m just, I’m really annoyed to bits actually.
I’ve looked at this from every angle and I feel like I’ve been catfished quite honestly.
A covenant has been broken here.
I get it – very natural to conceal who one is sometimes. It’s not always easy. We’re young – we don’t know who we are yet.
It’s very natural to conceal who we are but well, but nothing. Just put something else on.
EXPERIENCE
Well, you’re in for a wonderful treat … because I am going to tell you the truth. Uh oh! What did she just say!? Yeah, the truth. Sounds scary? Well, it is … n’t.
‘Truth’, defined in the dictionary as ‘a proven or verified …’, I don’t know, I’m making it up, but it’s impressive isn’t it when people do that – when people throw in a dictionary definition, like when I was in the debating society at school and we employed the same technique, thus winning the argument and, finally, proving that racism was wrong. I think I’ve misremembered that.
I’ll level with you, ok?
Sorry, this is difficult for me.
The truth is, I’m a liar. Or to put it another way; the truth was a lie and I’m not lying. The hypnotherapy wasn’t for fear of flying. I actually love flying. I love the fact you can’t be contacted. No, my reason for having it was for more … alien abductionry … related … reasons.
Padma (that’s my hypnotherapist) told me to be careful about whom I reveal my secret to. I just believe, and have done for some time, that I was probed … well maybe not probed, but tampered with certainly, by hybrid … other beings … I don’t have a name for them … sods, haha.
(Pointing upwards.)
That mob!
Yeah. This is serious shit.
And you know how, like, I always come across as a really fearful person – so I jump when the toast pops and I Google sinkholes? Well, this is why. Something happened to me. And now, thanks to my sessions with Padma, I have gone from total despair to just mild depression, which I think is a huge step forward.
It was a Tuesday, a
bout a year ago. I was walking Hope, our beagle, along the canal path when suddenly I was aware of this unbelievable warmth flooding over my entire body – I had to take off my Hogwarts hoody (not mine, borrowed off my sister as I was leaving the house). It was November mind! So that’s already weird. I didn’t have a watch on – I broke the mechanism on mine when I was doing a wanker sign at George Funnel out of the top window and I must have done it too hard. But I would describe it as dusk. And then I remember seeing something glowing through the darkness and then it got so bright that Hope and I had to cover our eyes. I don’t remember anything after that but I came to sitting on the bench with chipped enamel (she points at her teeth) and there was slime on Hope’s back!
Explain that.
FAME
So … this is what I look like from the front.
(She turns to one side.)
This is what I look like from the side.
(She turns to the other side.)
And this is what I look like from the other side. Get used to it, this is the face you’ll be looking at for the next section of your lives. My body is my canvas, no photos please!
But enough about you, more about me.
You’ll notice I’m wearing blue which is exactly right for my colouring and skin tone. I’m on the cusp between Capricorn and Cancer, which basically means I’m an asshole. And let me tell you, growing up in Ireland isn’t easy. So I didn’t. In fact, I’ve never even been, apart from when I have been there – but that was different – I was kidnapped, the ransom? My talent!
Just because I’m standing up here – just because I’m the only one talking right now – don’t think I’m any different from you – I still get shit on my shoe just like everyone else. I like the basic things in life – chip shop chips, Zara, 2-in-1 shampoos. I’ve done it all. I’m real.
Sure, I’ve looked inside – I’ve had dark times – wondered who I was and what I’ve done, and you know what – it turns out there’s nothing wrong with me. I’m a legend! And everyone agrees. No need to alter my behaviour in any way.
I’m so tired all the time – you know why? – because glamour never sleeps, that’s why!
I try to live every moment as if it were a great blog entry. I don’t have a blog but if I did it would be incredible.
When I’m feeing blue, you know what I do – host a BBQ, whatever the weather! I don’t care – I’m a maverick. I respect BBQs – it’s the oldest form of cooking in humanity – cooking outside. And when life gives you sausages … just keep on expecting more sausages to follow, you know – that’s what I’ve always thought. Life’s too short – so what if everything catches on fire – that’s what insurance is for. Nothing cheers me up like the smell of laughter and charcoal.
I’ll stick anything on there – burgers, fish, pasta – there’s nothing that can’t be grilled, in my eyes. I once had a lover who grated all his food. It didn’t last long.
He dumped me … so I dumped him back and on my birthday too – well two weeks after, but it still hurt.
The best gift I ever got … was the gift of time, other than that – a whole salmon! In the post! Can you believe it!
FIGUREHEAD
I was raised by my grandmother, so no – I never really had that problem – we never used to swap clothes, no. I can’t really relate to that, I guess. We were very close though. I think I saved her life. I honestly think, like if she didn’t have something to love, she would have died. Like the way that if you give someone in an old people’s home a plant to look after, then apparently they live longer, because responsibility is good for us. Well, that was my gran. She lived to ninety-six and I’m sure she lived just for me.
She was a smart woman and a well-dressed woman. Small, all bust if you know what I mean – like she could topple over at any minute. She reminded me of the front of the ship and she was just as strong. Humming, always humming to herself, everywhere she went this low noise, like a wasp, but then after she became ill, the humming was slowly replaced by an array of coughs and gurgles and groans and whimpers. I miss the humming, even now.
I feel really sad when I think about it, because I still had to find a way to rebel – because it’s important – that’s what young people do, so yes, there were times when I was a little shit, but I was thirteen, fourteen – I didn’t know any different.
I was just a kid. She called out to me in the night once and I opened my eyes into the blackness and I heard it, but I didn’t go. I don’t know why. Maybe, because … I just needed a break from having to look after her. Because when I got to about twelve, we swapped. She couldn’t really look after me any more and it was my turn to look after her. Have you ever seen Grandpa In My Pocket?
So, the Grandpa has a magical shrinking cap, like the caps they wear in Emmerdale. But only his grandson knows about the cap. It’s a TV show, by the way. When he’s got the hat on, he’s just four or five inches high and the grandson just pops him into his pocket. And then they do stuff like look for hamsters under the floorboards, all kinds of stuff.
I mean, it’s for children, but I accidentally saw it once, when I was absent-mindedly flicking though loads of channels. And then, it was during the holidays and I don’t know why but I just started series recording it. And then one day, I was watching it and I realized that I was thinking how stupid and childish it was, which is silly because it’s not even for adults, so I was thinking that I hated it but also I had tears rolling down my cheeks at the same time.
It’s like a really hugely important relationship between a grandchild and a grandparent, you know, and they don’t really make many TV shows about it. Well, that’s what I think anyway.
GOOD LUCK
Apparently the average adult takes around twenty swimming lessons to learn how to swim. It took me forty-seven. Should I be worried? I’m just not a physical person. I mean I have a body, obviously.
I worry about so much.
I worry about the ice-caps melting. My thighs. My eyebrows. I’m always irked. But I cannot stand, I cannot stand, I cannot stand, I cannot stand, I cannot stand seeing other girls being insecure. I just want to shake them and tell them what a huge waste of energy it is. I mean, right now for example, I’m worried about what I’m going to eat today because I’ve had breakfast but nothing since. I’m worried about a comment that I wrote on Facebook earlier that no one has liked yet – it wasn’t funny enough and I should delete it. I worry that I’m going to fall and break all my teeth, which is stupid I know, or that the world might end really suddenly. I have nightmares about that one. Sometimes it’s an asteroid, which isn’t a million miles away from reality, well it is a million miles away actually, well, light years rather than miles but, still, could happen. Or another volcano.
I worry that there’s probably a hundred ways to wear a scarf and I only know about four of them.
I worry that I’ll drop my phone into water every time I’m near some water. I worry about that all the time. I worry that I spend way too much time practising that I’m on a chat show.
I guess the headline is: I’m a lot of fun, clearly. Five minutes spent with me and you will either feel much better about your own life or you will, like me, disappear down a rabbit hole of existential angst. Good luck.
GRAND
So me, Amy, Tan, Kat, Sarah, Jo, Rachel, Lu and Vi are all sitting around just about to have our lunch when Jenny, Nish, Alison and Alison H come over and Nish says, ‘Have you ever seen a thousand pounds, like, in cash?’ And we’re all like ‘Hashtag, what you on about?’ So, then Jenny goes – ‘I’ve got a thousand pounds in my pocket, cash – d’you wanna see it?’ However, I should just say at this point, as a caveat like, that Jenny once said that she was cousins with Peter Andre, which – quelle surprise – turned out to be a total lie – absolute dog shit – was she his cousin. A few weeks later she spread the rumour that Galaxy bars had actual seals’ blood in them. Well, Amy and Tan ended up ringing the number on the side of the Galaxy bars and spoke to a woman i
n customer services and when we asked her if Galaxy bars contain real seal blood – she was Geordie and I read somewhere that call centres always employ Geordies because they came out top in a poll of Britain’s most trustworthy-sounding accents – anyway when we asked the woman, she just laughed and said no, but that they did contain gluten – and I’d rather be dead than eat gluten anyway, so I’m glad that I know that for future ref.
So, at this point, I’m thinking – nothing that comes out of Jenny’s mouth is the simple truth. I like her. I really like her. She’s fun, but you know when you ask people something but the expression they pull on their face gives a completely different answer to the one they gave? I mean like – if you asked someone if they were OK and they said yes, but you could see on their face that they clearly weren’t – that sort of thing. Her face doesn’t match what she says. Maybe it’s called a micro-expression, there’s always a flicker with Jenny, that she is … well, I don’t know how to say it … concealing a deeper psychic wound. There’s a sadness that she doesn’t want anybody to see – so she lies, I think.
Anyway, so then Jenny plunges her sweaty little paw into her fake Prada shoulder bag and pulls out a monkey! Oh, hang on – what’s a monkey – oh no – that’s £500, isn’t …
And pulls out two monkeys! Couldn’t believe it.
HONESTY
My earliest memory involves a pushchair, a stuffed purple snake, my mother’s ankles and a sore nose. How very Freudian! Or is it Jungian? What was actually happening, I have no idea. I may well have missed out a major detail that would give the other fragments of memory a context. But this is exactly how I remember it. I could have lied. I could have easily conjured up something more impressive or just incredibly ‘piss yourself’ funny. But, I stopped myself. Note to self – you are getting better at not bullshitting – well done you!
