On the Mental

On expanding your mind

Aside from drugs and sex what activities would you recommend for someone in their twenties with an interest in mind-expansion?

Get a passport. Use it as often as possible. Read (books, that is: ones without pictures). Surround yourself with brilliant and fascinating people. Say yes whenever you can, except to religion and authority. Create things. Fall in and out of love. Never forget that you will die one day.

I’m more content than I have been in a long time. Why does that fill me with a vague sense of dread?

I like to refer to that as cosmic background anxiety. It’s a sort of low-level existential angst that’s always there, and you only feel it when all the other noise and static is gone.

How can I stop being bitter when the world is full of such shitty things?

You don’t have to fill yourself with the shitty things.

I’m terrified of taking medication for depression because I’m afraid that I won’t ever be able to do without it. Is that a thing that can happen? I can’t ask a doctor, I really don’t think they’d be honest with me.

Okay, but you can ask a doctor. You should, actually. If possible, ask more than one, and don’t be afraid to ask direct questions. They’re not gonna lie to you. (I appreciate that you trust me, but don’t let your anxiety prevent you from getting the treatment that you need.)

How do you find the courage to ask for therapy? I know I need it but I hate the idea of someone else knowing that.

I understand how vulnerable it makes you feel to ask, but please know that everyone needs therapy. Everyone. It doesn’t make you weak, sick or broken in any way. Go ahead. Take the next step. You can do this.

What will make me feel less lonely when I get home? The drugs aren’t working.

Connect with other humans. That’s the only thing that will work.

The days when I do want to live, I don’t know where to start. What do I do?

Start by making your bed.

On making your bed

Is it strange that your advice to start by making your bed brought tears to my eyes? Being suicidal is basically the most difficult thing I’ve had to live with (pun slightly intended) and the simplicity of that first step… it just hit home. Thank you.

It may seem simple, but making your bed is quietly one of the most important daily rituals a person can have. I promise, it will change your life. I know that sounds like hyperbole, but it’s not. Those of you who already do it know exactly what I mean.

First and foremost, making your bed forces you to get out of it. That’s not necessarily a small feat, especially if you’re suffering from depression. Not only are you out of bed, but you can’t get back in. It’s a line of demarcation that officially starts your day.

More than that, though, it’s a ceremonial act of respect for oneself. It’s a deliberate measure of control that you can always take, even when the rest of your life is complete and utter chaos.

Do it. Every damn morning. It only takes a minute, but it will have a cascading effect that subtly improves everything else about the rest of your day, right up to the moment when you get to crawl back in to a well-made bed at night.

When I think of all the truly successful people I’ve known in my life, the ones who really have their shit together, all of them – every last one – routinely make their beds every single morning. This is not a coincidence.

On wanting to live

Please, say something that will make me want to live. If anyone can do it, it’s you.

You can only feel relief from your pain if you’re alive.

On bedtime death panic

I’ve just recently come to the realization of my own mortality. In the time before I fall asleep, it absolutely terrifies me thinking not about how it will end, but that it ends, period. I know you’ve given this sort of advice before, but I can’t even get past this fear to the part where you realize, “This is it, enjoy it while it lasts.” I feel trapped by the inevitable, and I’ve been trying so hard to channel you, Coquette, so I just have to ask, will the fear subside? Will I eventually be able to fall asleep without having a near panic attack over my mortality?

When your head hits the pillow, your mind begins the process of winding down after a long day of nonstop thinking. It’s dark. It’s quiet. The day is over, and suddenly it doesn’t have anything left to grind and chew.

Of course, your mind is built to grind and chew, and it isn’t ready to stop processing thoughts for the day, so what does it do? It reaches back into the dark and sticky parts of your brain to pull out whatever low-level anxiety it can find.

Your mind doesn’t know any better. It just wants to think, so you go ahead and let it gnaw away on your basic fears. That’s when your spine turns to glass and your ears become refrigerator coils and your guts squeeze dry and you’re filled with the warm oily horror that one day, yes, in fact, you are going to die.

We’ve all been there. It’s terrifying.

You allowed your mind to trigger what is essentially a fight-or-flight survival response when there isn’t any actual danger. It just wanted to play a game of chess, but instead, your mind started playing a game of global thermonuclear war.

If you don’t have a Xanax prescription handy, the best way to handle this kind of situation is to give your mind something to do while the rest of your sympathetic nervous system ratchets back down from DEFCON 1.

Read a book. Turn on the television. Find an activity, and do a little deep breathing. Don’t worry, it doesn’t take much to distract your mind.

Once you’re done freaking out and you’ve relaxed enough to fall back asleep, stay aware of your mind’s tendency to grab on and chew inappropriate anxieties. Stay apart from it, and don’t let it keep chewing.

The trick is in separating yourself from your own mind. Allow yourself to stop thinking, and you’ll fall asleep peacefully every time.

Any insight as to why high school absolutely wrecks some people for the rest of their lives?

It’s not high school. It’s adolescence. The transition from childhood to adulthood is a brutal fucking experience. That’s just the nature of the human condition, and some folks just don’t make it.

I’ve got the house, the wife and the money, so why am I not happy?

Yeah well, I’ve got cheddar cheese, a pumpkin and some carrots, so why am I not the color orange? (And for those of you in New Jersey, I’m not suggesting that self-tanner is the key to happiness.)

I’m very lost. I’m very sad. I’m very confused. I’m very sober.

Stay off Hollywood Boulevard, because you’re just how Scientology likes ’em.

When a guy refers to a girl as intimidating, what he really means is???

That he believes her to be either sexually or intellectually more experienced than he is, and he finds her at least somewhat attractive.

On grief

Dear Coquette,

Eight months ago today, my husband killed himself. Last weekend, I finally held his memorial. I’d been planning it since the day he died. It was a big party, with food and drink and fireworks and friends and so many memories. Lots of family, too–including my in-laws, whom I met for the first time (he’d been estranged from his family). It was both very good and very painful, which I expected. I didn’t expect the emotional aftermath. I’m spacey, exhausted, irritable, fragile, unstable. Can’t eat. Can’t sleep. Can’t read. Can’t listen to music. I feel like I did in the first weeks and months after he died. Before the party, I was feeling ok. Not great, but better than I had in a long while. Now, the grief is raw and fresh again. I’ve learned that grieving isn’t a tidy, linear process, but I’m desperate to make some sense of it. If I could parse it, I think I wouldn’t feel so overwhelmed, but I can’t. It just seems chaotic and terrifying.

Can you explain grief?

Thanks for everything you do, always.

It’s never going to make any sense. That’s not part of the deal. We don’t get answers to those kinds of questions. Never have. Never will. There’s no point in trying to parse it. You’ll spin yourself dizzy and just wind up confused (or worse, religious).

Instead, sit down next to it and just be. Feel all of that shit. Let it wash over you and through you. Do it again and again, as many times as necessary. Don’t be afraid of it.

In a few days, you’ll be back to relative normal, but four months from now on the anniversary, be prepared for this to happen again. It won’t be quite as intense, but it will still be significant. Let that be okay. (And when the day comes that you finally move on, let that be okay too.)

Your grief is real, and nothing real is tidy or linear. You’re doing it right, though. You’re supposed to be exhausted, irritable, fragile and unstable – but you’re also resilient. One day food will bring flavor again. Sleep will bring rest. Books and music will bring joy.

That’s how this works. It’s not the same thing as any of it making sense, but it’s all we’ve ever had, and on most days, it’s enough.

On hate and unavailable jerks

How the hell can you NOT hate someone who abused you for 18 years?

If you can’t imagine yourself not hating someone, that means you’ve allowed that hate to become a part of your identity. You believe the hate you feel is an integral and inseparable part of you, but I promise, it’s not. You think it defines who you are, but all it does is corrode your soul.

It really is as simple as letting go of the hate. It may take some time to process all of your emotions, but that’s perfectly okay. The moment you realize that you don’t have to hold onto all that anger and resentment, you’re on a path to forgiveness.

And yes, forgiveness is your eventual goal. Not for your abuser’s sake – for yours. Forgiveness is not the same thing as absolution. It doesn’t mean your abuser is free from the consequences of his or her behavior just because you’ve let go of your anger and resentment. All it means is that you are free from the consequences of their behavior.

Remember, as long as you hate someone, that person still has the power to bring chaos into your life, but by letting go of the hate, you take away that power forever.

On self-worth and acceptance

All my life I’ve been told I’m gorgeous and talented. Modeling contracts, Ivy League college, NYC, Paris, Milan, LA. Now I’m 40 and have no self love and a string of failed relationships. I’ve tried everything: therapy, drugs, sobriety, vision quests, psychics, celibacy, meditation, reading all the books, whatever. I’m no closer to accepting that soon, “pretty” will run out, and then what will I have going for me? Point me in the right direction, please.

Your relationships didn’t fail. They simply ran their course, and the part of you that believes you were a failure in love is the same part of you that believes your value as a human being is directly tied to an arbitrary beauty standard you happened to meet in your youth.

I can’t point you in the right direction. There is no direction. There’s nothing out there that you can smoke, seek, fuck, find or read that will suddenly give you the self-love and acceptance you’re so desperate to discover.

You wanna know why? Because all those things you tried were just different flavors of the same old broken-souled search for external validation. All that bullshit, and it still never occurred to you that the only thing you ever had to do was forgive yourself.

Just fucking forgive yourself. Let go. That shit was never yours. It didn’t belong to you. The beauty and the talent and the hubris and the superiority – they were all someone else’s idea of you, and they felt so good for so long, you made them a part of your identity. It was all a fucking fiction, and you can just let it all go. It’s okay, really. Have a good cry, shake it off, and then forgive yourself.

Keep forgiving yourself, and keep rejecting every instinct you have to seek external validation until one day you wake up and realize that you are worthy.

You’re worthy of love. You’re worthy of acceptance. You’re just plain inherently worthy. Trust me, you don’t even know the meaning of real freedom until you finally discover what internally validated self-worth feels like.

All you gotta do is let go.

What’s the next step after realizing you’re a narcissist?

Stop behaving like one.

Why do I feel lonely all of the time?

Because you are disconnected from the people in your life.

Why do I feel like I don’t deserve to be happy?

Because you hold false beliefs about the nature of happiness.

How do I quit torturing myself over things I’ve said/whether I’ve offended anyone after every night out? It’s fucking with my zen mode big time.

Oh, fuck off. You don’t have a zen mode, and you torture yourself because you like the way it feels. You’d rather labor under the false impression that you might have offended someone than accept the fact that nobody gives a shit.

I’m insecure. Super fucking insecure. Need people to like me insecure. I recognize the problem. I want to change. How?

It’s not that you need people to like you. It’s that you need people to approve of you, and you don’t know the difference. Stop seeking approval.

On the grind

Everything makes me angry. People I used to like are insufferable, I hate the girl I called my best friend, the job I felt important doing is a soul sucking mess, and my 6 year relationship feels tired and boring.

What the fuck happened to me? Why isn’t life fun anymore?

If your six-year relationship is tired and boring, then do something about it. Spice that shit up, or move the fuck on.

If you hate your best friend, then confront the source of that negativity. Either fix your friendship, or cut her out of your life.

If the job you once felt was important is a soul-sucking mess, then rediscover what’s important to you. Quit if you want. Stick it out if you have to. Whatever. Just find a new way to do your best.

Nothing fucking happened to you. Maybe you’re depressed. Maybe you’re bipolar. Maybe you’re just an irritable cunt, but no matter what, never forget that life is a grind. It’s hard sometimes, and the only way to improve shit is by doing the fucking work it takes to change.

Quit whining about fun and go do something.

On vague existential threats

Every once and a while I feel this intense fear knowing the state of our environment and the imminent carbon fueled suffocation of the human race. I feel this intense sense of foreboding when I think about the future. We’re all driving our Co2 spouting automobiles headfirst in to the apocalyptic hell-scape of global warming. There’s no denying it, and even though I do my daily part to be greener, the fact remains that the sheer amount of people choosing ignorance and denial far outweigh the active. I was just thinking about how pointless all my prom photos are in the face of it all. I stress about finals while the world around me melts. Everything is pointless and I will die but how do I reconcile my fear? Not of death, but at never getting a fair shot at life?

Ugh. I know your type. You’ve decided to take your first-world free-floating anxiety and make it all about some vague yet trendy existential threat. In your case, it’s global warming. Please. Get some real problems, bitch. Either that or take a Xanax and shut the fuck up.

First of all, you have no sense of scale and you don’t know shit about climate science. Sure, global warming is a big fucking deal, and go drive a fucking Prius if it makes you feel better, but don’t act like doing your daily part to be greener makes you special in any way whatsoever.

I mean, come on. You wanna talk ignorance and denial? You’re the one who’s blatantly projecting your fear of mortality onto the fucking weather. Quit it. Life may be pointless, and you’re definitely gonna die, but in the meantime you still have to show up and be a part of this ridiculous experiment.

Put down your stupid fucking prom photos, get your shit together, and go study for your finals. Remember, there’s no such thing as a ‘fair shot at life’. Only a child thinks life is supposed to be fair.

On special snowflake disease

How do I deal with the realization that I have no special talents, nor am I as intelligent as I thought to be? I feel like I am not going to be able to accomplish anything I wanted to do in my life.

You’ll be fine. You’re just going through the withdrawal phase of a self-esteem addiction. It’s a natural part of your recovery from Special Snowflake Disease.

Let me guess: you’re young, white and a product of the American suburbs. From preschool through senior year, you were fed a constant diet of self-esteem-boosting, feel-good encouragement. You were told you could be anything and do anything, and that everyone was a special snowflake.

Sure, you grew up as one of the good kids. You took an AP class or two, your report card usually had a couple of As in it, and you weren’t bad at whatever sport you played. You even got accepted to a decent college, but when you showed up for freshman year, you promptly had your ass handed to you by the brutal reality that no one cared any more.

You were suddenly surrounded by people who were smarter than you, and there was no one there to make sure you showed up and did the work. As a result, your grades have been in the toilet lately, and you find yourself struggling for what used to come so easily.

No, I’m not psychic. This is simply what’s happening to most of your generation, especially from your little slice of the socio-economic pie. All of you special snowflakes are coming to terms with your own raging mediocrity. Yes, that’s right. You will not cure cancer. You will not win the lottery. Worst of all, you will not have your own reality show.

Don’t worry, though. You’re gonna be OK. Sacrificing your dreams at the altar of reality is a rite of passage for everyone but a handful of rock stars and ballerinas. You can’t ever let it get to you, or else you’ll end up leading one of those lives of quiet desperation. In fact, it’s good that you caught this early. The sooner you face the harsh truths of the real world, the better off you’ll be.

The first step is taking comfort in the knowledge that you’re like most people. You’re not the best. You’re not the worst. You’re just average. The next step is getting cozy with the notion that no one cares. Right now, that kind of bums you out. You’re still a bit of an encouragement junkie. Soon though, you’ll mellow out and realize that there’s a certain kind of freedom in no one giving a crap. You’ll start taking strength in your own independence, and you’ll learn to validate your existence through internal rather than external criteria. In other words, you’ll stop caring what other people think of your accomplishments.

Not to skip ahead a few lessons, but maybe one day you’ll even discover that it doesn’t matter what you accomplish with your life. None of it matters, but that’s okay too, because at the end of the day, if you’re able to surround yourself with good people and find a few things that make you happy, you’ll have lived a good life.

On a sociopath

I read in one of your responses to a question that if you feel guilt when you cheat, steal or lie that it’s good news because you are not a sociopath. I do not feel any remorse or guilt when I do these things. Actually I quite enjoy doing these things and the feeling that comes after knowing that I’ve gotten away with it. Does this mean that I’m a sociopath? I’m 21 years old and am doing well enough to easily retire at 40. I’m extremely successful in life and happy with where I am. Even if I am a sociopath, does it matter?

Of course it matters, asshole. It matters to the people you hurt and betray. That’s the essence of what makes you dangerous, the fact that you inherently don’t get why it matters.

How do I stop romanticizing my personality flaws? How do I stop secretly loving being “broken”?

Grow the fuck up.

Why the fuck do I hate myself so much?

You don’t hate yourself. You hate an identity that you associate with yourself, and you can’t tell the difference.

Why am I still determining my self-worth though men’s sexual interest?

Because you don’t believe you bring anything to the table other than the ass you put in the chair.

Why does everyone piss me off so much?

You’re just angry at yourself, and you’re projecting that anger onto others.

How can someone have low self-esteem and an enormous ego at the same time?

It’s easy. You don’t have to like yourself to think you’re the center of the world.

On a girl with real problems

I’ve had a really unstable and dramatic life. Raped twice, molested by several family friends, beat by my parents and ex boyfriends, and much much more. I also am extremely bi polar (I’ve been diagnosed several different times by different psychiatrists since I was 6 years old). I’ve tried to get over my issues and just live life, be happy, and leave the bullshit behind. But I can’t help but let these things creep in. It ruined a long-term relationship, every relationship I’ve had since, and every friendship I have. My family hates me because of it and treat me like a monster. I’m afraid to get on medication for it, because I’ve done so much to overcome my past and make something of myself and I know if I get on medication my family will claim that I’m a quitter and take away all credit I’ve earned for what I have accomplished. But it’s really getting out of hand. I see a therapist, I know all the steps, I’ve tried to get over it, around it, through it, under it, and it’s just not working. I can’t continue to live my life a victim to my illness and my past and continuing to have suicide in the back of my mind every day of my life. My therapist recommends medication, and after struggling with self-harm and attempting suicide earlier this week I think she might be right. But I can’t help but feel guilty and like I’m admitting defeat if I get on medication for this.

You’ve already admitted defeat in the way you talk. You’ve given your disease the power to ruin your relationships, and you’ve given your family’s backward way of thinking the power to influence your mental health. Fuck all that.

Are people with brain tumors admitting defeat when they go on chemotherapy? Of course not. They are simply admitting that they have a disease. You are no different.

In your own mind, there should be no distinction between the neurophysiological disease of a brain tumor and the neurochemical disease of bipolar disorder. They are both measurably real. They are both beyond your control, and neither can simply be willed away.

Therapy is vital. No doubt the work you’ve done has helped manage the symptoms, but still, all the psychological tools in the world won’t fix your underlying brain chemistry.

Go on the medication, and don’t let anyone judge you for it. Fuck what your family thinks. You have no reason to feel guilty for taking control of your disease. At the same time, don’t let it define you. Your disease may affect your mood and behavior, but it is not you. Don’t give it the power to ruin your relationships.

You’re not a monster. You’re just a girl who’s been dealt a shitty hand, and you’re doing the best with what you’ve got.

Good luck with the meds. I hope that shit works for you.

On loneliness

i’m going through a lot of shit right now, and i just need to tell someone who is a complete third party who doesn’t know me who isn’t my dad just trying to give advice or my friends who don’t actually give a shit. but i’m trying not to make any definitive statements, because that’s a serious flaw i have.

anyway, i’m not happy, basically. the cure seems pretty fucking simple. be happy in the present moment, don’t take anything for granted, be grateful for your lucky ass life (i mean, i really am lucky to have everything i have. it’s not like i’m poor on the streets), be kind and blah blah.

but i’m going through a serious dilemma of having friends. one of my tumblr friends just said, “fuck ’em. if people wanna be your friend they will be, you just have to be content living with yourself.” which i agree with but i don’t know. i don’t HAVE to be completely alone just because. it seems when i do make efforts to hang out with the people i’ve met (i’m in college away from home, by the way. third year) they seem to have an excuse. i don’t think i’m trying hard enough but if they make an excuse but never ask me back to hang out later, shouldn’t i take the hint?

You need to separate the idea of loneliness from the idea of being alone.

Loneliness is the negative emotion you feel when you are disconnected from others. Being alone is merely not being in the physical presence of others.

You can be lonely in a room full of people you call friends. You can also feel connected to every other living soul while still being completely by yourself.

Once you separate loneliness from being alone, you can better analyze the true nature of your underlying emotions. Are you reacting to genuine loneliness, or are you reacting to the social stigma attached to the experience of being alone? They are two totally different problems.

Once you understand the difference, instead of trying to remedy loneliness by not being alone, you’ll start to remedy loneliness by connecting with others.

The difference may seem subtle, but it’s everything.

Outside of getting a therapist and/or a puppy, is there any basic advice you can suggest for a person on their quest to become emotionally healthy?

Don’t waste your life in the company of assholes.

I don’t want to live anymore.

No, you don’t want to suffer any more. There’s a big difference.

How do I find happiness in the present moment?

Smile. No, really. Smile.

I’m going through an existential crisis. Any tips on making it through?

Keep existing.

I just made it through my first pregnancy scare. The test turned out negative, so why am I upset?

Because it crystallizes how you’re all grown up without really being an adult. That shit is upsetting.

On how

I just started reading your blog, and I’ve noticed a pattern: people write to you with a seemingly one-dimensional question, and you answer by pointing out more underlying issues. You say things like “deal with your intimacy issues”, or “stop being so afraid”, but my question is HOW?

Are there some sort of exercises one is supposed to do to no longer seek attention in the wrong places? Should we tell ourselves nice things in the mirror everyday to know that we deserve to be loved? How does someone get past codependency when every relationship they’ve ever had or seen is codependent?

Is the answer therapy? It seems therapy can tell you that you have daddy issues, but not how to stop chasing every alcoholic older man that gives you a little attention. I am aware of my issues, just not how to deal with them.

Just because your issues have a name it doesn’t mean you’re aware of them. Say nice things into the mirror all you like, but looking at yourself isn’t the same as seeing yourself.

Self-awareness takes work, and dealing with underlying issues is always a unique and intensely personal struggle. Sure, I’m good at parsing people’s issues out of a few hundred words of bullshit, but that’s just a parlor trick. Telling you what’s broken isn’t the same skill set as being able to fix it.

Short of following you around all day and sticking a little red flag into every behavior that’s a negative manifestation of an underlying issue, there’s not much else I can do.

I deliberately stop short of telling you how, because I can’t. I know better, and I’m not one of those assholes like Dr Phil or Dr Laura who deal in cheap platitudes and feel-good McTherapy.

Nobody can tell you how. Not really. Over time, a good therapist may be able to give you the tools for you to come up with your own solution, but that’s not the same as saying therapy is the answer.

That’s why this shit is hard. You gotta do the work yourself, one shovel full of crazy at a time.

Hell, you’re already off to a good start. It sounds like you’ve made enough bad decisions to realize that dating in your daddy’s drunken shadow makes for a pretty miserable love life.

Good for you. Now fucking quit it, and no, I can’t tell you how.

On your inner child

Sometimes, in the midst of a brand-new relationship, I’m plagued by the sound of my mother’s voice, coupled with my screaming ovaries and the emotional stability of a 13-year old inner child, I get confused. I forget what’s important. I forget myself. And what/who could be enchanting/enchanted for the next 5-10-50 years. So can you help me quiet the anxious voices? Just long enough to be enchanting?

First of all, your inner child is the most emotionally stable part about you. Your inner child is that little girl who can still find utter joy in the present moment. She’s the always-smiling kid who isn’t worried about yesterday’s bullshit or what might happen tomorrow.

Your inner child is not that confused, angst-ridden thirteen year old you have in your head. That version of yourself is just a projection of your anxiety. So is the voice of your mother. So are your screaming ovaries. None of them are real. They are just manifestations of negativity, complete figments of your imagination.

But your inner child is very real. Find her. Listen to her. I promise, if it’s enchantment you seek, she will show it to you wherever you are. If you want to be enchanting, she’s the one that will make you glow from the inside out, and all will notice.

When you find yourself plagued by confusion and anxiety, take a step back in your mind and invite your inner child out to play instead.

Take a deep breath, and let her make fun of you for a quick second for being worried about something as ridiculous as the next 50 years or something as useless as your mother’s nagging voice.

Shake it off, and then let her play or laugh or sing or dance. Hell, let her do whatever spontaneous happy thing she wants, because I guarantee, the kid knows how to have fun no matter where she is.

On what comes next

After a lifetime of feeling bummed out, I recently started taking antidepressants for some real-er reasons than that. A side effect of the medication is I never want to do coke anymore. I read about it before starting the meds and didn’t believe it was going to be true. Now I never want it and when I’m around it, the thought of doing it bores me. So, I don’t. Also, because I’m not supposed to be drinking alcohol at all, but do anyway I get drunker faster which translates to sicker quicker. Smoking pot seems to work out just fine, but then I also want to go to sleep. So, here I am, faced with the startling reality of interacting with my world with the most sober mind I’ve had in maybe 2 years or more.

I’ve been traveling this velocity for so long, moving with a familiar momentum. It’s always been weekend to weekend, party and bullshit (×9). Ebb and flow. So now I feel like WHO THE FUCK AM I NOW!??!! I almost always learned new things during hightimes that I could bring into the rest of my life and that always felt really good. I think about the life I lived between the lines and key bumps, between the joints and gin and I’m unsure which bits to retain in my sober-er life. Maybe my personality dripped out with the bloody noses or whatever. I just can’t pull my brain together about my new, 80% less hedonistic social life. Like, am I supposed to find a boyfriend or something? Put money in a savings account? Wear underwear everyday? Get places on time? What do real people do? Do these questions make me sound like research for a serial killer or what?

So, you might be thinking “Why the hell is this girl asking me about being sober?” Well, first, most people would use their judginess to congratulate me on not doing cocaine and pat themselves on the back cause their horse is so friggin high. That aint you. Also, I don’t know every thing about you or anyone else and maybe you’ve had a sober stretch and can share something insightful. In any case, my crazy brain says you’re the one to ask. I’m not asking you to tell me who I am. I’m just interested in your thoughts on this matter.

I’m freaked out by possible impending stability! What if I turn into whatever the opposite of a degenerate is?

I hate to break it to you, but you are real people. Also, don’t get ahead of yourself, stability is not impending just yet. Life has a way of making sure you earn something like that. Besides, you’re not freaked out by the impending stability. You’re freaked out by the impending boredom.

Boredom has been your deepest fear this whole goddamn time, and now that you’re checking your mirrors on all the crazy trails you blazed, you’ve come to the terrifying realization that you’re too smart to bottom out like they do on TV. Sure, you’ve got a few respectable scars, but you’ve still got all your fingers and toes. Worse than that, you’ve got your fucking brain, all of it, and that motherfucker is sharp when it pulls focus.

I know. It’s an uncomfortable sensation when you realize that your neurochemistry is finally done letting you try to annihilate it. You feed it the same old shit, and all it gives you back is static and sand.

So now what? Well, you’ll be happy to know this raw nerve phase passes into a mellow acceptance of your own imminent survival. The world becomes a place where neither underwear nor savings accounts seem ridiculous. Don’t worry, you’ll still show up late for shit, because that’s just naturally the kind of asshole you are.

Eventually, you’ll learn to do what the rest of us do to keep from pulling a front page nutty. You’ll partake in an exercise of duality. You’ll make stability your bitch. You’ll build a white picket fence around a house with whatever freaky shit you like to keep locked up in the basement. You’ll figure a way to pay the rent and keep your teeth sharp. Oh, and yes, you’ll realize that the freaky shit is a lot more fun with a partner in crime.

Again, don’t worry. Have no fear. The ebb and flow of party and bullshit doesn’t automatically get traded in for anniversaries and mortgage payments. You get to pick your own standard units of measurement. That’s what you’ve earned for coming out the other side on your own terms. You can do whatever you want, because you know how to get away with it.

This whole time you thought you were broken, and it turns out you were unbreakable. You’re not a degenerate. You never were. You were just faking it, and now you don’t have any more excuses. Now go live a life less ordinary.

Oh, and if you need a kick start, I suggest you try volunteering a couple days a week. Pick a local cause that produces tangible results and go sign up to do some good. Altruism is a squeegee for the soul, that and a little yoga, and I think you’ll have enough fresh perspective to start enjoying the possibility of whatever comes next.

Welcome to the first days of your adulthood.

On the point

I think I visit your page so often and read through all of the posts because I want to have some magical revelation that’ll grow me up through your words. It’ll make the world all fluffy and nice again, and my problems will go away.

But that’s not the point, is it? The point is, the world ISN’T all fluffy and nice, and if I can get used to that, and even take solace in it, then I’ll be alright, even when everything’s fucked three ways from Sunday. That’s what you’re trying to say, isn’t it?

Yes.