2019 Was A Glitch In The Simulation

And my glitch went a little like this:

Kickstarted my 2019 crying. This seemed to foreshadow the upcoming year. 2019: the year of The Big Sad.

-got asked out on a date by a ghost.

Despite having all odds against me, I miraculously let my hair grow out, for the entire year. Not giving myself a monthly botched crop with craft scissors? Unheard of.

-lost myself in a world that does not exist.

Started drinking poison that makes me shit my pants while my heart beats at alarming speeds. Every morning. I am now convinced that coffee pumps through my veins rather than blood.

-became a cyborg.

Got a new car, and named her Ziggy, Ziggy Stardust. See also: become momentarily obsessed with David Bowie.

Had my house and car broken into and raided. Refused to drive my car, physically sickened by the thought of a stranger with malicious intent sitting in the very same spot. Was reminded how gross humans can be, and sank back into a misanthropic mind frame for a long, cold week.

Convinced multiple grown men to capture bugs and take them outside rather than just squishing them. Probably my biggest achievement of the year.

Wrote a lot of words. Published some of them.

Broke up with the friends I started the year with, on a mission to ‘find myself’. Royally screwed them all over in the process.

Found myself in the reflection of the toilet bowl water at 4am on a Sunday morning, after trying to find myself in a bottle of wine.

Conditioned myself to not only tolerate, but enjoy the taste of beer.

Decided the egg definitely came before the chicken.

Learnt the difference between being alone and lonely.

Started writing in cursive. Just because.

Learnt to embrace the impermanence of life. Learnt to relish in the fleeting moments that fly past our eyes so quickly you might mistake them for a dream. Or a dragonfly.

Started a cult. Subsequently, became a cult leader. Tried to start a revolution, which ended only in a riot.

Had an existential crisis every day of the year.

Started my very own blog, which eventually and inevitably just became an online (and inherently public) journal.

Started collecting dead bugs. And rocks. And leaves. And flowers.

Burned my retinas and became temporarily blind from staring into the sun for an hour, believing I was in the midst of a telepathic conversation with a giant ball of fire, while on LSD.

Turned 21 in the middle of Sweden, and celebrated with a bunch of strangers in an ice bar. (How very on-brand of me.)

Didn’t quit my job. Instead, mastered how to sneak in a cheeky breakdown in the cool-room, amidst the pineapple and pumpkin. 2020 self: please, please, please quit.

Had porridge twice a day for 10 out of the 12 months of the year.

Delved into my ancestry and uncovered an apparent magic bloodline. Started practising witchcraft on a whim. Nothing has ever felt more right. Learnt to see the magic in everything and everyone.

Made out with a real life prince on the dance floor in some stingy club, riddled with tourists.

Quit ballet because there was a beautiful, talented girl who was better than me and I was jealous and more or less had a tantrum. This resulted in a lot of shadow work.

Acquired a new-found love for getting up ridiculously early (hello 4am) and seeing the sun rise and smashing out a to-do list before midday. This inherently led to the same bed time of an infant. Fixed my sleeping pattern eventually.

Got 20% gayer.

Drove to the country and went back to the town I was born. Stood in a field and cried, for no apparent reason. Saw a rainbow. Wrote a song about it.

Solo backpacked Europe and Scandinavia. Felt small and strange. That feeling still lingers.

Ate a space cake in Amsterdam and rode my bike to a park. Got scarily high and sat in said park for 6 hours because I forgot how to ride a bike out of there. Convinced myself that this was the afterlife.

Laughed in the face of death.

Sipped on a soy matcha latte in business class on a train through the Parisian countryside, whilst reading the teachings of Heraclitus. Realised I am living my best life, and felt unstoppable, only to then find myself crying at the foot of the Eiffel Tower because I felt lonely and lost – both literally and metaphorically – 4 hours later.

Woke up with a feeling that I don’t think there’s a name for yet. It’s buried beneath my diaphragm. Just below it. This feeling of insatiable, unforgiving, emptiness. Just a giant nothingness. A fostering wound with no apparent gash or entrance point, and inherently, no exit. No escape. Still trying to decipher this feeling.

I’m still not sure 2019 even happened. 2019 was strange. A glitch in the simulation. When I try and reflect on it, it doesn’t feel real. I experienced a lot, and achieved plenty, but I’m still inundated with that feeling of vast nothingness. Perhaps it was all a dream.
Regardless, it is over. And I am as relieved as I am nostalgic.