Author’s Note: Here is the first part of my select diary entries for March.
Sun, 1st March:
Why must I dream about C again? I’m sick of being drawn to his mind games. My heart is not a marionette.
Mon, 2nd March:
I have finished filling in the PIP form. This has stressed me out to the max. It’s driving me quite insane.
Tue, 3rd March:
Why is that narcissist still around?
Separately, C still hasn’t messaged me. How have I let myself be drawn in again? What are these games? I won’t be his toy any longer.
He previously went silent for an entire five years. Who does that?
I am working on Project X with Dad. There are interesting photographs of egg cups and oyster shells.
Thur, 5th March:
I often wonder when my health anxiety first began. It got greatly worse when Mum and Dad split up that weekend in 2018.
It has certainly been a woefully intense week. If only it would go away completely. Maybe then I could relax?
I didn’t anticipate finishing the work in the night but I did. This means I get paid £75 tomorrow.
There’s still radio silence from C. What is wrong with that man?
I started rewatching ‘The X Files’ last night. What a show that was! I have always wondered if I wasn’t abducted by aliens…
When I was little, I had a recurring dream where I am stood in front of my parent’s bed as they sleep. I look to the alarm clock and see it’s about to be midnight. I am filled with total fear as the white lights shine through. Then they come for me.
And when we drove up to the gates of Area 51 in 2012 I completely freaked out and clung to Mum until we got back to our hotel.
Sat, 7th March:
I am writing a short play about my dealings with the council about our stolen bin. It will satirise the council and explore the lunacy of having to pay to replace a stolen bin. The title will be ‘Who Let the Bins Out?’.
Wouldn’t it be funny if the council came to see it? Would they find it amusing? I very much doubt it!
Mum is at work today. I hope she manages to bring home some food. The Spaghetti Bolognese from the restaurant is delicious.
On another note, I was recently reminded of my interest in Chinese myth. Doing more research will certainly be beneficial to me. I first became fascinated when I watched Mulan (1998) and Wendy Wu (200?).
Dylan Thomas’ ‘Under Milk Wood’ is a genius text; so inventive and as rich as toffee.
Sun, 8th March:
It’s International Women’s Day but I feel both male and female. My sensibilities are feminine but my temperament is male-centred.
These types of days are always a little strange for me. They mean to celebrate just one aspect of myself.
It is quite apt that ‘Courtenay’ is a unisex name. But I adore men. They quite fascinate the mind, body, and soul.
So where do I belong on a day like today?
I have always felt at odds with my species. Is this down to my autism perhaps?
Though I identify as female I write about the male species an awful lot.
Tue, 9th March:
I had a dream I was in a place similar to the Trafford Centre. What I remember is that Mum was working in one department. I asked Laurence Fox (hateful man) where she was and he told me she was on her lunch break.
Then I find myself playing this extremely physical arcade game to win some kind of candy from a very handsome man.
To do this I must tear into the neck of some creatures and prod them with a meat thermometer to find some specific items.
In the midst of this I find myself exiting briefly to insert star-topped candles into micro cupcakes. Additionally, I come across a man who works for a theatre company. And when he finds out I am a writer he asks if I have any scripts to hand. As I happen to have a copy of my real-life short play, Pigeon Winter, I pass it over. Opposite his desk is a ruby jewellery shop and a strange spa that has a reading room and a dog.
When I return to the arcade game I pass a shop with exotic fruit and items for extremely cheap. Blue Curacao oranges catch my eye and I purchase them for 70p.
It is at this point the dream takes me to a café where I hope C will be. Instead I find Paul Hollywood who takes a liking to my t-shirt, saying:
“Get your mam to buy me that.”
There is a switch to both dreams merging into one. Mum and I find ourselves in a glass lift. Then I am on a bus absolutely adamant I will read ‘Lord of the Flies’.
Wed, 10th March:
I wish my health anxiety would go away. It drives me utterly insane. I know the brief wheezes are due to a mucus build up. It goes when I clear my throat but my mind won’t stop racing.
These particular anxieties make it difficult to work. Alas, we must press on, must we not?
My desperation to complete a piece of work addles me. I am dissatisfied by incompletion. Why am I like this? My perfectionist tendencies interfere with my work.
I most hate the stench of Spring.
My life feels at such standstill right now. I keep daydreaming about the one I wish I could lead. Sometimes I think about drawing the final curtain but then I remember the face of the most important player: Mum. She wouldn’t survive if I took myself out.
Mum brought Spaghetti Bolognese home from the restaurant.
My eyes are suitably tired today.
Thur, 12th March:
It’s very early and I am quite hungry. If only we could afford a McDonald’s breakfast.
As I write this Mum is fast asleep and Barney (the cat) is cleaning himself.
I have a copy of ‘Alice in Wonderland’ and ‘Through the Looking Glass’ next to me.
Doesn’t time go slow these days? Why do I feel so lost within myself? I may be waiting for my own rabbit hole.
Fri, 13th March:
I’ve not been doing any work on the plays recently. My head just hasn’t been in it at all. It’s all down to my health anxiety. I can’t seem to regain control over my mind. I just sit and dwell on every bodily sensation. It’s driving me insane!
I did have a dream in which I tried to save people at a bus station.
Do I write a poem again? But reading poems I don’t like sucks the desire right from the wound. I just read Elizabeth Bishop’s ‘In the Waiting Room’ and I both hate it and love it. The plainness of the language disgusts me but the surrealism is completely delightful. It should be totally great but it’s not. Where did Bishop fail here? Where is the ambition? It is an almost gutless poem but there is a peculiar appeal.
I ate pizza and painted my nails silver.
Sat, 14th March:
It’s very cold today. I am dreading the warmer weather.
This is the final year of my ‘20s. How have I reached this point? I’m turning thirty next year! This will bring a whole new decade. What will life bring to me? I will be the same age as Sylvia Plath was when she killed herself. And to be quite honest, I’m surprised I’m still here myself. If it wasn’t for Mum I would have left a long time ago. Dad can live without me but Mum cannot.
When I had that dream about bombs falling on Tehran I realised that I had been thinking about war subconsciously. Will we ever live in a world free from war?
As I write in this notebook, the birds chirp and amid the condensation and pre-spring ice. The trees remain grey and skeletal. Mum sleeps across from me; lamb-white jumper billowing out. There is a shape of frost plastered against the window pane like a ghost in a Charles Dickens novel. Barney (black cat) snores just a few inches away.
Mum has work today; which will be busy due to Mother’s Day. I hope she returns with pasta again.
I must plan adequately for my satire about the council and waste management. Where might the play go in the end? There are three neighbours in purple robes sitting around a crystal ball. Who / what might come through instead? This would represent what happens when you question authority. Perhaps a hitman? Would that be too on the nose? But who else might come through?
Mum just called to ask if I wanted Yukio Mishima books from the charity shop.
Sun, 15th March:
It is chill-filled again. My nose is running like a river. Mum brought home the Mishima books yesterday. I have made a start on ‘Thirst for Love’
Mum told me that the woman at the charity shop was impressed by my eclectic taste and asked if I could give them a list of books I desire and my phone number in case any come in.
It’s Mother’s Day and I just finished writing a handwritten letter for Mum to read when she wakes.
I manifest money for us. Then we won’t argue. Then we can finally relax. Then we can pay everyone back and regain our relationships. Then Mum can stop feeling so bad about everything. Then we will finally be free.
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