I don’t want to talk to anyone any more. What is there to say? I’ve moaned at everyone, and everyone has moaned at me, and there are so few life updates that we all just talk about the same things: “Yes! I’ve seen Normal People. I liked it, did you?”; “No, I haven’t read anything for a while, actually”; and “I’m a bit bored of baking, you know?”
Mad ting’ are messages I’m sending daily. Constantly. So I’ve swapped talking to people for writing in my diary. Or “journalling”, as the more cultured of you might call it. Sue Townsend kicked things off for me with The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole, Aged 13¾, so since childhood I’ve kept a diary in bursts, as and when I need that emotional outlet. I keep them all in a box at my Mum’s, which is risky, and usually I’ll think about hiding places for the one I’m writing when anyone comes to my house.
Clearly that’s not an issue for now, so I can write freely about all of the million-plus emotions I’m feeling. I spend most of my writing time exhaustively analysing every word I type, thinking about how any person who might read it will receive it and then deleting it and starting from the beginning.
But in a diary you can get out all the frighteningly weird stuff in a way that nobody is going to see, or critique, or judge. So that’s my tip for you: talk less, write to yourself more. Just make sure you hide your diary well, if you live with people.
