Arrested-ish Development - Part 2

Early 2010

Before I begin, I’d like to address the cringe in the room.

The title of this series is “Arrested-ISH Development” because I don’t believe I suffer from arrested development. The condition involves a plateau in growth and emotional maturity, and I would say I’ve grown and evolved emotionally a decent amount over the years. I do however relate to the aspect that *causes* this disambiguation in many adults – a traumatic event that in some way freezes you in time. Though I believe I’ve matured and transitioned through many stages since the year 2010, in ways, I wake to that year every day. I can smell my old perfume, I can hear the House MD theme song playing, I can feel my first heartbreak, and my heart racing while I beg for a man not to end my life.

Only now, I’m begging myself to live.  

The first half of 2010 was bittersweet.

I had just gone through my first breakup, while attending the same university as my ex and the friend he began dating after me. I’ll skip the messy details because he’s a good person, and my wellbeing depended far too much on his at the time. Something that sadly hasn’t changed much in my relationships. Maybe I am a little frozen emotionally in that way, though I suppose I now have the self-awareness to *work at* allowing others to influence me less.

During this period, I moved in with my dad in an attempt to change my surroundings, and in turn, my state of mind. I walked from his house to class, and began working out at the school gym. I would do a kickboxing class, then use the machines or jog the indoor track with a friend. I was constantly moving and listening to music. You might think this sounds like healthy coping for an almost 19 year old, but it was my way of not being present that winter. To not see my ex and his girlfriend walking the halls, and to not dwell on what I lacked. The more I did, the less time I had to think. We call this the “traditional male coping method”, something that did not last long for me, as I am by nature, a feeler.

While this physically active and mentally dissociative period did last, I started to find my own style. I was feeling more comfortable in smaller sizes as a result of working out, and started to immerse myself in the hardly existent “creative scene”. Years of weight fluctuation will make you think that being “small” is the key to the kingdom of wearing clothes you actually like/reflect your taste. I still wear hoodies years I’m bigger, and fitted clothes that reflect who I am the years I’m not. Therapy can only do so much!

The most vivid memory I have from this period is making camomile tea once my dad went to bed, before heading to the living room to watch House MD. When I wasn’t dissociating with music on long walks, I was living vicariously through TV characters.

Every time Greg House rolled his eyes and said something devastating and brilliant to a patient, it felt like a win for my people (the miserable). When he had romantic tension with Lisa Cuddy, it was a win for all petite, pale, brunettes with crushes on Hugh Laurie. When he reluctantly accepted a kiss from Cameron.. well, refer to my previous point. The music was melancholy and cool. The hospital made you forget the smell of sticky beige coloured pleather seats in your local ER waiting room. This building was modern and warmly lit, the perfect backdrop for a detailed fantasy of Dr. House keeping you a little late in his Eames-chair-filled office.

Naturally, the theme song and series soundtrack songs were heavily featured on my dissociation playlist. Some recent John Mayer breakup songs followed, as well as my favourites from The Last Song soundtrack - a film that had caused people to compare me to Miley Cyrus, which my ego desperately needed at the time.

Before my newly-single coping period began, I heavily relied on being social to feel good about myself. Drinking numbed my constant anxiety, and I accumulated a variety of friends over my four years of high school. This was the first time I relied solely on myself to feel okay. I allowed myself to cry at night without shame. I took a film class at school and found a voice I could relate to in Woody Allen’s “Annie Hall” (cancel me, baby!). If I’m being really honest, after our instructor made us analyze the ticket line scene for a short assignment, I went home and rented the movie from *clears elderly throat* … Blockbuster - and watched it twice.

I was physically active, dressing better, going to music shows with friends, and finding voices in TV and film that made me want to write. I didn’t know how yet, but I knew if I could do something similar to what these storytellers were doing, I would be closer to my “purpose” - something I felt miles away from.

I paint this detailed picture only to set the tone for how the year began.

Heartbreak, solitude, peace, and empowerment. A young woman slowly learning who she is, when chaos isn’t drowning out the sound of her own voice.

Sometimes when I need to feel in touch with myself again, I’ll refer back to these old comforts. House, camomile tea, and melancholy songs from that era. The first time I felt truly empowered as a young adult, and the last brief period before a domino effect of traumatic events left me lost.

Obama was also still president, a very hopeful and sexy time in American history.

If you’re still here, thank you. I did my best to replicate my iPod playlist from this period, in case you want to cosplay as a 5’3 Canadian teenager, lost in her hometown.

See you soon for Part 3!