‘It is like I’m always thinking to myself, I’d like to be someone else.’
– very nearly a quote from ‘Shit Song’ by Kate Nash.
I used to have a friend who would cry whenever anybody unravelled their knitting. I came to realise that I was the opposite. All my work – none of it mattered to me anymore. I only wanted the thrill of the bobbly yarn in piles around my feet, ready to be made into something new. Sometimes I wonder if, as I pulled apart my work, I was knitting myself up more tightly inside.
I don’t like change. I struggle with forgiving people. I feel like I’m living the same year of my life over and over again. I broke through the wall in front of me, only to find another, identical. And now I’m screaming and scratching my toes as I try to climb it. Once again.
I want this all to be a bad dream after all. Or just all be over. I want to emerge from a cocoon. With a new haircut, and new clothes, and a new serene, seamless way of carrying myself. But I have tried to do this, time and again, and painting myself another colour never works.
I have a vision of myself in my head. I move towards her, and as soon as I get close, she shifts away. She changes shape. And I’m back at the start of an uphill climb just as long as the last, but all the equipment I’ve bought is all wrong, and won’t help. I’m left there thinking, this was all perfectly good stuff, a moment ago. Is still is. But I am not, anymore.