Welcome into the brain of a silly raccoon that’s really not a raccoon at all, but a 21 year old that has lot’s of similarities with a raccoon. It’s crazy, funny and a glimpse into my brain. I hope you like it!
When I say I’m clumsy, I really mean CLUMSY. Not “oh no I spilled my water” clumsy. I’m the kind of clumsy that makes people believe the excuses I made for my ex because with me, it’s totally believable that I fell down the stairs three times in a week.
I have been clumsy since the day I was born, they say that I din’t get pushed out on my birth day. No, I manage to trip out some way (no one has ever said that, but I promise you they should).
When I was younger my mom dropped me off at picture day and she was on cloud nine. I didn’t have a single bruise on my cute little body. She couldn’t wait to see how the pictures would come out, but little did she know. When she picked me up later that day the realisation hit her, she had been celebrating the achievement way too early.
My mom seeing my face when she picked me up back in 2007
I had fallen and I had the biggest bruise on my face, she picked me up and rushed home. Looking at the collections of pictures she had, she started to pray. She prayed that there wouldn’t be a day where CPS stood by the door coming to investigate how I always managed to get hurt. Everyone told her, it’s okay. Just wait it out, she’s just in a clumsy period, she’ll grow out of it.
But days became weeks, weeks became months, months became years. And here I am, 21 years old and still manages to get just as hurt. Right before my first day of collage.
Lesson number 3: “Sometimes your truths will sound like excuses, just pray that no one calls 911.”
Me after I manage to give myself the third black eye for the month, hoping that no one will report my boyfriend to the police
Anyways, I will start my studies tomorrow. This time I will meet my new classmates with a black eye. Me and my boyfriend had been borrowing my parants car to have some vacation. My mom has a hybrid car so I need to put in the charger to charge the battery back up.
I step out of the car and notice that the charger is too short, I need to park the car a bit further back.
I look back to see how much space I have left and at the same time as I turn back around I manage to slam the car door right in my own face.
Me trying to figure out how I manage to slam the car door in my own face
And of course it hurts like hell, I get in the car, I might have cried a little, but I finish parking the car. Later that night I see it. The black eye. It’s a huge bruise under my eye, going down my cheek.
My left side is basically a huge bruise. So now I get the honor of trying to convince my new classmates that I’m not getting abused, I’m just stupid. My poor boyfriend.
At least I will have an easy way to break the ice so that’s nice, wish me luck! Now I’m going to pray that no one calls 911 to help me, I honestly just need saving from myself lmao.
Making yourself depressed. This sounds like something your parents would say, because back in their day depression wasn’t real.
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Well I guess that it’s true that you turn into your parents more and more the older you get. But why am I doing this to myself? I’m going to walk you through a regular month in my life, so you can tell me if I need a dopamine detox or just a whole new brain.
Phase one: The new obsession begins
I wake up in my queen sized bed and stretch my stiff body. I have slept for what feels like days, I pick up my phone with one eye open and of course I open up social media. (I know I’m addicted give me a break and read the rest of the story).
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I start my daily doom scrolling and suddenly I see something that peaks my interest. There’s a woman on the screen that’s explaining how easy it is to felt. She picks up this tool and some wool and starts to poke it over and over again. Faster, faster she’s making litteral art with this wool. I click on her profile, I watch every single video. How to felt, what do you need for felting, the history behind felting. I want to know it all. I’m consumed, I can’t take my eyes of it, I’m amazed. The felting is changing me as a person. I need to felt.
Me looking at a woman felting on a random Tuesday
Phase two: Find the goods
I open up my go to app when I need some dopamine, it has everything! Colours, deals, dreams think it and you can have it. Of course I’m talking about Amazon. (Unfortunately this is not sponsored, believe me if you saw my bank account you would never doubt the hold that Amazon got on me).
This is when my ancestors kick in, I blame my spending on the instinct to hunt and collect. I quickly tap the search bar, my eyes are huge and sparkling, this is it! I type in “felting”.
Me looking at stuff to spend my pay-check on the minute I get payed
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I order a big bundle of random stuff to felt with and then the next phase begins. Phase 3: The goods arrives
I open my phone and sees that my package has arrived. After sitting by my phone for a week waiting, being tortured with living a life that doesn’t involve felting, I feel like God has finally remembered to shine his beautiful light on me.
Jesus popping in to tell me that my package is delivered
I open the package and look at my felting gear. I’m content. This is my life goal, I’ll never need another hobby again. Felting is my best friend, felting is my lover, felting is… me.
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Phase 4: Let the felting begin
By now everything is out of the package; it’s time to felt. I pick up the wool, pick up the needle and I begin to poke. I poke faster, faster than anyone has ever felted before. I make project after project, my clothes; have felted art on them, my carpet; felted art, my sofa; felted art. Everything is felted art.
The wool is lying in piles, before I go to sleep I felt, when I wakeup I felt, I eat as fast as I can so I can felt. I watch videos on how to felt, my entire day revolves around… felting.
This goes on for days, some times weeks. Every day I dream about coming home to be able to felt.
Me thinking about felting
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Unfortunately every high comes with a low. Witch bring us to… Phase five: The boredom hits
One day I wake up and I see the felting kit, I eat breakfast and pick up the felt as usual. I take the needle and poke a little, but what is this? The hyper focus is gone? The inspiration, gone? How did this happen? Why did this happen? Is it… No it can’t be… but maybe? Maybe the felting is too much? Maybe, the felting isn’t my life calling. Maybe felting is… boring?
No this can’t be, I love to felt. I love to felt. I LOVE TO FELT.
But no, the dopamine is gone. It’s over. Me and felting was never ment to last.
As horrible as it is felting is eating me up, felt this, felt that, I CAN’T DO IT. I can’t even look at the kit anymore. I stand up and rush to grab a box. I throw the felting kit in the box. I take all of my projects and mash them in. I pick up my last project, it’s only half way done. I see the small bald patches on the tigers head that I was supposed to fill with orange wool. I feel sick to my stomach. I push it in with the other projects and place it in the back of my closet. There, it’s done! The felting was never meant for me, the felting is… gone.
Me walking away from my felting kit after looking back at the box one last time
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Phase 6: The depression.
I’m laying in my couch, it’s day 10 of doom scrolling. I look at the time, it’s already 10, I guess I should sleep again.
I try to get up from the couch but I only manage to get to a sitting position. Why are my legs soooo heavy?
I sigh and decide to scroll for ten more minutes, what difference could it make? I swipe up on my screen. Up, and up, and up. Video after video after video, how to make your own pool, the best chicken you ever had, you NEED to try this lipstick. It’s all the same. Following the same script, with the same colors, with the same fame.
Does it ever stop?
I feel my eyes getting heavier and heavier, it’s closer to 1 now. I need to sleep, I will just get five hours of sleep, I NEED TO SLEEP.
I finally manage to get up on heavy legs, moving to the bathroom like a zombie. I should brush my teeth. I don’t.
Who am I? Why am I here? What’s my purpose? My existence feels like a cruel joke, what’s the point of excising if all you ever do is sit on your couch?
I need to take a shower but that has to wait till the morning, there’s no point anyways. Everyday is the same, nothing to do, nothing to love, nothing to be. Just me and my phone as always.
Me questioning my life choices
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Phase 7: The circle starts over
I wake up in my queen sized bed and stretch my stiff body. I have slept for what feels like days, I pick up my phone with one eye open and of course I open up social media.
I start my daily doom scrolling and suddenly I see something that peaks my interest. There’s a woman on the screen that’s explaining how easy it is to paint.
I feel my heart lighting up again, I know what my life’s meaning is… My life’s meaning is to paint!
Me realising my true calling and life’s meaning every two weeks
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And that’s basically how I bore myself into a depression every few weeks. So what do you think, do I need a dopamine detox or a new brain?
TRIGGER WARNING: A toxic and abusive relationship will be mentioned. Sometimes in a humoristic way. Abuse is in no way a joking matter but I cope with stuff by making jokes, so if you’re triggered by that please don’t read anymore.
If you don’t want to read the backstory scroll down to the quote.
The raccoons diary 