I talk about this kind of stuff on Instagram, too. Follow me there!
In October 2022 Taylor Swift released Midnights, a record that answers the concept of what keeps you up at night? It’s a question I’ve been trying to answer for the last 23 years. For as long as I can remember, I’ve spent most nights staring at my bedroom ceiling to the point where I feel it’s conversing with me. As a child, I’d put myself through the pain of turning my head over to my alarm clock and swallowing the luminescent ‘03:46’ staring pitifully at me. Now, I can calculate when an hour has passed entirely in my head.
Feeling constantly exhausted and undergoing an anxiety spike when I notice the daylight slowly receding in the afternoon are inconveniences I’ve learnt to tolerate. What I endure in the A.M, I hope, doesn’t impact the persona I go by. If you know me, you know I don’t sleep. My friends don’t bat an eyelid at the excessive coffee I drink or my yawning. It’s like they’ve been dealing with it as long as I have.
Taylor’s album releases always seem to occur at pivotal moments in my life. They tend to be released at around October/November time, serving as the end-of-year hug I don’t realise I desperately need until they arrive. When Midnights was released however, I was at a point where I found myself seeking understanding and warmth, firmly believing no one and nothing would understand what exactly I was feeling every day. The masterpiece that is Taylor’s latest release felt like an invisible arm around my shoulders, each song laden with compassion and sympathy. I wanted to write a personal, diaristic self-discovery piece in an attempt to figure out what exactly keeps me up at night. And I’ll be making references to Taylor along the way because, you know, it’s Taylor.
My insecurities
I mentioned in my Childhood Quotes blog post (which might just be my favourite thing I’ve ever written) that I grew up firmly believing I was an ‘ugly’ child. I’ve never been a conventionally pretty person, what with my enlarged features and complete lack of poise. My best friends, my mum and my sister are all stunning, the kind of girls who look ethereal in their first attempt at a selfie. When I was younger I would fantasise about being in their shoes, having the boys in my year group call me good-looking in their corridor chats. I begged my mum to let me ditch my trademark Wednesday Addams plaits and let me wear my hair at least half down, and she eventually consented after seeing how desperate I was.
The older I got, the worse it got. My braces were kept on three years longer than what I was originally told and, whilst it seems whiny to complain about because I was lucky to even have them, seeing all my friends have theirs put on and taken off in the time I had mine was a very bitter pill to swallow. Growing up in a religious family meant that wearing makeup wasn’t an option until I turned 16 - we weren’t allowed to at school either, though hardly anyone adhered to this rule. Sometimes I’d take pictures of myself on my phone at every angle and obsess over how my features looked in their natural state. Other times, I’d have to cover up the mirrors in my bedroom because I couldn’t look at myself for more than 30 seconds without bursting into tears. Like Taylor in 'Anti-Hero', I couldn't stare into any mirrors.
It was insane. I’d never considered myself to be a good-looking person but I’d never cared until I got to secondary school. Homework and school gossip at least served as a distraction; at night, a voice would plague me, remind me of every single morsel of food and subsequent calory I’d ingested during the day as well as how every member of my form had taken home a horrible picture of me when our class photos were released.
I’m a bit better now. I still hate having my picture taken and I avoid doing my makeup in natural light but my braces are now off and my makeup skills have improved considerably. I’m content with handing Mallika the trophy in terms of who won in the genes department. After dealing with comparisons my entire life, people fawning over my sister's appearance and intelligence is something I’m accustomed to at social gatherings. I’m not jealous, though at times the wishful thinking that would consume me in school partially returns. It’s not pleasant when people grab your sister and introduce them to people as ‘the model’ without saying hello to you, but it could be worse.
My relationships
I’ve always been an affectionate person; as I said last week, thank you cards are a troupe I tend to overuse and sometimes, I ask people if they’re okay too much. People interpreting my, at times, unrestrained love as overbearing and or attention-seeking most certainly keeps me up at night. In the bridge of ‘Mastermind,’ Taylor sings the line ‘I swear, I’m only cryptic and machiavellian cause I care’, and I swear, the lyric is like a comforting and reassuring arm squeeze. I wish I could tell every person who has fallen out of love with me (thank God there aren’t many) that I only remembered every single detail about them and their lives because I cared. Not to scare them off. And that my mistakes stem from my insecurities. And that I’m sorry, again and again and again.
My imagination
I don’t say I’m imaginative to pat myself on the back. My mind has never been able to switch off; I’m constantly generating ideas, questioning possibilities and debating nonsensical topics. As a child, I was able to channel this through the stories I would write and the make-believe games I would play. I’d pass on my anxieties to my Barbie dolls, and the characters I’d pencil into my journals. I still try to do the latter as best I can, though I miss the escapism childhood games would provide me. I can’t watch the ending of Toy Story 3 without crying, now.
I’ll lay awake replaying every conversation I had during the day at night, each time going through the things I could have said, should have said, wish I’d said. Eventually, I’ll decide that I made an absolute fool out of myself and that the people who say they love me are only really tolerating me.
I wish I could say it was just conversations; at 2 AM, my mind will manipulate a decision I made five years ago and present me with the alternative, in which I’m probably happier, definitely slimmer and certainly less alone. The worst thing is when my imagination presents me with the road to my future, a pathway that consists of numerous bumps and hurdles. I’d never really experienced death until the end of last year, and for months, it was all I could think about. It wasn’t my own death that was troubling me; I love forewarning as to how chapters in my life will end too much to waste time fearing the one thing we’re all guaranteed in this life. It was the prospect of losing people I love and how it might occur that affected me. All four of my grandparents are alive, and I thank God every day for it, but how and when I’ll lose them constantly scares me, as does the questioning of what on Earth I’ll do when it happens. My dad’s parents, who live on the road next to me, left for their yearly month-long holiday last week. This was the first time they’ve gone since 2019 for obvious reasons, and seeing my grandmother have to take her walker and walking sticks shattered me a little. She never used to travel with them before.
My anxiety
Much to the dismay of my Indian mother I studied English at University. I’ve been constantly berated that this wasn’t a smart choice and that my studies mean nothing on paper, though I stand by my decision - to regret studying what I’ve loved my entire life would be counter-productive and foolish. Whether or not this decision will pay off is a question only the future me can answer, which is terrifying; I don’t want to be Rory Gilmore, or the Nothing New girl, forever.
I can cope with the perpetual sadness my mind constantly trips into, what I struggle with is malaise; the perennial anxiety that wraps itself tightly around my neck regardless of how well things are going for me personally or professionally. I blame both my imagination and trauma for my disbelief in smooth sailing; there’s always something around the corner, an undetected bump in the road that goes unmissed until the collision. When I say ‘trauma’, I mean the long list of literal triggers that send me into a spiral of self-loathing and regret; simply walking past a restaurant I once frequented with someone no longer in my life will throw me off for the day and leave me with intense flashbacks at night. I can’t close my eyes without a cinematic recount of the exact words someone said to me on X day and Y time and how their words upset me. Taylor's anger and hurt in 'Would've Could've Should've' reminds me of the times I've repeated the words I didn't say, or wish I'd said, to those who hurt me. I'll repeat them to myself, fighting with myself in fitful half-dreams.
For years as a kid I would sleep with a torch and book under my pillow, deftly arranging my extra blanket over my duvet so that my parents wouldn’t catch me reading under the covers at night. My dad caught me on a few occasions - the first time, he was furious, but after that, he just left me to it. Reading stopped my mind from travelling to destinations I could only wish it had never visited now; it didn't matter that I wasn't going to grammar school or that someone at school had (lied) to me and said that my best friend secretly didn't like me. Nothing mattered because my priorities were set on princesses and giants and flying chairs. I don't sleep with a torch under my pillow now - I use my fairy lights. Very 2013 tumblr, I know.
'You're on Your Own, Kid' is my favourite track of the album and it encompasses all the things I've listed. It's an almost perfect reflection of the year I've had. The song describes the inherent need to be desired in order to be saved with references to self-worth, desirability and mental health. Having people fall out of love with you despite the inside jokes and secrets shared is a devastating, painful experience, as is the realisation that it can happen at any time and that it can't be remedied. We blame ourselves and at times, inflict pain on our bodies; Taylor mentions 'starving her body' in the song amongst 'better bodies', all of whom possess the same dreams as her.
Change is hard but inevitable. The bridge of the song reminds listeners to take in every chapter of your life one step at a time and to not build relationships with people with the question of when they'll abandon you in the forefront of your mind - there's no reason to believe they will. The song drips with both a haunting loneliness and a magical hopefulness - being alone is scary but survivable. It's not like you haven't got on, so far.
I hope you enjoyed this piece! I thought it would be nice to write something different.
See you next week! Karisma xx