anxiety

Bo Burnham’s “Inside” is a Fucking Masterpiece

Kate Sloan

Content note: This post contains discussions of depression, anxiety, and suicidal thoughts.

 

I think some of my friends think I’ve lost my mind a little bit. I keep talking about Bo Burnham lately, and I think many of the people in my life are like, “Wait. What? Isn’t that the kid from YouTube who wrote shitty songs making fun of every marginalized group under the sun? You’re into HIM now?”

Well, to be fair, I’ve unironically (though sometimes surreptitiously) loved Bo for over a decade, in part because it’s clear that a lot of his past missteps were just pointed leftist irony that viewers didn’t interpret as such, being (reasonably) hesitant to assume a cis straight white guy has good intentions. (“If you were offended by that, it was ironic,” Bo explains after performing a song called Straight White Male in his special Make Happy. “Isn’t that fun? I meant the whole opposite of it!” The tone is jokey, but like… he’s right. That is what he, and other irony-based crooners, do.) It’s fine if you don’t forgive him; you don’t have to. BUT ALSO, he has come a long way since those YouTube days. Like, a loooooooong way.

Bo’s latest Netflix special, Inside, touched me in a way that no piece of art has in a very long time. Hannah Gadsby’s Nanette came close, as did the movie Ex Machina and the Andy Shauf album The Neon Skyline. All of these works of art accessed deep wells of emotion in me through razor-sharp relatability and big themes. But I really think Inside might be my favorite piece of art I’ve consumed – in any medium – for at least the last five years. I’m not fucking kidding, y’all.

If you haven’t seen it, first of all, SEE IT, and secondly, here’s what it’s about: Bo, like many of us, found himself cooped up inside during the pandemic, socially isolated and inundated with terrible news on the internet every day. But unlike many of us, he had the technical skills and creative vision to sequester himself in a single room with a camera, a lighting setup, and a bunch of audio equipment, and create a 90-minute musical comedy special that somehow expresses a giant range of quarantine emotions and 2020 Big Moods.

Toward the beginning of Inside, Bo’s hair is beginning to get long, a beard is forming on his face, and he seems merely perplexed and thrown by the pandemic, like we all were. As the special progresses, however, his hair grows longer, his beard expands, and his mental health starts to slip. But he keeps making the special anyway. We learn, through his occasional tiny disclosures of big truths, that working on the special has become his tether to the world, the one thing keeping him semi-afloat as his mental health reaches “an ATL (all-time low).” As a creative who has, myself, used writing or music or podcasting to give me a sense of purpose and belonging when I was unable to find one any other way, this resonated so hard that I often found myself yelling “WOW” or “YIKES” or “DRAG ME, BO” at the screen.

Bo’s songwriting has levelled up IMMENSELY since his last special, Make Happy. As a music nerd, that’s one of the main things I noticed on my initial watch of Inside. He was always a highly skilled lyricist and pianist, but his songs until now have mostly stayed within a pretty small range of chord progressions and styles. In this special, he reaches almost Sondheimian levels of intricacy and beauty with his songwriting, and explores styles like hiphop, folk, and cabaret. It feels like his ability to execute a project has finally caught up with his creativity and vision, such that every song in this special functions wonderfully as an actual song, rather than just being a framing device for Bo’s clever jokes and witty observations.

I can’t possibly tell you about all my favorite parts of this special because there are frankly too many. But here are a few:

• An early song, “Healing the World with Comedy,” gets us all on the same page, in Bo’s signature half-joking-but-kinda-serious style. He establishes right off the bat that he knows comedy is simultaneously pretty useless in the face of worldwide strife and also potentially a platform through which he can effect change. As an artist who also sometimes struggles with the question of “Why the fuck am I doing this when so much awful shit is going on?” I found this one screamingly hilarious and also useful as a reminder to use my platform for good. “If you wake up in a house that’s full of smoke, don’t panic – call me and I’ll tell you a joke,” Bo offers; “If you see white men dressed in white cloaks, don’t panic – call me and I’ll tell you a joke.” It’s a chilling reminder that art can only do so much.

• There are two sort of silly-sexy jams in this special, called, respectively, “FaceTime with My Mom” and “Sexting,” which are about… exactly what they sound like they’re about. In a very classic Bo Burnham way, these songs crack you up for most of their duration and then hit you with an unexpected emotional punch – like when Bo’s mom puts his dad on the phone and they have a stilted, emotionally disconnected conversation (#relatable) or like the one frame in “Sexting” where you can read Bo’s paragraph-long textual meditation on the line between playfully begging to see someone’s nudes and pressuring them in a way that feels uncomfortable. Also, these songs are both absolute bops.

• There’s a lot of… gender… in this special?? There is, in fact, an entire song (“White Woman’s Instagram”) where Bo is essentially in drag, albeit with a beard. And, um, my gay ass can confirm that he is pulling it off. I was wondering what other people thought about this, so I typed “Bo Burnham gender” into the Twitter search bar, and there are dozens upon dozens of trans and nonbinary people tweeting that Bo gives them gender envy. Understandable, tbh.

• An extended bit in which Bo does “commentary” on one of his own songs, and then does commentary on his commentary, is a brilliant depiction of the self-criticism and self-policing that can come with depression and anxiety. He does something similar in another section where he takes on the role of a hyper-masc Twitch streamer playing a video game that is actually just Bo’s own life: sit in a room, cry, play piano, go to sleep, start the day over again. Both of these bits crystallize an overarching theme of dissociation, derealization, depersonalization, and the way that the internet encourages us to view ourselves and our lives through an externalized lens.

• One of the prettiest songs in the special laments, “Can one be funny when stuck in a room?” In reflecting on his own past tendencies to self-isolate as a protective mechanism, Bo sings, “Well, well! Look who’s inside again! Went out to look for a reason to hide again,” at which point I felt like someone had stabbed me through the heart because DAMN, @ ME NEXT TIME, BO.

• Speaking of Bo’s (numerous) past fuck-ups, there is a song toward the middle of the special where Bo fully, explicitly, and sensitively apologizes for the problematic jokes he built his fame on. “Are you gonna hold me accountable?” he dares, almost begs. In classic Bo fashion, the song is simultaneously self-reflective and hilarious. It’s filmed as an athletic scene reminiscent of a Rocky training montage, which contributes to the overall image of masochistic self-flagellation and doing penance for past mistakes. I kept screaming at the screen “I CAN’T BELIEVE HE’S DOING THIS” at this point, because it really is that rare to see someone of Bo’s demographic owning up to what they’ve done. “Bitch, I’m trying to listen; shit, I’ve been complacent,” he sings toward the end. “If I wanna catch up, first I gotta ‘fess up.” Too true.

• Bo’s really bummed about turning 30 during the making of the special because he thought he’d be done with the special, and ideally with the pandemic, by then. Again… relatable as fuck. Then he sings a song about turning 30 which is a beautiful meditation on aging, feeling “out of touch,” resenting others who are “adulting” better than you are, and just generally mourning the passage of time. He does his own light show during this song, pressing pedals and rotating a handheld light around his nearly-naked body, orchestrating his own vulnerable self-exposure. (There is also a whole lotta bisexual lighting and genderless hotness in this song, tbh.)

• The catchiest song from the whole special, in my opinion, is a Lizzo-esque hiphop/pop tune that begins thusly: “Wake up at 11:30, feeling like a bag of shit. All my clothes are dirty, so I’m smelling like a bag of shit.” It goes on to paint a perfect picture of not only depression (which many other artists have tackled) but the specific brand of dark, self-effacing humor that can emerge out of a bad depressive spell. It’s not the most thematically complex song, especially compared to some of the others in this special, but it’s the one I find myself singing the most, and laughing at so hard that my depressed body shakes. (I’m listening to it right now as I write this, and dancing in my chair.) There is also just something about seeing a person perform a slick, upbeat song with perfect lighting choreography… while wearing a white T-shirt and baggy shorts. You get me, Bo.

• Probably the objectively best song in the special is “Welcome to the Internet,” an absolutely chilling and devastating takedown of the internet and the ways it corrupts our minds. After I watched this for the first time with my spouse, they observed, “I think that’s the best thing that’s ever been written about the internet,” and I had to agree. That’s high praise, friends.

• A low-key folk song toward the end of the special grapples with existential dread, climate change anxiety, and dissociation in the internet age. It’s the prettiest Bo’s voice has ever sounded, and perhaps the most sensitive and sincere he’s ever been. “There it is again,” he croons sweetly, sadly, “that funny feeling.” He never names exactly what “that funny feeling” is, but by the end of the song, I always feel like, Yep. I know that feeling. I know it well.

 

Overall, I simply cannot recommend this special enough for anyone who struggles with mental health, their relationship to the internet, the weirdness of being a public figure, and/or mounting dread about the state of humanity. It’s a “comedy special,” sure. It’s also a fucking masterpiece that depicts, better than anything I’ve ever seen or heard, what it’s like to be a certain type of human in this terrifying time. It’s given me comfort, solace, and laughs – if just because it showed me that I’m not the only one feeling “that funny feeling.” Not at all.

In Praise of the Humble Blindfold

Kate Sloan

Blindfolds are so versatile. I never regret bringing one with me while I travel, even if by “travel” I just mean “take the subway across the city for a sex-date.” Of all the products you can buy at a sex shop, I think blindfolds are right up there with lube in the category of “low price, high impact.”

The three uses of blindfolds that I enjoy most often are sleep, sensory deprivation, and anxiety reduction – let’s talk about ’em.

 

Sleep

For the past couple of months, I’ve been waking up refreshed when my alarm goes off at 9 a.m., and rarely wanting to go back to sleep. This may not sound like a huge deal, but for me it is. I’ve been a chronically sleepy person my entire life, as a side effect of depression, especially seasonal depression. Hell, even when I was in elementary school and had no diagnosed mental illnesses, sometimes teachers would tell my mom and dad in parent-teacher meetings that they worried I wasn’t getting enough sleep at home because I kept dozing off in class. Oops. (Look, I can’t help it that hearing someone read aloud from a novel in French is incredibly soothing… or that fractions are incredibly boring.)

So what’s changed? Why are my mornings suddenly energetic even sans coffee? I attribute this shift to my sleep mask. I’ve worn eye masks to bed sporadically over the years, but usually they didn’t fit right, or didn’t block out light very effectively, or were so uncomfortable that I would take them off in the middle of the night while half-asleep. It wasn’t until I bought this one – which is made of dark-colored, silky satin, padded for comfort, with a nose cut-out that works for my big schnoz – that I would go to sleep wearing a mask and wake up with it still positioned correctly on my face. So I started experiencing the benefits of sleeping with an eye mask on: deeper and more restful sleep, less insomnia, and fewer instances of waking up through the night. Truly astonishing.

If you have sleep troubles and haven’t yet tried an eye mask – or haven’t yet tried one that fits you properly and blocks out all the light within your field of vision – then I would highly recommend it. It’s maybe the best $12 I ever spent.

 

Sensory deprivation

I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that wearing a blindfold during sex can be hot; Cosmopolitan and Fifty Shades have done a good enough job of that already, their various flaws notwithstanding. But it’s often depicted as a novelty, a way to “spice things up,” while for me it’s a regular enough part of my sex life that I’d consider it a staple. Want to have sex like Kate Sloan does?! Get yourself an Eroscillator, an Eleven, and a blindfold. (Oh, and turn on a playlist filled with cheesy R&B and slow-roiling jazz.)

It’s true what they say about how reducing or eliminating one sense can turn up the sensitivity of the others. (Just listen to this recent Off the Cuffs interview with a blind dominatrix if you don’t believe me. God, she’s amazing.) When I’m wearing a blindfold, my nerve endings feel primed for all sensations, my ears perk up, and smells and tastes are more vivid and more erotic.

Blindfolds can also help reinforce a power dynamic, if you’re into that. Sight is, of course, one of the primary tools I use to guide myself through the world, assess situations, and make decisions – and when it’s removed, I’m stripped of most of my usual ways of processing information and figuring out what to do next. In a sexual context, this means that a blindfold can make me feel instantly powerless, even in the absence of other classic submissive props like cuffs or a ballgag. This is also one of the reasons they’re a must-have in the toolkit of any burgeoning or nervous dom – depending on how your sub reacts to them, they can bolster the power dynamic you’re trying to create, and may thereby bolster your confidence as a dominant.

 

Anxiety reduction

I’m no psychology researcher, so I can’t tell you how far-reaching this effect is – but blindfolds are massively helpful for me for treating mid-sex anxiety. Am I feeling shy and embarrassed? Put a blindfold on me. Hating my body that day? Put a blindfold on me. Distracted by the “New Message From Mom” notifications that keep popping up on my phone screen? Put a blindfold on me. (And also put that phone on Do Not Disturb!)

Blindfolds take a lot of pressure off, because you can’t reasonably be expected to do much of anything when you have one on. A blowjob is probably the most dexterous thing I ever do while blindfolded; anything more challenging would be nearly impossible. In this way, wearing a blindfold helps me relax into pleasure, or submission, or just being in the moment.

Blindfolds are also, as I’ve mentioned, potentially helpful for dominants who put ’em on their submissives. Part of my nervousness around taking the reins in bed is related to how I look while I’m doing it; I’ve never felt like a picture-perfect femdom, not least of which because I’m more likely wearing sweaty pajamas than leather and lace. But as soon as I blindfold my partner, I can take control without needing to worry about how I look – including how I look when I accidentally drop the flogger between the bed and the wall, or squirt myself in the face with lube. Whoops.

 

How have blindfolds improved your life, sexually or otherwise?

The 10 Best Things I’ve Ever Done For My Mental Health

Kate Sloan

When I got my first mental illness diagnosis in high school (seasonal affective disorder), I was bewildered. Up until then I had thought of myself as an eminently sane person, always sharp and on top of things. I’ve learned so much in the years since – not least of which, that mentally ill people can still be incredibly sharp and on top of things!

While I got that first diagnosis nearly a decade and a half ago, I haven’t always been great at managing my symptoms or processing my feelings. It’s been a slow learning process, and I still have a lot of work to do. But incase this is helpful info for any of you, here are the 10 biggest things I’ve done to improve my sense of mental and emotional balance and calm. A lot of these things are immensely complicated, though they may sound simple – but regardless, I’m glad to have done every single one of them.

Went on meds. This is an obvious one but it’s one you should at least consider if you’ve never tried it. For a long time I avoided asking my doctors about depression medication because I thought my low moods were mostly circumstantial, not neurochemical – but I eventually learned that depression easily masquerades as a simple reaction to shitty circumstances in your life. I went on sertraline (generic Zoloft) for a short period, but the sexual side effects (for me: genital numbness and inability to orgasm) were a dealbreaker. Years later, I went on bupropion (Wellbutrin), one of the only depression meds not known to cause sexual side effects. I’ve been on it for over a year now, and while I definitely still have my depressed days, overall my mood is markedly better.

Got a SAD lamp. Well, more accurately, my parents got me a SAD lamp – in 2007. Remarkably, it still works today even though I’ve never replaced the lightbulbs?! Well-played, Day-Light. This useful gadget shines bright, specially-toned light in your face, and is known to alleviate depression for some people, especially those with seasonal affective disorder. When I’m feeling lethargic and gloomy, I’ll often sit at my desk and read, write, or watch something on my computer while the lamp is on. About 30-45 minutes of daily lamp time does wonders for my mood and energy levels.

Moved out of an unhealthy living environment… and into a room with a much bigger window. A twofer! My last roommate, for reasons partly under her control, regularly aggravated my mental and physical health problems with her habits and behaviors. Maybe other people could live with her, but I sure couldn’t, so I got out of there and moved in with a friend – and I’ve felt much calmer, happier, and healthier since then. It helps that almost one entire wall of my current room is taken up by a ginormous window, since – as we’ve discussed – my depression is very responsive to light or lack thereof.

Started using marijuana medicinally. I mean, I use it recreationally too. But becoming aware of its potential therapeutic benefits for my particular body and brain was a game-changer. High-CBD strains are great when my anxiety throws me off the rails, while more THC-centric strains enable me to rediscover joy, laughter, and pleasure when I’m so depressed that these things feel inaccessible. Weed also helps enormously with my chronic pain – so, while I can’t really use it when I’m working and need to stay sharp, on many difficult days it helps me push through my physical and emotional symptoms so I can function and get stuff done.

Learned CBT techniques in therapy. I’ve been to several different therapists and most of them weren’t that helpful to me, honestly. I never found it terribly useful to talk through my day-to-day trials and tribulations with someone who lacked the proper context and knowledge to really help me (e.g. a familiarity with polyamory or kink). Cognitive-behavioral therapy, on the other hand, involves “homework” – assignments, whether written down or more experiential, that help you practice cognitive strategies for improving your moods and your life. Not everyone finds CBT beneficial, largely because it presupposes that your mental discomfort is at least partly the result of errors in thinking, rather than having a neurochemical basis. But errors in thinking do contribute to my depression and anxiety, and correcting those errors using CBT is often markedly helpful for me.

Codified my coping strategies. By which I mean: wrote them down in many places where I’ll see them every day, and eventually memorized some of them such that they will usually come to mind as plausible options even when I’m too depressed to think. This might sound small and obvious, but it’s not – my depressed brain is very bad at knowing how to even take small steps toward improving how I feel, so it’s important that I keep practicing and reminding myself of the coping strategies that work, in any way I can.

Subscribed to several podcasts I love. Podcasts are one of the first distractions I turn to when I need to take my mind off my emotional malaise. They pull me out of my own brain and absorb me with their stories and jokes. Whether I’m listening to a comedy advice show hosted by genial brothers, a sharp play-by-play of a famous historical incident, or a roast of a terrible movie, podcasts make me feel less alone, and less wrapped up in my own problems.

Strengthened my journaling habit. I’ve always journaled, but since developing mental health conditions, I’ve started to view this practice as less optional and more necessary. Emotional processing is immensely valuable, and I also like being able to look back at old journal entries and see that the things I was so scared about, or depressed by, rarely turned out to be as bad as they seemed. That knowledge and perspective gives me strength I would otherwise find hard to access.

Committed to daily to-do lists. Alexandra Franzen calls hers a checklist; call yours whatever you want! All I know is that before I started keeping a to-do list every weekday – which, incidentally, my dominant has access to – I was much more scattered than I am now. I had less of a sense of what needed to get done, and accordingly, less of a sense of how much I’d truly achieved by the end of a long day – and how much celebration that merited! Checking items off a list gives the brain a hit of dopamine that can be really calming and centering, for a depressed person or really for anyone. I highly recommend it.

Started talking about mental health with my loved ones more regularly. I feel like it’s become much more acceptable to discuss this kind of thing, publicly and privately, over the past decade or two. Although I am sometimes tempted to keep my struggles internal so I don’t have to trouble anyone else with them, I always feel better after talking through my moods with a trusted pal, partner, or family member. Their support is monumental.

What strategies have helped you most with your mental health?

Party-Going Tips For Shy, Anxious Introverts

Kate Sloan
Hanging out with Jaymz Bee at a jazz loft party in 2015.

Content note: This post will touch on social anxiety, alcohol, and drugs.

Parties are simultaneously the bane of my existence and some of my most looked-forward-to events. I’m sure some of the introverts reading this can relate! I love the getting-ready part and the chatting-tipsily-with-cool-people part; it’s the part in between that usually makes me nervous – sometimes to the point of not wanting to attend at all! If this sounds familiar, don’t worry: I’ve got some tips to help you get through the next party you attend. Here we go…

Wear at least one “conversation piece.”

Getting ready for a party feels to me like casting a magic spell. It sets the tone for the whole event and lays the groundwork for how I will feel, and how I will be perceived. One thing I always try to do when assembling a party ensemble is to include clothing items and accessories that are eye-catching, a little odd, and easy for someone to comment on or ask about. As you probably know, one of the trickiest things about approaching new people at a party is not knowing what to say – so by wearing something worth remarking upon, you’re doing the other party-goers a favor by giving them a free conversation starter to use with you! Some of my fave eye-poppin’ pieces are flashy heart-shaped jewelry, oversized hair accessories, enamel pins, bright-colored lipstick, and really great shoes.

Tell yourself you only have to stay for an hour.

I do this for almost every party I ever go to, and in almost every case, I end up staying longer than that one hour. It’s just a way of tricking my brain into letting me attend the party, because I know I can get through an hour, even if the whole hour sucks (which it never does). This is also a way I take care of myself: if I genuinely want to leave after an hour, it’s almost certainly because either the party is bad or there is something going on with my physical or mental health that’s making it difficult for me to enjoy myself – and in either case, I’d be happier at home on the couch, wrapped in a blanket and watching Netflix. If you’re attending a party with other people, you might want to tell them about your time-limit plan, too – this is a way of setting expectations so you don’t disappoint your party-animal friends when you’re walking out the door while their night’s just getting started. (Remember: even if you live together, you don’t have to leave the party at the same time!)

Keep your eyes up and your body language open.

I went to a raucous party full of mostly strangers with my partner last week (more on that soon) and noticed that way more people came up and talked to us than would ever approach me if I’d been there by myself. Setting aside the fact that my partner is very handsome and magnetic (which they are), I think this phenomenon mostly occurred because my energy was totally different than it would’ve been if I was alone. I wasn’t hunched over my phone in a corner, or affecting faux-blasé body language to seem cool and aloof – I was looking around the room, bright-eyed and phoneless, curious about who we could talk to next. Of course people wanted to meet us! Consider adapting the way you hold yourself, behave, and look at folks the next time you attend a party – it could totally transform your experience.

Come up with a go-to line to start a conversation.

Asking someone how they know the host is usually a safe bet. Complimenting some aspect of their outfit, as we’ve discussed, is another. If a holiday is coming up or has just passed, you can ask someone how they spent it or plan to spend it. Dating coach Camille Virginia recommends commenting on something in your environment – like, “Wow, this playlist is incredible,” or “[The host] always throws such great parties.” If you’re feeling a little braver, you could also just ask people one of these 100 questions Alex Franzen recommends – they might think you’re a bit of a weirdo at first, but then they’ll probably be excited to answer such an interesting question!

Watch your alcohol/drugs intake.

Look, I’m not going to tell you how to live your life; I’m not your dad. I just know that when I feel anxious at a party, I often lean too hard on substances, both to alleviate my mental discomfort and to give me something to do with my hands so I feel less awkward. If I get too drunk or too high, I almost invariably end up doing something I regret – often something embarrassing enough to give me even more anxiety the next day when I remember what happened! Naturally, this topic is extra fraught for people who struggle with addiction, or have done so in the past: parties can be a very triggering or challenging environment. When I’m trying to lay off the substances at a party, I’ll usually pour a non-alcoholic beverage (or even just water) into my glass and sip on that, or nibble on a snack – both help me feel less out-of-place and awkward, without getting me wasted.

Find one person and make them feel fascinating.

One of the reasons parties stress me out is that I feel a pressure to talk to tons of people – but the truth is, I often have my best party-going experiences when I only have one or two intense, intimate conversations, as opposed to several more casual or perfunctory ones. This jives with what some social psychology thinkers say about how introverts hate small talk and much prefer more soul-baring interactions. If you can find even just one person at the party who has an interesting job, or majored in something cool, or has an amazing outfit on, or is obsessed with the same TV show as you, you can ask a zillion follow-up questions (so long as they seem up for that) and go deep with this one person instead of swimming around in the shallow end with a bunch of people you barely know.

Take breaks when you need to.

Remember what I said earlier about how you should keep your phone tucked away and your eyes up? Yeahhh, there’s only so long I can do that for. Most of my introverted friends have some sort of system for taking periodic breaks at parties, whether they like to head outside for a smoke, step out on the balcony for a quiet moment alone, or hole up in the bathroom to check their email (just be mindful that other guests might need to pee!). At particularly crowded parties, sometimes you can take a time-out just by sitting in the corner by yourself and texting a friend or reading an article on your phone. (I used to have a friend who would legit bring a book to every party and unabashedly pull it out to read when she needed a moment of simulated solitude… Kudos.) You might find your brain feels more juiced up and socially energetic after even a brief breather, so you can get back in there and keep the party going.

Help with party logistics if you can.

Ask the host if you can help make drinks, collect used dishes, take people’s coats, run the evening’s game of Charades, or whatever other practical things need doing. This’ll help you feel less awkwardly aimless, while also giving you a low-pressure opportunity to meet and talk to a lot of the other attendees. Plus you’ll be helping out the host, who is probably rushed off their feet!

See someone standing alone? Go talk to them.

They’re probably one of your own kind! And they’ll almost certainly be grateful you bothered. A simple “Hey! How’s your night going?” can turn someone’s whole evening around. Similarly, if you’re standing in a group and you see one or two people nearby looking left out, invite them into your circle. Parties are supposed to be all about mingling, after all!

Exit conversations gracefully.

I’m not always the best at this. Sometimes you want to leave an interaction, either because you’re getting socially overwhelmed or you just… don’t really like the person you’re talking to. It’s possible to do this without seeming rude, but most people aren’t very good at it! Try one of these lines: “Well, it was nice talking to you. I’m gonna mill around.” “It was so good to meet you – have a good time tonight!” You could also just make up an excuse (“I have to go to the bathroom,” “I have to go help my friend with something,” “I have to make a phone call”) but the truth is better, and often kinder.

Recharge as needed when you get home.

You probably know what kinds of activities help you reset your brain after expending a lot of social energy. I like to get in a hot bath with a book, watch some silly YouTube videos, or just stare mindlessly at my phone for a while. Whatever works best for you, do it – not only because you need it, but also because you’ll start to associate parties with that horrible drained feeling if you let yourself linger in that mood for too long after a party. Doing proper post-event self-care helps keep your relationship to parties a positive one!

What are your best tips for going to parties as a shy, anxious, and/or introverted person?

12 Days of Girly Juice 2019: 6 Journal Entries

Kate Sloan

I didn’t journal as much in 2019 as I usually do, in part because I was super busy and seemingly constantly traveling… That said, here are 6 of my fave journal entries from the year. They’re all, um, mostly variations on a theme, you could say…

January 1st

Late one night I got a bit panicky and started to feel derealization-y, like I might not be real or Matt might not be (hello, irrational delusions borne of insecurity, my old friends), and they were so good: they had me tell them the story of how we met so I’d remember we are real, and then they gave me a long, thorough, skillful, cathartic spanking while I wept it all out.

We stayed up until 4 a.m. after getting home from the New Year’s Eve party at 1 a.m., having sex and talking and laughing and basically trying to stretch out the last remaining hours before we had to check out of the hotel and say goodbye. They told me, at one point, that they feel like we “fit” together so well – “sexually, intellectually, emotionally, comedically” – that we understand each other and just “get” each other. “It’s not even blind optimism anymore at this point,” they said. “We’re a year in. It’s real.” I didn’t want to go to sleep. I wanted to stay there, giggling with them in the liminal space that is a hotel bed at 3 a.m. on New Year’s with someone you love in a city that isn’t your own.

Today, close to goodbye time, I cried, and they licked my tears off my face and told me how cool it would be to rim a drink with their submissive’s salty tears (what a perv). I said, “I don’t want to be without you,” and they told me I’m not without them; we’ll still be together even when we’re apart, like always. On New Year’s Eve they ordered two glasses of champagne for us at Augustine and raised a toast to “an amazing year, and many more” – so certain about it, in a way I’ve never been able to be, and it made me cry, just like it does when they sense my fear and grab my face and stare seriously into my eyes and say, “I’m not going anywhere.” I cried in the taxi and said, “We match, right?” – our code-phrase for “We are both feeling these intense feelings for each other, right?” – and they said, “Oh, 100%.”

February 15th

I had the mini-revelation recently that part of the reason I’ve been semi-unconsciously drawn to unrequited love dynamics my whole life might be that they provide me what seems like a socially acceptable justification for my ever-present melancholy. It’s, in some ways, even harder to accept my depression now that I’m in essentially my dream career and my dream relationship, because evidently nothing is causing this sadness but my own damn brain.

May 30th

I’ve spent a lot of time wondering why I have such fucked-up abandonment/anxious attachment issues when I wasn’t abused or abandoned as a kid and was actually really loved and sheltered and protected. I don’t remember when exactly these feelings first surfaced, but I know they’re related to S___, G___, and C___. From those relationships, I learned that someone can abandon you:

  • unexpectedly and totally out of the blue
  • very expectedly
  • for things you can’t change
  • for reasons you’ll never know
  • even after promising they wouldn’t
  • even knowing you have abandonment issues
  • even if you’ve known them for a long time
  • for someone else
  • for no one else
  • even if they seemed to like or love you

It feels like there’s not a single condition under which I’m safe from being abandoned. And the work I need to do is becoming okay with that reality, and being able to trust enough to function in relationships even with that possibility being present. My fears of abandonment are just trying to protect me, the emotional thought process being that if I can see the hurt coming before it hits, I can spare myself the heartache. But that’s false because, even in relationships where I constantly suspected I was about to be dumped, the dumping hurt just as bad. It’s going to hurt whether you forecast it or not.

I jump a lot to catastrophizing – “They’re going to leave me and therefore I’m not safe” – and I need to moreso encourage the thought, “What if they’re going to stay with me and I’m safe?” There’s much more evidence of that. It’s just hard to convince a traumatized brain of these things.

August 2nd

I’ve probably written this before but I feel as if my life has been tugging me toward New York since I was about ten years old. I wanted to live there for a long time, first to become a musical theatre performer and later just because I liked it there. But as I got older I came to understand that the immigration process and the expense of the city probably would keep me here. I love Toronto, after all, and my life here, and my friends and family, and the Canadian healthcare system, and this city’s largely positive attitudes toward queerness and kink and multiculturalism. I could stay here and be happy, except that I wouldn’t be with Matt.

A person I’m in love with is pretty much the only force that could drag me to another country at this point, and it almost feels like Matt was sent to me to (among other things) usher me into that city I’ve half-wanted to live in for so long. They’ve told me that if and when I decide to move there, they will make it their number-one project to figure out how to make that happen.

The problem of trying to get me there is the biggest and scariest thing in my life right now, but it’s a good problem to have. And I know that in Matt I have a partner who is willing to go basically to the ends of the earth to unite us on a more permanent basis.

September 2nd

Having kind of a dissociate-y day where it’s difficult for me to grasp that Matt is really my partner. They’re so beautiful and perfect that often in the early days of our relationship, and still sometimes even now, I had the sense that my life wasn’t really my life but was actually a movie I was watching, perhaps through the slitted eyes of a mask, perhaps in some kind of virtual-reality simulation that inserted me into someone else’s story like a Mary Sue in a piece of fanfiction. It’s odd to hear someone gorgeous, brilliant and accomplished describe you in those terms too when you don’t, to your core, believe them about yourself. For these nearly 2 years my life has felt sort of like a wrong classroom I walked into accidentally and just never left.

October 18th

It’s 2019 and I have been dating Matt for 22 months and I am still sometimes convinced I’m going to wake up from this dream. This life is not dreamy in the idyllic sense – I fight off psoriasis and chronic pain, I struggle sometimes to make my rent, I fight with friends and cry in bed and spend too much time on Twitter – but this one part of it feels like a dream, my connection with Matt. I feel like two kids stacked inside a trench coat, pretending to be a competent adult who’s good at relationships, pretending this relationship is just a normal and expected thing and not an earth-shattering inferno that exploded my life into something bigger and better. I keep waiting for my beloved to find me out or leave or disintegrate. But they ruffle my hair and say “I’m not going anywhere, kiddo,” and I can breathe for another few hours.

Together we regularly interrogate the concept of “deserving” love, deserving this relationship. Love isn’t transferrable like money or a contest prize: I don’t have to deserve it to have it. I have Matt’s love because they want to give it to me and specifically me, and that’s true even on days when I feel utterly undeserving. Telling them I don’t deserve them isn’t nice, is actually mean: it’s saying I doubt their taste and dismiss their agency, pushing them away, telling them one of their biggest and most central feelings is irrational and ill-informed. I should learn to accept their love like a compliment: say “thank you” and smile, even if you don’t agree, even if you don’t believe. They are entitled to their opinion and their opinion is that I’m worth loving. Somehow.

Got any favorite journal entries from 2019 to share?