Exciting Times

by Naoise Dolan

I’d been sad in Dublin, decided it was Dublin’s fault, and thought Hong Kong would help.

The trouble with my body was that I had to carry it around with me.

I knew I loathed him – not least because I was fully aware that if he told me to jump off a bridge, I’d say: Golden Gate or Sydney Harbour? – but I now wondered if I mightn’t also hate him.

Mam texted asking how I was. I typed: i am very unhappy. Autofill offered three different negative emojis. I tapped one and it replaced the word ‘unhappy’ with a sad face. Then I deleted the draft and sent one saying I was grand.

‘I work hard, it’s good to work hard, but I hate it. I just want my mum to be proud of me. Which is stupid, because the things she values aren’t the things I value, but she’s my mum. I care what she thinks.’

‘You keep describing yourself as this uniquely damaged person, when a lot of it is completely normal. I think you want to feel special – which is fair, who doesn’t – but you won’t allow yourself to feel special in a good way, so you tell yourself you’re especially bad.’