New Year For The Neurotic

The prospect of the "New Year" holds a certain mythic symbolism for us. Every year the same macabre charade; the promise of change, the chance to become who we want to be instead of what we've ended up as. Another chance to shake away the apathy that hangs from us like cobwebs. Each resolution more ridiculous than the last, because you know you are running out of time. You're near thirty. What have you achieved? You are overweight, unattractive, unfulfilled, and talentless. The fear of failure looms large over us this time of year. We buy magazines, diet pills, how-to and self-help books. We stockpile these talismans; we surround ourselves with aspiration in the hopes that we too will achieve. It is cultural superstition endorsed in excess by those who profit from our insecurities and self hatred. An arbitrary date will not alter your personality. You will still be the same intrinsically flawed human being you were at the start of the year as you were at the end.

I am 100% on track for my New Year's Resolution of winning the Turner Prize.

Well, that’s what the bastards would have you believe. But in an uncharacteristically optimistic turn, I am here to tell you that, even though everything is pointless and your life is just one long meaningless march towards the grave, sometimes it’s nice to be in complete denial of your own limitations. For example, my New Year’s Resolution is to become a ballerina. At twenty-three years old, slightly asthmatic, with the flexibility of an iron rod and weighing in probably at the weight of twelve ballerinas combined,  some may say that this isn’t going to happen for me. To those cunts, I say, HATERS GONNA HATE. If I want to be a mother-fucking ballerina (not literally, I mean, I love my mother, but not in that way okay) then I will be. Yes, it could all end in tears, disappointment and despair, but most of my days end that way anyway. At least this way, there is a little glimmer of light in the abyss of my life.

Because ballet worked out so well for Natalie Portman.

People may laugh at those American Idol and X Factor contestants who have achieved such astonishing levels of denial that they are actually probably experiencing psychotic delusions, but you know what, I think those guys have the right idea. Why should we be realistic? Reality is terrible. I would much rather be completely self-deluded and believe that I am super-model hot with the voice of Christina Aguilera and the IQ of Einstein than face the reality that at the very best, I am poor to mediocre at almost everything I turn my hand to.

Who do these delusions really hurt? Certainly not the deluded. Other people only want you to face reality because they are jealous of how wonderful you feel when you are completely and utterly delusional. Imagine living entirely free from doubt. Your black-out drinking is just a charming eccentricity. Not many people could pull off a see-through orange plether cat-suit, but baby, you work it.

If you want to take this one step further and free yourself from the shackles of social propriety, then you might want to consider making solipsism your new years resolution. Dictionary.com defines solipsism as “the theory that only the self exists, or can be proved to exist.” This seems like the solution to every problem facing the socially awkward and unnecessarily angry teenager, whose parent’s still don’t quite believe the doctor’s reassurances that it isn’t autism. Rejected by the girl of your dreams? Doesn't matter, she doesn't exist! She is quite literally, the girl of your dreams; a figment of your omnipotent imagination. Failed your A-levels? Doesn't matter! 'F' is an arbitrary grade invented by your mind and you control your mind, so there is nothing to worry about. Drunk and crying in public, again? Doesn't matter! Nobody can see you because no one else exists. You are the centre of the world and the world is a pretty sweet place to be when you no longer have to worry about other people’s ‘feelings’. Solipsism means never having to say you're sorry.

Haters gonna hate.

Here’s an example from my own life of the joys of denial. I went out clubbing last Friday and woke up convinced that I had spent the night delighting my friends with my sparkling wit and easy charm. Instead, I was informed that I spent the entire time spilling other people’s drinks, slurring insults at strangers and apparently punching someone in the face. Repeatedly. But instead of holding on to those feelings of guilt, shame and fear that I might have to make an appearance in court quite soon, I decided to ignore all the evidence of my multiple transgressions and instead embrace the delights of denial.

Delusions

Reality

So, here are my self-awareness free resolutions for 2012:

1. Win the Pulitzer Prize with my debut novel “Brucey Boucher”
2. Become the face of Chanel
3. Master time travel
4. Survive the year with my dignity intact