The Diary of an Angsty Sulker

From time to time during a teenager's life, all that you could possibly wish and ask for - without a guarantee of obtaining it - is to be left to your own devices, completely free of tantrum-provoking younger siblings trying their hardest to wind you up or people constantly questioning the stability of your up-in-the-clouds mind. Whilst staying true to my oh-so-natural tendencies, I'm hardly ever immune to getting the desirous urge to hide away from the world every so often for reasons which don't automatically spring to mind; basically, if I suddenly want to be cooped up in my bedroom without being rudely interrupted for the duration of a miserably grey afternoon, I do all that I possibly can to fulfill my wish as requested though, as many of us quickly learn, some things are easier said than done.

Therefore, this leads me to spill the beans regarding my curiosity for teenagers' natural instinct to run away from the embrace of an often too loud and sociable society at this particular age which, after hitting the big 1-3 over two years ago, my workaholic-style brain hasn't quite figured out nor have made a revolutionary discovery within the scientific lab located within my bedroom. Just why do we have a desire more stronger than we will probably ever know in later life to cut ourselves from the outside world, purely listening to the all-powerful urge to explore life and think alone? If anybody can conjure a reply which wouldn't look out of place on decade-long research, a decently sized cheque containing my pocket money will be bound to arrive on your doorstep, but at this time in our lives, I don't quite believe that anybody is truly capable of distinguishing various feelings and wilder-than-a-feral-animal emotions which are included in the hefty package of being a temper-flaring, yet intelligent adolescent.

As I lie on top of my bed and place one watchful eye upon my door (for those unaware with myopia, this is not an eye-resting exercise; even when one relaxes, two mischievous kittens must always be watched), I'm indulging in my out-of-the-blue need to enjoy some me time without the disruption of my little brother who, when Chelsea aren't being faced the potential prospect of being kicked out of the Champions League or has run out of episodes of the unpleasantly explicit cartoon South Park on the Sky Planner, takes immense pleasure in getting on my nerves by producing noises which I daren't go into full-on detail on this PG-rated blog.

Although the option to stretch my legs like a just-awoken cat in the lounge downstairs is always available to me, there is something more personal about hanging out in my bedroom which has constantly remained as the 'go-to' area whenever life becomes too much of a needless bother and I'm beyond desperate to find a place which couldn't be further unassociated with the tiny, yet exasperating issues which plague everyday life. Like the kittens' section of the kitchen which they herald as their Games of Yhrones-inspired kingdom, this bedroom could never be mistaken as somebody else's territory because it is mine (obviously the Hello Kitty pillow is a huge reminder of this), and regardless of whether I choose to go, I'm always welcome to returning to my bedroom which is typically the setting for my few-and-far-between 'alone times'.

Even after years of experiencing the need to flee from performing various duties (chopping the tear-streaming onions noless) and wishing I could be wrapped into an unbreakable bubble which would make me immune from communicating or moaning about the lack of digestives left in the biscuit tin, it remains as much of a mystery as does Scooby Doo's ability to constantly stuff himself because of why I may lose the urge to immerse myself into socializing with people and re-emerge into a person whom I don't truly recognize, all former traces of my fun-loving personality disappearing like a relieving breeze.

Since creating this blog, you and I have probably become familiar with my think-on-the-spot temper which flares like an uncontrollable flame (there goes my reason for loathing bonfires) and, at times like these, it can often provoke me to lose all sense of my values and fly into a sulk which everybody knows about. Of course, there is no way that my little brother or parents' can shrug off the abrupt change in the typically peaceful atmosphere when my mood shifts into a style which is hardly ever associated with myself and, beneath the lashings of teenage angst, I'm annoyed by the fact that I give these rarely-seen emotions full rein to do whatever they like, like shamed ministers being granted permission to spend the taxpayers' money on extravagant holidays or meals at critically acclaimed restaurants. Whether I decide to acknowledge the truth or pull the blindfolds down in fear of being riddled with gut-wrenching shame, it is my fault when I wallow in self-pity without offering an acceptable reason for my compulsive actions - but, despite accepting these well-known facts, why do I continue to take a trip down Angsty Lane whenever the moment takes me?

In general, I like to believe - yes, there hasn't even been an actual confirmation relating to my long-followed theory - that, unlike the so-called 'majority' of modern day teenagers, I've always steered clear of unleashing selfishness upon anybody, constantly making an effort to helping others and resisting the temptation to put myself first, a desire of which continues to bubble underneath the surface. So what happens when a wave of compulsive thinking bursts through the surface and consumes me like I gobble a bag of salted pretzels at lunchtime? Without any given warning, I keep to myself, which leads to my losing interest in engaging in what I would usually find fascinating conversations and becoming accustomed to an irritability which even aliens from outer-space galaxies could potentially sense. In other words, I'm a quiet, if not secretly annoyed sulker who relishes nothing more than escaping to the haven known as my bedroom (a.k.a. kingdom/cat-like territory); even a handful of mood-lifting nuts are immune to shifting the angst meddling with my soul, and only time is the cure to destroying the ash-like cloud which is the sole barrier to my finding happiness and, most importantly, myself.

But, as I've learnt through experience and plenty of failures at finding a dreamlike cure, expressing myself through the best outlet possible - such as painting a picture conveying one's emotions, writing or playing a song and, my favourite of all, writing in a diary - truly helps me sort through my mind which, at the worst of times, is as confusing and crazy as the endless amount of aisles in a gigantic Ikea store. When I first sat down to write this around an hour ago, so many unnameable emotions - like annoyance, tiredness and the obvious urge to shut myself away from society - were whirling like a cyclone in my head, but by getting the facts onto paper (or laptop screen, as it should rather be known), I can see beyond the angst which took my breath away a short while ago. And, regardless of the rain pelting on the windows outside and the unlikely possibility of sunshine spilling onto the soaked farmland, a shining light is more visible than I'd given myself enough credit to witness, which truly dispels my fantasy of locking the door shut and staring at the need-to-be-painted wall for several hours.

What amuses me the most is that I lose my temper over the most silliest things known to mankind, which is a definite indicator of my immaturity and the often forgotten fact that I still have an enormous way to go until I morph into an adult, whom I sincerely hope will have long waved goodbye to short-lived bursts of adolescent angst and childish sulks.

Here, along with mastering the art of applying eyeliner properly, is another lesson learnt: I laugh, I smile and I cheer. But I'm not entirely immune to sulking, bursting into mascara-streaked tears and getting annoyed over something which I cannot quite remember.

At the end of the day, I'm a teenager who has yet to finish her education - but do any of us ever completely stop learning?