Bridget Jones vs. the World

I am not the voice of a generation.

But I hear Bridget Jones is coming back.  Hopefully (for her neuroses sake) not bigger, but updated to the modern era with twitter account and Facebook profile.

I'm sorry.  Twitter AND Facebook - and still writing a diary???

Hmm...

I sense a money-spinning opportunity more than a true cause for the 'fag end of the baby boomer generation' (thank you Guardian journalist for your derisive quote which saves me from being vile, personally, but only by proxy).  The voice for someone still anxious about weight, smoking, dating and...well...just about everything is undoubtedly still relevant.  I am not nearing mid-40, nor would I want to belittle those that are by suggesting that all neuroses should have been worked through and out of themselves by the time they are nearing middle age.

In fact, I could make a good case for the fact that there is never any end to insecurity - particularly on the part of women in the modern world.  Media (the very industry in which dear Bridget worked) is responsible for our anxiety.  Peer pressure is responsible for the immediacy of it.  We are just so overexposed in these lives we lead.  We see too many Chelsea's, TOWIE's and Kardashians to be immune from what 'others' are living.  We have too much access to 24-hour news to be immune from the world at large.  And there is far too much chitter-chatter (or twitter-chatter) to be isolated from the instant and constant contact with the general public, the vaguely famous, the mega-celebrity and the propaganda machines of the superstar and the wannabe, the icons and those with notoriety.  We see too much - and not all of it is real, in fact most of it is fabricated reality.

And we, because we are human beings with motor neurons which positively DEMAND mimicry and comparison from our genetic brain structures, imitate.  We emulate the renowned because we assume they are more secure in their behaviourisms.  They're publishing them after all.  We envy those who seem secure in their position: whether financially, socially, physically, emotionally or behaviourally.  We attempt to replicate their actions, their investments, their ideologies, their weird idiosyncrasies and their personalities.  We assume that their level of fame means that their degree of being is somehow aspirational - or at least should be - for us, the general populus.

We are brought up to assume that anything is possible and that any life we can watch we can live.  In a world of instant celebrity and few true admirable icons...  there's just a saturation of stuff which leaves us lost, more neurotic than ever that we're not subscribing to one or other idea, faith, practice, exercise regime, fad diet or self-improvement strategy.

All of which brings me right back to dear old Bridget.  Bridget was, and perhaps still is, the voice of the neurotic female.  Was she the voice of a generation?  Perhaps.  She was certainly the last of the fictional characters (or indeed the bloggers) who was able to be the voice of a large swathe of the population.

It seems to me that whatever the new Bridget Jones book brings, she will no longer be able to be the voice of an entire generation.  I don't see how anyone, in this diverse world which is a web of multi-sensory, multifaceted experiences, can claim to speak for a generation.  Or a sector.  I think we've even become the kind of people who resent those who even have the gall to claim that they do.

So no, not even me - I am not the voice of my generation.  I am a young 26 year old in the throes of a major illness which I am only just coming to understand and a long way off coming to terms with.  I am a mess of neuroses - I have so many crazy food obsessiveness-es, so many crazy behavioural coping strategies which allow me to get through life.  I am OCD about things because I have trained myself to be.  I have a mess of fears about myself and am a complex combination of self-confidence and self-questioning.  I have the associated self-doubt which comes with the seeming injustice of having 'lost' a life which I actually never had in the first place.  I am a mixture of regret about the life that I am not living and a raging fury to try and access the life that I now want to lead.

And somewhere in the middle I try to find the self-acceptance which helps me just make it through the day with a clean conscience.  I am a seriously nice person, I care far too much about other people and love to engage with others on any level.  I'm frightened about my future but mostly I just spend my days trying to deal with the fact that I am living within a body that is permanently attacking itself when it comes into contact with external things.  I occupy a body that is at war, always.  I feel tormented by the whole process of staying alive and yet I push harder than hell because I think that there must be something in this life for me.

But does that mean that I don't weight myself each morning?  No.  Does that mean that I don't care about the vain stuff?  No.  Does it mean that I don't crucify myself with guilt about eating something I shouldn't?  Not a chance.  Does it mean that simply because I live right on the edge of struggle that the fluffy, superficial cosmetic stuff doesn't matter?  No way.  It matters MORE.

Because the frivolity, the fluff, the superficial, the superfluous, the cosmetic and the luxury - these are the things that make life FEEL good.  It can be hell, but hell in good shoes is better.  It can hurt - but hurting with a hell of a hairdo and a fresh manicure is somehow more easy to deal with.  And so often life is torture.  But looking forward to being somebody, to owning responsibility and to living a dream in which I get to interact with those more rich, famous and carefree than I - that's what makes life living for me.

I have touched death.  It doesn't mean that life is more serious.  It doesn't mean that the frou-frou Bridget Jones concerns don't matter.  My weight, those foods I didn't want to eat, those experiences of complete escapism that I wish I was having - they are the fundamentals.  It is not whether I can have them, it's whether I can dream them.  And perhaps it's for all the wrong reasons but true bliss in life comes from being able to live with the person you are.  Being OK with the you that you are being.  I'm sorry if its vain but trim and toned, sexy and not bloated, trained and not in pain - that feels better to me.  Someone who eats calories of nourishment not empty calories of sugar.  That is what I can mentally accept more as a person.  And THAT is where I know the mind influences the body through its epigenetic role.  The mind CAN change the physical because the body doesn't care, it doesn't have a phyiscal prejorative or a moral code.

But the mind does.  And the mind can approve or disapprove of the physical reality.  Life is easier and true bliss exists at the zenith of connection where mind is content with body.  Where our heads feel ok in our beings.  And mine, just like Bridget Jones' and millions of others across the planet, doesn't.

So that's where I envy and emulate.  I will always look for the technique to help my body be more acceptable to my mind.  In that bliss will I see relief from the trauma of the fight I live inside a body with Mast Cell Activation issues and numerous hypersensitive autoimmune reactions.  My only wish is for a quick and hasty process to getting to that place.