blackout ♕ bay

Ugh. Do you ever get that feeling?

No, not that one. That's a good feeling — pain is pleasure sometimes. One day, you'll be brave enough to find that one out for yourself.

This is, like, a bad feeling. Pit in the stomach kind of vibes, and you know what? It's kinda putting me on the edge of a breakdown. I can feel my senses closing off a little, my eyes are becoming glazed by a tint of red and my skin is becoming warm. If this is anything like the menopause, Mother Nature can fucking keep it. Besides, I'm not even thirty and I haven't given birth to the future princess of pop yet.

Trust me, she'll be thankful when she's rich and famous. And I'll thank myself too.

This feeling is like the worst stab in the back. Because I've just found out something that is going to scar me and my reputation forever. I'm a player, sure, everyone knows that. I've had my fair share of scandals, thankfully no sex tapes, yet, but it's safe to say that nowadays I'm famous for just kinda... being famous. Long gone are the days of my gossip column and writing a sexy, little fashion blog criticising everyone who is anyone from the comfort of my sneakers. Long gone is the era of pretending to be dumb to make it big, falling in love and getting my heartbroken, spinning that heartbreak into something worthy of years and years of news articles... yeah, I'm a player alright — always have been, always will be.

But today, whilst I was finishing up getting my mani-pedi, I found out that I have been outplayed.

A rhinestone encrusted knife shoved straight into my back. Pink blood absolutely everywhere and oh my god, there's no emergency services coming to save me. This pain is unbearable and this is definitely going to be included in those ranking videos — top ten most embarrassing things to happen to Bay this year — yeah, I can already see it now. This is going to be number one. This is literally the death of my social life. I'm not going to have friends anymore, like, I think I'm finally over.

I guess it could be worse. I could be cancelled.

Actually, no. This is the worst thing to ever happen to me. I'm basically royalty at this point and I wasn't even invited to the biggest-fuck-off-party of the year. How do you even have a party without me? I'm everything you could possibly need at a party. I can deejay, I can serve (both fashion and drinks, but only the latter if I am paid enough), I can dance, I can sing (with a bit of help from my bestie, Otto Chune) and I provide the world's best entertainment services. I'm a walking, talking, not to mention gorgeous, darling of a party animal and these young Capitolites had the nerve to not invite me to their gala?

Oh my god. I sound like a boomer. How can I be mad at young Capitolites when I am one? I gasp. Oh my god, maybe this is a sign that I need more plastic surgery.

Really, this just feels reductive. I've seen so many articles saying that I paved the way for this new era of Capitolites and to see them act in this way is disheartening and disrespectful. I was crucified for the things they do freely now — crucified, bitch, they chased me with pitchforks for even suggesting that President Snow should've worn at least a kitten heel in his open casket.

I don't know how I am ever going to show my face in public after all of this. The biggest party of the year and I didn't get invited... it's just... it's just awful. I'm surprised my army of Baywatchers haven't doxed these celebrities and sent death threats in their private messages.

This is horrible. I can feel the whispers of my downfall crawling all over me. I'm itchy and this time, it's not fucking crabs. There's no pill to take, no ointment to apply — this is mental illness. I've never felt so seen within the security of my own home, in fact, I've never felt so ugly. Maybe there was some paparazzi shot that got me from a bad angle or something, maybe my concealer didn't dry properly and I got crow's feet at some High Council event..?

How do I face this new breed of Capitolite? I've given birth to a monster that knows no bounds and sharpens its teeth on its peers.

...Hold on, when I think about it like that, it's a little bit iconic. Ugh, my mind really amazes me sometimes — being the cause of your own mental breakdown? Now that is powerful.

But really, their surgeons must be working overtime. I mean, come on, I'll give it to them, they look snatched. I really hope they don't list my name along with that over-it sixty year old who has been flogging yoghurt on television for the past five years. The young ones are all into new hair dye every two weeks and eyelash extensions and bathing in CBD oil and getting vajazzles.

What am I ever going to do when I see someone so extremely gorgeous? I guess I'll just have to keep it cute. I can't afford to risk what is left of my reputation. I'll take a deep breath, smile, and when I'm tired... I'll put down the mirror.