It's life, Jim, but not as we know it...
Perhaps It's time I elaborated on some of Lucy's strengths, rather than banging on about how effing annoying she is to live with, because believe it or not, she can actually be quite spectacularly brilliant - in a sort of puppy-dog-eyes-draw-you-in-and-then-steal-your-lunch kind of a way.
If this is the first blog post of mine you've read, then I shall precede the aforementioned elaboration by elaborating on who the heck 'Lucy' is; She's the 'other' me. The one that isn't 'Me', me. The 'me' who engages in all the self-harming behaviours I've so far covered in previous posts, plus many more I've not yet got around to. In fact, you know what? Just go and read it - that would be my advice.
You know that one person you see at parties - the metaphorical life and soul - they seem to know everyone (including people not even in attendance that night), they're the centre of the room and the first and last one dancing, although they never ever buy their own drink. Then, at a crucial turning point - who knows how it happens - the balance tips and they are suddenly the drunken arse with a face covered in lipstick and mascara, who's had their bag stolen and can't even stand up long enough to hail a taxi. You know the ones, right? Bingo.
Lucy does on or off, hot or cold, up or down, and just about any other opposite pairing you can think of. So what, I hear you cry (or perhaps whimper...), are the ups? Let's begin with that 'life and soul' thing. When she arrives, she genuinely does know everyone. She even has her own seat in an East London bar. She's the one you ask if you want to go out the back and snort drugs in the kitchen, except people know she'll do all the drugs herself, given half a chance. She's pretty good to talk to, and she loves talking. If you make her laugh, she'll probably go home with you if you're so inclined, and you'd be hard pressed to find a man or woman in East London on a weekend who isn't, frankly. Saying that, she doesn't just give it away to any old Tom, or Harry (and that middle one, who seems a bit too obvious for this sentence). Even when sh*tfaced, she doesn't sleep with complete strangers, ever. It's probably a little confusing to classify that as a benefit, but perhaps it is.
Now I did say 'benefits', and so far I don't think I've really sold it. So far we know she's a bit of a loose cannon and she probably associates sex with being valued - not one to take home to meet the parents, obviously. But here's the thing - her combination of a lack of emotional intelligence, coupled with a relatively high IQ, means she not only has great ideas, but she's also brave enough to make them reality - even if only by accident. She never thinks about the consequences of her actions, ever, so it just wouldn't occur to her that someone on the bottom rung of a very long ladder shouldn't bowl up to a director and tell them in no uncertain terms what she thinks they should do. Imagine if the whole corporate world worked like that? Forget the office politics, the pecking order - scrap the unspoken hierarchy and unwritten rules of who's who and all that nonsense - she'll pipe up at any available opportunity and tell even the most senior bods how to do it better. She'll spill her guts to anyone who'll listen (or pretend to). She has no concept of these arbitrary corporate grades, and she knows that nothing can happen in a boardroom to rival the challenge of surviving in her own mind. As grandiose and deluded as that sounds, it's the truth. We're all susceptible to mental illness, and Lucy IS mental illness. "You're an MD then are you? Pfft - ok, here's what I want you to do...".
And for some reason, it works. That level of laissez-faire methodology coupled with a lot of the sorts of brainwaves (I'll fill you in later) that make a conducive environment in which to have ideas is often a recipe for success for Lucy. People like her. Maybe they feel sorry for her, or maybe they recognise the darker sides of themselves in her; either way, she has friends she's known for over 30 years. Unadulterated honesty is attractive in an age where we've all become liars - you always know where you stand with her. She has a tendency to trust without testing; to give away parts of herself that should be reserved for others. Only very recently I realised that she'd innocently made loans of various parts of her soul to completely unsuitable guardians.
Luckily, although Lucy is a part of me, that part is less than half now and I've worked really hard to win back my controlling share. I'm not entirely sure what to do with it, but it's progress. Internal dialogue is one thing, Lucy is another. I simultaneously love her and hate her - you see how she makes everything into an extreme? I miss the excitement. But I need a life without her now.