In which I explain what the fuck is going through my head
You probably have wondered before, unless I am vain to think I am wondered about. Those times I don’t meet your eyes, when I stutter and lose my train of thought, when my story jolts about like a small kid at the back of the bus - a bus going over pothole after pothole.
“She’s drunk,” you think.
“She’s drugged,” you think.
“What the fuck is going through her head,” you think.
Admittedly, much of my life has played out drugged and drunk. Drugged and/or drunk. But often, there is nothing more twisting my cerebellum than my mind itself. I don’t know how seriously you take psychology, or if you’ve ever experienced the rattling of panic and despair in your brain. Maybe you even agree that “nothing more” is an appropriate term, whereas I typed the word with my tongue in my cheek. Nothing more than other thoughts, huh. Nothing more than, “oh, I was thinking that I had to do laundry when I got home, what did you say?”
When you think about addiction, when you give advice, do you tell the addict to “just not do it?” I think that many people do. At least, that is what many people have told me. “Just don’t.” “Just stop.” It really isn’t the action that is hard to stop, or really what needs to be stopped, but the constant, abusive voice in my head that needs to be gagged and sodomized.
The other tricky part is learning the difference between coping and substituting. I’m going to lump this in with pointing out, and I’m not going to bother trying to convince you that it is true, that absolutely everyone is addicted to something; absolutely everyone employs, even if it isn’t that bad or that often, negative techniques in order to deal with life - trauma, pain, everyday bullshit. Personally, I use food, alcohol, lies, apathy, sex, and a general pursuit of approval and validation (the final four most likely manifesting themselves in one action, in one WET HOT NIGHT OF PROSTITUTION) to make myself think that, hey, you know, everything is okay. That’s all I’m looking for, heyit’sokay, nothing very consequential. Fuck, alcohol probably can be booted in there as well. I’ll let you emotionally abuse me, I’ll let you physically abuse me, if you just tell me I’m worthwhile in the end. Put that in a Craigslist ad.
You never do, though.
And when I hurt you, all that pain was meant for me.
And I forgot to mention that, along with all this, I am addicted to failure.
Maybe you think it is the fault of the depressed that they continue to be so, and if you don’t, somebody else does. And you’re not entirely wrong. But, and here lurks vanity once more, but I’m sure SCIENTIFIC STUDIES (capitalization employed for aching sarcasm rather than in your face emphasism) will tell you the same, the depressed compromise so much of the world’s most brilliant. Basically, I’m smart. Right? I totally am. Not anymore, but it was there once, and it could be there again. The point is, though, I have this feeling that I could really be something, and trying to envision what it would be like to fall short without the excuse, “well, I’m troubled,” destroys me. So maybe I’m no genius, maybe I’m just a perfectionist, maybe that’s what I mean.
I digress. What I wanted to tell you, what I wanted to attempt to show you, is the dialogue of addiction and depression that passes as just plain cracked out. WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING THROUGH MY HEAD.
“Megan.”
You are talking to me, I know that.
“You are a fucking piece of shit.” Oh, I am talking to me too. This isn’t laundry plans, how unexpected.
“How do you claim to have an eating disorder? You don’t have the willpower. Have you seen yourself? Have you? You used to really have something. You gave everything up to be thin, and you were. And now? Now you’re nothing. You are a glutton. You are a pig. How do you let people look at you? What did you say just then? Are you serious? Did you think that was clever? People think you are an idiot. Don’t try to be something you aren’t. Don’t try to be more than shit. You are shit, remember? You are shit.
“No one will forgive the things you’ve done. No one has faith in you. Not that you’ll be able to prove them wrong.
“And don’t think for a minute about expressing this to anyone, because they won’t understand. Or maybe they will understand. Actually, they will understand so much because you have made them realize how rotten you really are. You can’t please them for long, and now they know that. You don’t have much to offer, and now they know that. They will all figure you out. You will be alone.
“You should probably drink now.
“You should probably get the fuck out.
“You should probably put a fucking gun to your head.”
“Megan.”
SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP
“Megan.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you. I was thinking about my laundry.”
