Chapter One
Lying in bed late on a Saturday morning with only my anxiety for company, I wished I had some Valium and could submerge myself in a mindless oblivion. Instead I mused on the events--or maybe a single event, replayed over and over--that brought my life to this point. My thoughts ran through my mind on an endless loop, like a song stuck in my head, but nastier, more distressing. As usual, the rational part of my mind argued argued against the obsessions. As usual, it was fighting a futile battle.
"You know you're not making any sense," it said to the irrational half.
"I am. What has experience taught us? Women use us; they ask for our friendship; they want someone to run to whenever the latest guy doesn't work out. Someone to make them feel better about themselves. They never want us for anything else. Certainly not in any romantic sense."
"Yes, they do. But you always screw it up by freaking out. It's your fault; if you would just keep quiet, things would be all right."
"I'm trying to protect us. Every woman who uses us as a backup, someone to spend time with until someone better comes along, takes a little piece of us from somewhere deep inside. They take and take and take, and never give anything back. They've taken it all now. We don't have anything left to give. How long can we last without it?"
"You're paranoid. This time isn't like that. She actually likes us. She said so. She just wants to meet everyone she can. She's keeping her options open. She's looking for 'the one'."
"Everyone lies. She's only keeping her options open insofar as we're not 'the one', and she wants to find someone better. She's probably found him already. They're probably having sex right now. She'll brush us off without a second thought. She already brushed us off last Friday. Probably so she could talk to him instead. If the two of us do go out again, she'll be thinking of him the whole time, not us."
"Come on. So what if she found someone she likes? That doesn't mean she likes us any less. And she said she really likes us. We still have a chance as long as you don't go all crazy on us. Just calm down. Nothing is decided yet. "
And so on and so on. I've had thousands of conversations like this with myself. I've also had thousands of conversations with other people, all in my own head. I play both parts. "If she says this, then I'll say this," and the like. To date, I don't think any of the real conversations, when they finally happened, have gone as I'd planned out to myself.
But I was powerless to stop the internal dialog, so I stared at the ceiling and wished for Valium.
Lying in bed late on a Saturday morning with only my anxiety for company, I wished I had some Valium and could submerge myself in a mindless oblivion. Instead I mused on the events--or maybe a single event, replayed over and over--that brought my life to this point. My thoughts ran through my mind on an endless loop, like a song stuck in my head, but nastier, more distressing. As usual, the rational part of my mind argued argued against the obsessions. As usual, it was fighting a futile battle.
"You know you're not making any sense," it said to the irrational half.
"I am. What has experience taught us? Women use us; they ask for our friendship; they want someone to run to whenever the latest guy doesn't work out. Someone to make them feel better about themselves. They never want us for anything else. Certainly not in any romantic sense."
"Yes, they do. But you always screw it up by freaking out. It's your fault; if you would just keep quiet, things would be all right."
"I'm trying to protect us. Every woman who uses us as a backup, someone to spend time with until someone better comes along, takes a little piece of us from somewhere deep inside. They take and take and take, and never give anything back. They've taken it all now. We don't have anything left to give. How long can we last without it?"
"You're paranoid. This time isn't like that. She actually likes us. She said so. She just wants to meet everyone she can. She's keeping her options open. She's looking for 'the one'."
"Everyone lies. She's only keeping her options open insofar as we're not 'the one', and she wants to find someone better. She's probably found him already. They're probably having sex right now. She'll brush us off without a second thought. She already brushed us off last Friday. Probably so she could talk to him instead. If the two of us do go out again, she'll be thinking of him the whole time, not us."
"Come on. So what if she found someone she likes? That doesn't mean she likes us any less. And she said she really likes us. We still have a chance as long as you don't go all crazy on us. Just calm down. Nothing is decided yet. "
And so on and so on. I've had thousands of conversations like this with myself. I've also had thousands of conversations with other people, all in my own head. I play both parts. "If she says this, then I'll say this," and the like. To date, I don't think any of the real conversations, when they finally happened, have gone as I'd planned out to myself.
But I was powerless to stop the internal dialog, so I stared at the ceiling and wished for Valium.
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
I got about seven shots through the first pack and it freaked out and stopped working. I ruined the last three pics trying to fix it, then put in the second pack of film and got three shots in before it again freaked out. I left the film in there in the hopes that it'll either start working again or I'll get ahold of another one. I know that Polaroid cameras can be had for about $30--but that one was all old and vintagey and cool.
And you've actually talked to me, so you're not random anymore. If you've had it with friends, though, do with that what you wish.
I'm sorry to hear about the infighting in your head. I hate that.