When you're small, they shame you for crying. They shame you for showing too much emotion. Too happy is almost as bad as too sad. They set these expectations and give you fucked up ways to look at yourself.
As you age, they talk about authenticity, but they don't mean it. They don't want to know your sorrows...they just want to see that smile. How are you? Me? I'm fine. Short and sweet. No one has to think too much about it. No empathy required.
The thing they don't tell you is that you are giving up a lot in living for other people. You are taking shots you shouldn't take. You're the one that feels bad. That makes you right.
I don't know, honestly. I'm just a bag of bones and shit like you. Sometimes, I feel superior, but most of the time I try not to feel at all.
I'm really connecting with this. Nobody wants to hear the answer to "How are you?" Not really. I'm just hear crying on the inside.
ReplyDeleteExactly this: "they talk about authenticity, but they don't mean it."
DeleteI’m okay. I’m okay. Alright, back off already. You’ve told me now.
ReplyDeleteGive me some sp…
She’s…
Wait.
She’s… what? Dead?
Right. Yeah… got it, thanks for that, can’t wait to return the favour.
No, no, I don’t need any—
Water? Sure.
Hold on, wait. She’s dead? I must not’ve heard you right.
Uh-huh. Okay. I’m all ears.
You already told me, I get it. You’re just saying the same words. I’m…
What the fuck. What’s happening here?
Are you for real? Are you for fucking real?
What? What?
Seriously, what?
Of course, yes, I’m sorry, yes. I’ll calm down.
This is our home. You know that. Behind this yellow tape.
Where is my wife?
No, no, no, no, no…
Why do you keep telling me this? Are you lying to me?
Let me go inside. I’ll find Emily. She’s in bed. Asleep. It’s late.
All these lights and all this shit outside my home is starting to—
Okay, everyone leave now. Now, I said. Get the fuck away from my house.
No, I won’t calm down. I won’t turn around. This is invasive, and you should be asham—
What the actual fuck is this? Not sure why you’re up in my face. No, I won’t turn around.
Wait. Are you trying to cuff me?
Not funny, dude. Not subtle. Is this a bad movie?
Okay, I’m chill. Don’t freak out. Give me a sec.
I’m freaked out. We’re the victims here. Me and Emily and baby Grace. What about that don’t you get?
There’s a whole life happening inside that home if you’d just leave me alone and let me go inside and pretend this night never happened.
None of it happened. That’s it. Never. I goddamned pinky swear.
You might not even be real. I might not even be real. A woman’s bad dream about her husband and her daughter.
If not, please tell me what I left for her still dripping on the kitchen counter.
D’you have any idea? Know the things we shared? Made together? Fought over?
Anyone here felt what it is to be clutched by a passing nebula with madness in its blackhole core? To be ripped from bliss and blasted into nothingness?
Thought not.
Do any of you even know how hard all this is?
Huh. Surprise me, bro. Asswipe. Come at me, dipshit.
If I grabbed your gun right now, I’d fucking show you, fucking show you all.
No, that’s absolutely not a threat. You’re hurting me, stop, don’t make me do this, just let—
This. This is fabulous. I love how you did that as one side of the conversation and we could fill in the rest.
DeleteYup, I agree. Super intensity from the structure.
DeleteJD BTW
DeleteYou're both very kind! But yeah, this one's a bit unusual for me. I'm glad it worked for you both.
DeleteGave me chills. Reminds me of a dark one I wrote about anger, the internal dialogue of a convicted murderer. Well told David.
ReplyDelete