This week has been an all out pity party. Cryin’, snottin’, breakin’ shit. You name it, I did it.
Why? I don’t know. Because I’m sad and angry and confused and just generally emotionally volatile. I’m like a damn flash flood. These emotions come on suddenly and violently, taking out anything that dares to cross me, then seem to dissipate almost as quickly as they appeared. The power that I am able to muster in these moments is alarming, even exhilarating. However, I am quickly growing bored with this, the way I do with almost everything.
For one, spontaneity is just not my style. It would be nice if someone could let me know a day or two beforehand that I was about to have an epic freakout/meltdown so I could use that energy towards something productive like forming a band in some kid’s garage where the sound of their amateur electric guitar playing drowns out the sound of me screaming about just how bad I’ve got it. Then I could shake that kid’s hand and be like “Cool man, catch you next week. We jammed soooo hard.” Yeah, I’d like to be less of a flash flood and more of Old Faithful.
For two, I wouldn’t want to deal with me, Let’s just be real here. I’m really trying for honesty these days and it sucks when someone asks how my day went, because I know I’ll say “Oh, you know, the usual,” when what I mean is “Oh, you know, cried over butter, danced madly to a Whitney Houston song, tore the clothes off of the hangers ’cause it felt right, hung ’em back up ’cause it suddenly felt wrong.” What does the average person say to that? I’ll tell you. “Oh, well those days happen,” And then they shift their eyes around searching for something else to come back with.
I think the biggest thing behind my sadness and anger is the feeling that I don’t have a choice. Why do I take so much medication? Don’t have a choice. How do I feel about my current state of emotional health? Dunno, don’t have a choice. I’ve responded that way so often that it’s started to make me feel ill. How gross is that? I live in an environment where the struggle is not “What choice do I have?” but “How am I supposed to choose between all of these options?” And this is why today is different.
I drove to town for an appointment. I wasn’t thrilled about it, since the lady was rather agitated about having to repeat herself so many times on the phone and hung up without saying “see you on Wednesday” or even the ol’ classic “goodbye.” There I was in the parking lot thinking “Great, I’m coming here to explain my situation to someone who has already dismissed me. Why am I doing this? I don’t have a..” And then it hit me. I didn’t have to go to this appointment. I didn’t have to do ANYTHING I didn’t want to do. I had a choice, in fact, I had a wide variety of choices. What should I do with this hour that I would have spent in boredom and agony? What should I do with all of this time? I pulled out of the stall feeling my skin tingle the way it did when I was 15 at a Bear Creek “bush party” knowing I wasn’t supposed to be there. That nervous excitement that comes with recognizing free will for what feels like the first time. That’s right. FREE WILL, MUTHAFUCKA! I sped out of that parking lot. (I drove the speed limit.)
And so I drove. And drove. And drove some more. Down side streets and up alleys. I had no idea where I should go. There were so many choices, you see. I passed Dairy Queen and turned around. I decided I was going to Dairy Queen because there is no way to be unhappy in a place with such a vast array of delicious treats. I walked inside, delighted to see that the place was empty. I stared up at the brightly lit menus on the wall and just stood there in the glory of all of my options. After awhile, the young cashier said “Have you decided?” Shit. Shit. Shit. I really hadn’t thought that far ahead yet, and truth be told, it was cold outside and I didn’t like ice cream that much. “You know, I’m just going to sit and think on it.” She looked unimpressed but nodded in agreement and I sat down in a booth. I thought a lot about the last week, feeling everything from shame to pleasure, and I stifled laughter as I pretended to look at my phone.
Some time passed, and the cashier looked uncertain as to what to do with my presence.I took this as my cue to leave, grabbing a wad of napkins and a straw on my way out. I offered no explanation, because I didn’t feel like lying. What was the point of telling her that I was meeting someone or that something came up? There wasn’t one. I got in my car feeling proud of myself. Sure, what I had done was rude and inconsiderate, but it was also the first time in a long time that I had done something simply because I could. I decided I’d call her later and tell her the truth, and that I wouldn’t give a shit if she thought I was crazy. I also decided I wouldn’t rebook, because I didn’t fucking want to.
For today, I’m feeling even. Almost happy. Know why? ‘Cause I’ve decided to go outside and blow spitballs!