Might as well face it, you're addicted to...
Drama.
And sex.
But mostly drama.
As I was lying in bed last night, with a single dramatic tear rolling down my cheek, and my heart not even close to breaking, I realized something.
I realized it's time to have another talk with myself. So here we go.
Self,
It's me, the part of you that's pretty happy. Granted, it's the part of you that relies on its regular doses of sex and touch to stay sane, but fuck you. I'm happy.
Sorry.
I've been feeling slightly angst-y towards you lately, apparently.
You're addicted to drama. You're addicted to the sensation that life has so much more depth than you've given it. You need to have something to fight against, to bang your head against, to make you FEEL something.
I'm not saying you like feeling like shit. You don't, you hate it. But you know that other bitch we both hate, the one we never talk about? She kind of likes it. She's pretty sure we all deserve it.
Shit. I had all these helpful thoughts this morning. They're leaking away with the onset of sunshine and reality. I'll try and hold on to the important ones.
I'm ashamed of the way you act when you listen to the bitch. You create this drama, or allow it to be created around you, and wallow in it. Your house reflects who you are right now, and it's depressing as fuck.
So, where does this need for drama come from, this need for a protagonist to slay?
I'm not sure, because I'm right in the thick of it. It's not like my love of life after sex isn't fueled by my own chemical/past compound.
But I do know that a huge part of it is a ridiculously strong fear of being honest.
Not that what you're feeling when you're feeling isn't valid (well, mostly it's not. Sorry). But the drama acts like a shield. Because if you're fighting something, you don't have to stop and look too hard at you. When you're fighting a villain, lies are de rigor. They make perfect sense, because you could get HURT if you don't lie, if you don't hide away. You've got an external force giving you the excuse you need to not face the truth.
I know that this fear of the truth (whatever that means) is tied up in some intense reality of your youth. I know it's real, that the fear is strong and overwhelming and not faked.
But the drama around the fear, that's not real. The time that you waste on the circumstances around the fear, now THAT'S real. And gone. Forever. All that time wasted is gone.
I know you're sick of it. I can feel how much more frantic you're becoming, with the knowledge of time wasted over NOTHING. But you're afraid to just say it. To just stop it. To just... take charge. I don't know why. I really don't. I wish I did. I'm not the strongest part of you. I'm the happiest, but my joy is tied up in the surface beauty that you surround yourself with.
I don't think we've met the part of us that can take joy in depth.
We are going to clean the god damn house today, by the way. I can feel you squirming away from the thought, making excuses. But you are going to clean your goddamn house, and not wallow in how deep and dark life is because you've got dirt on your floor and dishes on your table. Fuck that stupid bullshit. Life is actually deep and dark for a shit ton of people, you privileged little shit. Sorry. There's the angst again. I don't have much patience for your drama. But I do have plenty of patience for you.
Love, you.
And sex.
But mostly drama.
As I was lying in bed last night, with a single dramatic tear rolling down my cheek, and my heart not even close to breaking, I realized something.
I realized it's time to have another talk with myself. So here we go.
Self,
It's me, the part of you that's pretty happy. Granted, it's the part of you that relies on its regular doses of sex and touch to stay sane, but fuck you. I'm happy.
Sorry.
I've been feeling slightly angst-y towards you lately, apparently.
You're addicted to drama. You're addicted to the sensation that life has so much more depth than you've given it. You need to have something to fight against, to bang your head against, to make you FEEL something.
I'm not saying you like feeling like shit. You don't, you hate it. But you know that other bitch we both hate, the one we never talk about? She kind of likes it. She's pretty sure we all deserve it.
Shit. I had all these helpful thoughts this morning. They're leaking away with the onset of sunshine and reality. I'll try and hold on to the important ones.
I'm ashamed of the way you act when you listen to the bitch. You create this drama, or allow it to be created around you, and wallow in it. Your house reflects who you are right now, and it's depressing as fuck.
So, where does this need for drama come from, this need for a protagonist to slay?
I'm not sure, because I'm right in the thick of it. It's not like my love of life after sex isn't fueled by my own chemical/past compound.
But I do know that a huge part of it is a ridiculously strong fear of being honest.
Not that what you're feeling when you're feeling isn't valid (well, mostly it's not. Sorry). But the drama acts like a shield. Because if you're fighting something, you don't have to stop and look too hard at you. When you're fighting a villain, lies are de rigor. They make perfect sense, because you could get HURT if you don't lie, if you don't hide away. You've got an external force giving you the excuse you need to not face the truth.
I know that this fear of the truth (whatever that means) is tied up in some intense reality of your youth. I know it's real, that the fear is strong and overwhelming and not faked.
But the drama around the fear, that's not real. The time that you waste on the circumstances around the fear, now THAT'S real. And gone. Forever. All that time wasted is gone.
I know you're sick of it. I can feel how much more frantic you're becoming, with the knowledge of time wasted over NOTHING. But you're afraid to just say it. To just stop it. To just... take charge. I don't know why. I really don't. I wish I did. I'm not the strongest part of you. I'm the happiest, but my joy is tied up in the surface beauty that you surround yourself with.
I don't think we've met the part of us that can take joy in depth.
We are going to clean the god damn house today, by the way. I can feel you squirming away from the thought, making excuses. But you are going to clean your goddamn house, and not wallow in how deep and dark life is because you've got dirt on your floor and dishes on your table. Fuck that stupid bullshit. Life is actually deep and dark for a shit ton of people, you privileged little shit. Sorry. There's the angst again. I don't have much patience for your drama. But I do have plenty of patience for you.
Love, you.
Sounds like a productive conversation.
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