“…and I may be romantic
and I may risk my life for it
but I ain’t gonna die for you
you know I ain’t no Juliet
and I’m not gonna watch you
while you burn yourself out, baby
no, I’m not gonna stop you
‘cause I’m not the one that’s crazy…”
‘Ampersand’ – Who Killed Amanda Palmer (Amanda Palmer) – 2008
ATTENTION: I talk to myself lots. Especially in the shower/bathroom because of the same principle as singing in the shower/doing the occasional stupid thing in the bathroom like pulling a face at the mirror. That principle is that you are in an isolated space and you believe that nobody can see or hear you. I was wrong. The sudden, dreaded realisation that people actually can hear me talking to myself in there was the motivation for this post.
NB: This is also applicable to car singing/doing embarrassing things in your car. I talk to myself when I’m driving alone, too.
I don’t even know what I’m saying half of the time. It is strange. Words just come out and they probably mean something and they normally make coherent sentences or phrases but they make absolutely no sense to me at all. I believe that the cause is stress (in this case about being poor and not having a job).
SUBTEXT OF THE ABOVE:
“ATTENTION, PLEASE, PEOPLE I LIVE WITH: I AM NOT CRAZY.”
I used to hear voices, four very distinct ones, I gave them labels based on what they said to me; “good”, “evil”, “right” and “wrong”. I still get them when I’m mega-stressed out about something. That hasn’t been since first year uni when I thought missing one class was a bad thing. I have had counseling and was eventually told that I wasn’t “crazy” anymore. BY PROFESSIONALS! (Extreme, emotive formatting powers activate!)
AW YEAH!!!
Actually, thinking back on it, the concept is pretty offensive (If you haven’t read all my previous posts you may not realise that I get offended by everything!).
The reason why these things bother me is because of a societal norm that classifies these personality traits that I have as being “crazy” or “mad” and then classifies being those things as bad. Maybe I just have a super-conscience? Maybe my imagination runs riot in my subconscious (if you KNEW the dreams I had… wtf) and this effects my thought process.
In any case whatever it was, it is gone now and I automatically fight it off when it does come back using the most frustratingly powerful anti-logic ever of “you aren’t real”. Yes they are or I wouldn’t be writing a blog about it but hey: at least I’m not crazy!
The amount of times that I have said that I’m not crazy in this post is really starting to make me think otherwise.
Photo courtesy of Ashley Allen (http://www.flickr.com/photos/missashaley/)
UGH STRANGE COINCIDENCE! I was just talking to someone that I know (they do not read this blog so it is clearly OK to bitch about them) and they were all “ugh I have depression”. They’ve been saying this since forever but they don’t DO anything about it and they just tell everyone as if it’s some free pass to be an unpleasant, whiney, attention seeking bitch.
NOT. COOL. GUYS.
This reminds me of my friend, “D”, (not for David, I’m not talking about myself through an alias because I’m not crazy) who constantly gets angry at slutty female bitches? girls? PEOPLE who are sad so they say they have “depression” or who hate their weight so they say that they are “anorexic”. Um, pretty sure the point of anorexia is that you don’t admit that you HAVE a problem? Maybe? I’m no expert. Anyway these dumb moles? morons? girls? people? living constructs of what is wrong with western youth culture pretty much achieve the amazing feat of trivialising immensely serious, powerful and, life changing (normally for worse) DISEASES. So, to paraphrase “D”: No. I will not write ‘love’ on my arms, how does that help? It doesn’t, it tricks stupid, overly emotional people who are vaguely sad for wahtever reason into thinking that some word is helping them and it makes light of the problem. I focussed on depression here because I think that’s the most common but it is applicable to lots of things. Also vaguely related are the fake bisexual people. Or “trendsexuals” as I like to call them.
NB: AMAZING ORGANISATION THAT DOESN’T DO THE ABOVE AND IS ACTUALLY AMAZING:
If you are actually worried about depression and think you might have it and aren’t going to admit it because you actually have it and thus do not tell every person you meet about it so they give you attention, then go there and it should help you get on the right track (they also do boys, *face*. Male depression is even worse because MEN DON’T GET DEPRESSED. THEY MAN UP AND GET OVER IT).
NB: woman? frustrating cunt? Girl I was just talking to who inspired this post (if you do read this) slash anyone who may act like her. You are just sad, tell people that you are “sad” and, if you actually want to be happy, they will be able to cheer you up. (Eventually). Or call a hotline about it. I know people who have been crippled by this disease and you are spitting in their face and making their problems seem trivial and that is a really rude and wrong thing to do.
NOT. NICE. AT. ALL.
Side note tying in with the “regrets” post from yesterday; I think I maybe acted like this as a1 teenager? I’m not sure because it was pretty freaking serious to me at the time but in hindsight it totally wasn’t that bad. Maybe? Who knows, I probably just regret it because it wasn’t “normal” and social pressures have got me this time. Anyway, this “regret” motivates me to talk to myself.
WHAT THE FRICKEN FRACK? WHEN DID THIS BLOG TURN INTO “DAVID’S LIFE STORY”? BORING!
I PROMISE I WILL BE BACK TO LIGHTHEARTED SOCIAL COMMENTARY SOON!
PS: REMEMBER THAT I’M NOT CRAZY!
PPS: I have confronted the anonymous girl about the issue so you don’t have to think that I am a bitchy, backstabbing, talking behind peoples back person.
PSPSPS: Even though I totally am one of those.
