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not quite fiction
(part 6) listening: live on two
legs pearl jam part 6 At what point did I begin to think that this is all too much, I'm sick of this, I'm tired, I need sleep, my skin is all crinkly, I'm wet, I'm cold, tomorrow has got to be a new beginning? At what point did I stop and tell myself, this has gotten too far, I need serious help, I have to get it by tomorrow or I might just as well kill myself because there's not much else here anymore? Tomorrow. I'll get help tomorrow. Something mind-blowing will happen tomorrow and I'll snap back to my former laidback self. I'll have an epiphany tomorrow, I'll suddenly see things with crystal clarity and I'll be amused by the ridiculous things I've done the day before. Tomorrow things will definitely be better, a Nobel-winning psychiatrist will fall through my roof and cure me with his special drugs. Tomorrow I'll meet a wise stranger who looks exactly like David Duchovny and he will tell me something I've never thought of before, which happens to be a foolproof answer to all my unrelenting questions. We will fall in love, he also happens to be a Nobel-winning psychiatrist, he will take care of me for the rest of my days, he will prescribe me drugs that are so much more effective than my tired Zoloft and Prozac, my parents will be so thankful of him and they will accept him with open arms also. Or I'll simply wake up with a complete, indiscriminate amnesia. Total un-recall. Clean slate. Day One. I might wake up not knowing who I am, or why I am in this strange bed, but under the circumstances that's actually much more favourable (you have no idea) than reliving yesterday. It would be nice if I can still remember my notes for tomorrow's exam, but if that's gone too that's fine. With a complete amnesia I probably won't even know I'm a student. Or my teacher might be extra compassionate for her student who's simply lost her mind, she would let me take the exam another day. All these things don't matter anymore. I can do all these things once I get my mind back, but I need to lose it first. Yes, things got real bad that I actually prayed for amnesia. I love my mind. It's gotten me further than most people in school. It's gotten me straight As in tests and exams and offers from top boarding schools (which I didn't accept, for obvious reasons. We might touch on this later.). My classmates were constantly puzzled and I think, jealous, because I didn't seem to study all that much. This mind has won me quizzes, debate and writing contests. It's no Einstein's, but I'm lucky enough to get this one. But this mind is diseased. It has a kink in its complicated, overlapping structure that made me do the crazy things I did. I always have trouble dealing with mediocrity and I can get sickeningly competitive. But at that time, mediocrity, unpleasant as it is to my over-achiever ego, seemed like a reasonable price to pay for waking up the next morning and not having to plan my entire day around my washing requirements. Nothing else was working. Amnesia has got to be the only cure. A clean kill. But how do you get rid of your own mind? ****** previous entry: not quite fiction (pt5) (april 13, 2002) |
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