Nonempathetic Merry-Go-Round

I've been dying to tell you anything you want to hear
Cause that's just who I am this week

There's an argument inside my head. It goes back and forth, back and forth. I argue with the bad side of me and then I argue with the good. It's like in the cartoons when you get a shoulder angel and a shoulder demon... Only they're in my head. And I think they're both demons.

I'm fat. I'm ugly. I'm hideous. I have scars all over my face. I want to die. I repulse you. I repulse everyone. I repulse myself. I hate me. I hate you. I hate everything. We should all just die and leave the earth to the animals.

Then the other demon snickers and says, 'Man, you're fucked up'.

So the first demon flips him off.

Then Mike comes in as soon as I scream, "Shut up!"

Yeah. That's how I wanted him to find me. Screaming at voices that only exist in my head. Of course, I don't think they're there all the time. I think they slipped into the bag of coke. I'm not really sure.

Coke makes you lose weight. Actually, that may not be true. But coke makes you so fucked up that if you try and ate you'd be afraid of the food coming to life and eating you from the inside. I guess it's like a drug to induce anorexia or something.

Mike doesn't like it when I do coke. I say things. Mean things. He doesn't like it.

Mike doesn't like it when I don't eat. I get mean. And then I do coke. It's like these big fucking merry-go-round and you can't get off. So I'm trapped on a fucking merry-go-round with two shoulder demons and a bag of coke. It's like a fucking episode of 'Survivor'. I hate that show.

I like it when Mike grabs my wrist and pulls, trying to get me to come with him. It makes me laugh. I know in a minute he'll grab my by the arm and drag me out of here while I'm in hysterics, but he always tries to get me to see the error of my ways or something first. I don't see anything.

I've been this way longer than most people think. Not since I was fifteen or whatever and it's not because I came from a broken home. No sob story that you could make a movie out of and have teenage girls and middle-aged widows leave bawling. I've just been fucked up a little longer than anyone thinks. Except Mike. He knows.

The car wreck happened in December. That pushed it further. I remember the hospital. I don't remember much after she said to save the baby. Except for the baby dying.

I fell apart on the outside then. But I didn't fall apart then. The outside just matched the inside. I'd been dead inside for awhile.

The baby that killed her wasn't mine. I found out when she told me she was pregnant. We hadn't been sleeping together. She was having an affair. She was carrying someone else's baby. I don't even know if she knew I knew.

Mike said he found me after Adie died in a bar. I was in the bathroom tripping on something and my own two feet.

I lost everything after that. I just stopped caring. I cut myself and didn't care if I bled to death. I stopped eating except when Mike forced something down my throat. I sat up at night until my eyes couldn't stay open. I walked into the street without looking for cars. I quit writing.

Mike lets go of my wrist. "You're going to die, Billie Joe."

"I know."

"Is that what you want?"

"I don't care."

Mike knelt in front of me, his face sad. "I care."

"No one cares."

"I care."

The demons are talking again. He's lying. They all lie. He's just better at it because he knows you. He knows your secrets. He'll betray you. He's just like them.

No. Not Mike.

Yes, Mike. Oh, your precious little Mike. Do you really think he gives a damn if you die? He wouldn't have to pick up your messes anymore or act like he cares or make you eat or throw away the coke.

"No."

"Billie..."

Faggot.

"No. No, I'm not."

I can't even see Mike's face anymore. Everything's a huge blur. I can't hear him talk. I can't hear myself breath. I just hear a voice in my head saying 'faggot' over and over.

He's losing me. I'm losing him. I'm losing everything. Am I even here?

I feel a hard slap across the face and everything comes back into focus. Mike's staring at his hand like he's considering chopping it off.

"I love you."

He looks at me, eyes wide. "What?"

"I love you."

"I-I love you, too."

"I care now."

"I knew you would."