The Pros & Cons

It took me too long to realize that things had changed between us, that there was a huge rift in our universe. Too long to notice that suddenly, it was no longer him talking to me and me talking to him with some collective listening in the middle. Now it was me talking to him, and he was too nice to tell me that he didn’t care and that he wasn’t listening. But some part of me knew the truth, and that’s why I threw my phone against the exposed brick of my living room.

They say, it’s hard to be who you really are. That’s not true. It’s not hard to be who you are, it’s hard to market yourself. It’s hard to get people to like you for who you really are. Because sure, people like parts of you. Maybe your sense of humor, or your ability to remain calm in a situation. But do they really like all of you? No, no they don’t. You don’t even like all of you, but I would guess you’d learned to accept that by now. People don’t like the part of you that is overly bitter and sarcastic on a Monday morning before your coffee. They don’t like the part that gets sad, stops hanging out with friends, and drowns in a vast sea of blankets for weeks on end.

And I don’t blame them.

What is there to like about any of those things? Those are flaws. Disgusting, nagging flaws, and they show how disgustingly human that you are. They show that you’re not perfect and that you have problems, and that somehow I’m supposed to not only deal with my flaws but yours? No thank you. Selling your whole self, trying to make it seem like you’re a hospitable household, is an impossible feat. I would rather be a used car salesmen.

I think there’s this point, where you realize you’re just incredibly fucked up, even if you aren’t that fucked up. You just feel that way, and there’s nothing really anyone can do to change it. And you wish that person who you used to think was listening, would actually listen. But you smashed your cell phone against a brick wall like a fucking moron, and now you’re really all alone in this silent world. And your apartment seems too big and empty, but somehow the walls are closing in on you, and you can’t breathe. And all you can hear is the busy city traffic outside your window, sirens in the distance, honking horns, a train heading towards a subway station.

I don’t know if I’m making sense anymore, but I’m trying my hardest to explain how I got from point A to point B without all the bullshit in the middle.

Sometimes I just do things, you know? I do things without thinking, but lie to everyone and explain how it was all so well thought out. And for some reason, people believe me. People think that I am this very tactical being, who thinks and over thinks everything, who makes plans and follows them, even when the results just fuck you over. Truth is, I’m not. I’m impulsive, and childish, and I’m probably the world’s best bullshitter. Unfortunately, they don’t hand out trophies for that.

So, I took a bath. Simple enough. Hooked up my computer to the speakers, put it on shuffle. It was meant to be a good time. I needed to clear my head, clean my skin. I needed to to soak in scalding hot water, let my skin peel off, become a new person. I don’t know what I was thinking, but this bath was supposed to give me a new identity. Maybe one where I wasn’t so fucking stupid to think throwing my phone against a wall would help me with anything.

The water wasn’t as hot as I wanted it to be, the bath wasn’t this magical transformation. I didn’t undergo metamorphosis, I didn’t leave the bathroom some beautiful butterfly. Instead, I drowned. I drowned in my thoughts for an hour and a half. And then I tried to drown myself. But really, that didn’t work out. The only significant thing is that I came out all cold, wet, and pruny.

See, the bath was comforting at first. Someone once told me that baths are like hugs. And they are - for the first five minutes. Then the water loses its heat, because of some scientific property I learned in Earth Science and then swiftly forgot the name of. The bubbles die, fade out, and then you’re stuck with this clear reflection of yourself. And through this sheer film of water you start to notice all the physical things about yourself that you hate. That freckle above your knee cap that just seems incredibly out of place. That small roll of fat when you sit up. You hate the way your second toe is longer than your first toe, you hate that your hands seem so chubby.

Baths are perfect for self loathing. And I think between my complete frustration with everything around me, my newfound self loathing, and the depressing music blasting from the speakers, I decided I was just done with everything.

Slowly, I began my descent into madness. I put my mouth under the water, and then my chin, listening to the slosh of liquid against my ear canal. It was unsteady, erratic, slowing down as I stopped moving my body. Then, I slid under completely, my knee caps sticking out of the water as I stared at the fuzzy ceiling. I could still hear the music playing from the speakers. It was something slow, something sad.

I think it was Oh Comely. Actually, I’m pretty sure it was. It’s hard to tell. Like my dad says, all that sad indie shit sounds the same. All has the same chords, the same ridiculously long or ridiculously short length. But it was ironic. If it was, Oh Comely I mean.

I will be with you when you lose your breath.

No you won’t. No one will. And you can try, but you can’t chase any of my meaningful memories. So, the song went on, and my brain kept going, and I could feel my lungs burn, but it wasn’t anything serious yet. I wish I hadn’t been a lifeguard. So, I let my brain wander, the transition from E to C major playing in my ear.

But then it dawned on me, I really didn’t have any meaningful memories. And that I have left such a small and pathetic footprint on the world. And in a way, that’s really helpful, but it’s tragic. And I don’t want to be a tragedy. I never have, I never will. I thought back to that last phone call I had, the one that made me smash my phone against the wall. I thought about the trains wooshing by about a mile away, I thought of the traffic beneath my window. I thought of my mom, and how I’ll never be a mom. I thought about him showing up to my funeral. And my blood boiled, and I got out of the water, and I blew my nose.

There are pros and cons of breathing. There are your flaws, your fucked up feelings, there are your sleepless nights, your drug binges. There are those frustrating calls, there are those failing relationships. But at the same time, there is life, there is family, there is love, there is stability.

I know I’m rather shit at finding the balance between the two, and I know that I either think of all the pros or all the cons, but I’m trying.