Wretch
It's Christmas 2006 and I'm miserable, as always. Miserable ad nauseam, ad infinitum. I bought some presents, and I got some gifts (underwear mostly) and another December 25 bites the dust. Derrick isn't here; it's the first Christmas I've had without him. He's still in rehab for alcohol, or cannabis, or coke or whatever this time. Dad is in Las Vegas with some woman I've never met but I know of by reputation; the woman with the dead son. I'm at Mom's/Marty's thinking about this stupid video. I got Pirates of the Caribbean. It's a shitty movie; one of the worst ever made but everyone else on planet Earth likes it. Everyone sans a penis. Holding the DVD makes me think of a girl whom I adored and who, like every girl I've ever known and ever loved, broke my heart without so much as a shrug or a "Sorry, I just love him more." No woman will ever love me as much as I love her. Derrick's got the right idea, with that rehab. Maybe if I wasn't constantly competing for the girl of my dreams I wouldn't care so much about my one great feature, my smile, which will be gone in a few days because my $200 retainers are at the bottom of a trash pile in Kansas City. I'm jealous of Liz, she is in a happy relationship with her ideal mate; and she's female, so she controls everything. She was here for a while before she took off to "Jarhead's" or "Jughead's" (whatever Marty calls him) house.
It's just Mom, Martin, Elle, and I here now. Mom just left to find an open store. I can tell Elle is happy, maybe it's the last Christmas she will be. I always remember December 25, 1996 as one of the happiest times in my life. Will December 25, 2006 be her last magical Christmas? I wish I could play with her. Play with the plastic food, pretend cash register, plastic dog and pretend baby but I can't pretend to be comfortable or content. When she catches me with a miserable look on my face I flash a big goofy grin and give her a thumb up trying to look giddy but it just comes across crazy.
My asshole of a roommate says I must enjoy being sad. He's always happy so he can't grasp what's it's like to be depressed, so when someone is endlessly sad I guess this is the only way he can rationalize it, since he can't relate. Of course I don't like being sad, no one does, it's a asinine assumption. Some of just get so down we don't know which way is up. Then we get stuck; that doesn't necessarily mean we stay blue because we love to sulk, we've just forgotten how to smile genuinely.
A psychologist once told me I could be happy by making my "cognitive sentences more positive". In essence, changing the way I think from woe is me to..... Wee is me? Doesn't work. If you've ever tried to convince yourself of something you know isn't true you know this is bullshit. Go ahead, tell yourself the sky is green and the grass is blue. Say it to yourself over and over, does it make it true? Will you ever think that's the way things are? At least I don't have AIDs. Just say that and suddenly you'll feel better. Trying to imagine someone who's worse off makes you feel better right? Right? Wrong. We live inside our own heads only.
It's time for me to go back to Dad's and make sure none of the luminary bags have blown away. I don't want our house to be the only gap on the street this year. Again. I don't think Uncle Mitch will do it even though he is probably home.
Happy birthday Jesus.
It's just Mom, Martin, Elle, and I here now. Mom just left to find an open store. I can tell Elle is happy, maybe it's the last Christmas she will be. I always remember December 25, 1996 as one of the happiest times in my life. Will December 25, 2006 be her last magical Christmas? I wish I could play with her. Play with the plastic food, pretend cash register, plastic dog and pretend baby but I can't pretend to be comfortable or content. When she catches me with a miserable look on my face I flash a big goofy grin and give her a thumb up trying to look giddy but it just comes across crazy.
My asshole of a roommate says I must enjoy being sad. He's always happy so he can't grasp what's it's like to be depressed, so when someone is endlessly sad I guess this is the only way he can rationalize it, since he can't relate. Of course I don't like being sad, no one does, it's a asinine assumption. Some of just get so down we don't know which way is up. Then we get stuck; that doesn't necessarily mean we stay blue because we love to sulk, we've just forgotten how to smile genuinely.
A psychologist once told me I could be happy by making my "cognitive sentences more positive". In essence, changing the way I think from woe is me to..... Wee is me? Doesn't work. If you've ever tried to convince yourself of something you know isn't true you know this is bullshit. Go ahead, tell yourself the sky is green and the grass is blue. Say it to yourself over and over, does it make it true? Will you ever think that's the way things are? At least I don't have AIDs. Just say that and suddenly you'll feel better. Trying to imagine someone who's worse off makes you feel better right? Right? Wrong. We live inside our own heads only.
It's time for me to go back to Dad's and make sure none of the luminary bags have blown away. I don't want our house to be the only gap on the street this year. Again. I don't think Uncle Mitch will do it even though he is probably home.
Happy birthday Jesus.
