As the 107th negative thought aimed inward suckerpunched my brain & pushed me down the waterslide of despair for possibly the 17th time in the past 24 hours, it dawned on me that if it were someone else’s words instead of my own, I didn’t know if I’d slap them in the face or sit at the side of the pool, drenched in despondency without even thinking of grabbing a towel.
It didn’t always used to be this way. The normalcy of self-degradation has become so common that I no longer pity myself. Gone are the days of whining and neurosis. “Woe is me” and all that jazz.
Let’s call this current phase “The Case of the PhuckIt”.
As in, This self-degradation will eventually & inevitably lead to my self-destruction and I’ll greet that moment with a toast and clap on the back, like it’s an old friend returning from war. So PhuckIt. Cheers, bitches!
To say that carrying that school of thought day in & day out, every damn day, is exhausting is about as obvious as saying that it’ll be a little windy outside when a F5 tornado touches the ground. But PhuckIt! Just board up the windows and stay out of sight, right?
Thing is, a tornado hasn’t touched down where I live in the entirety of my life. And I’m quite certain that a nest of insects have taken residence in the windowsills of my mind, hidden behind the wooden boards I’ve nailed up. Even now, I can hear their wings buzzing constantly and the thumping of their stupid heads bashing against the glass. It’s annoying.
I want do something about but I didn’t have the common sense to get a crowbar beforehand.
Hmm…. what to do? I don’t really know yet.
In the meantime I do declare, in this Year of Our Lord 2018, that I’m so over being ailed with “The Case of the PhuckIt”.
Because fuck that.
Editor’s Note: “The Psycho’Desk” has been renamed as the “The Jadism Desk”