I haven’t slept in sixteen hours.
My therapist’s office is the equivalent of a fish tank in a dentist’s waiting room. It sits at the end of a long beige hallway, decked out with aqua paint, shelved seashells, and blown-glass dolphin sculptures. Sure, it’s kitschy, but at least it’s not covered in motivational posters and platinum glitter.
My therapist herself is, in my opinion, a badass bitch. I don’t know much about her (doctor/patient relationship and all), but I can just tell she’s lived a hell of a life. She, on the other hand, knows almost everything about me. I’ve regaled her with my relationship drama, familial issues, and basically all of the random thoughts that pop into my head.
Like, during my last session, I asked her if it was okay to think about murdering people. She said yes—as long as it wasn’t interfering with my life. I cracked a joke (“I think it’d be the other way around, I’d be interfering with someone else’s life,”) and she chuckled. I read her notes on me once, she said I have a good sense of humor. I’ve never thought about murdering her.
God, I would never.
I told her I was scared to think about murdering people, because it made me so…hm. Happy is the wrong word. Maybe “thrilled” is more accurate? Or “manic,” perhaps? Either way, it’s not happiness. I’m not sure if I even know what happiness feels like, but still, the feeling I get when I imagine…that…doesn’t seem like something a normal person should feel.
That’s held me back a lot, actually. “Would a normal person do this?” If the answer is no, I don’t do it, no matter how much I want to. It’s a solid system, when I don’t break it. When I do…um.
Well, ha. Haha.
To be honest, that “not-happiness” is so goddamn addicting. I could feel it for forever. Sometimes I just burst out laughing because it feels so good. And that’s a thing normal people do, right? When they feel good? They laugh? So I’m okay, right?
Do I have permission to laugh?
DOIHAVEPERMISSION
Um, ha, I’m getting off track. Gosh, I was planning on making this into a story, wasn’t I? I even started out with a whole pretty description of my therapist’s office, of what she was like, all that jazz. But talking about her just made me start laughing again, and now, I don’t think I can write pretty words anymore.
I didn’t murder her, I promise. I would never. Normal people don’t murder their therapists, and I promise, I’m trying as hard as I can to be normal. I used to have a really hard time being normal. Wow, it doesn’t sound like a word anymore, does it? Normal, normal, normal, normal, normal, normal.
Normal.
Did I say I hadn’t slept in sixteen hours? I’m so sorry, I meant sixty hours.
I’m only bringing up my sleep schedule because I had a nightmare. And I don’t have another appointment with my therapist until, um, until.
Haha.
I’d have to look at my calendar, I can’t quite remember. So I wanted to talk about it with you! About my nightmare! With you! Whee! It’s fun to shout! IT IS SO MUCH FUCKING FUN TO SHOUT.
My nightmare was about,
okay,
so,
ha,
this is going to sound bad. It was about murdering my therapist! Can you believe that? I would
n e v e r
murder her! She’s so nice, and she really just gets me, you know? Or she’s really good at pretending to get me. I can appreciate it when someone is really good at pretending. I love pretending.
No, no, I hate pretending. That’s why I’m not a therapist. I’m just a normal person.
I WOULDN’T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH MYSELF IF I MURDERED HER.
So anyway, I haven’t slept since that nightmare. And the really funny part about that is, I’m not sure if I actually woke up? I must still be dreaming. So, hey, can you tell me if I’m asleep?
Or if I’m awake?
Can you tell me if I’m laughing?
Can you tell me to stop?
Please?
Help me?
Please?
OH MY GOD OH MY GOD I NEED TO KNOW IF I’M AWAKE RIGHT FUCKING NOW PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE