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100 Monologues #50: Life in Commercials


I want to live like people in commercials. Everyone in commercials knows exactly who they are. People in gum commercials are always falling in love at first sight. People in hair commercials are always so happy and like “proud to be me”. People in car commercials are like starting families and shit. Everyone in commercials has a specific purpose and that’s it. Little 60 or 90 second life boxes they get to repeat over and over, living their purpose with no questions and no doubts. When you’re selling something to someone, you have to know exactly what they want, right? And you don’t get a lot of time to do it. So you have to sell this one thing right to the core of their deepest desire in under a minute. People have done studies and shit. This stuff is scientific. So that’s why everyone living in commercials knows exactly what they want. There isn’t time to wonder or worry or reject shit. You get the thing you want and then that is enough. How come life is never like that? How come in life you can get the thing you wanted the most and then you can still wonder “is this really what I want?” Only in life do we find something that makes us happy, then throw it away because we don’t know if happiness is what we want anymore.  Maybe it’s because in life, you have to keep living after you get those things. So you’re afraid that you’ll want more. You usually do.  I just want everything to be like it is in commercials. I want everything to end after we get the things we want. Happily ever after. Then the game or TV show or news can start again and we can know that girl with the shiny white teeth found the perfect toothpaste and there isn’t any more after that. There doesn’t have to be more. There doesn’t always have to be more in life. We can just be happy, sometimes. And that can be it. That can be the end of that. 

July 29, 2014

100 Monologues #49: Stretching


When I was younger, I used to run. I didn’t really like it, but I thought it was a cool thing to do. My favorite part of running was stretching. I always stretched, before and after practicing. Stretching was the indispensable part of my routine - like without it, my workout couldn’t really “start”.  What I loved the most was tracking my progress… I would get off the field, red-faced and dripping sweat, and I would plop down and start to stretch. And every time I did, I noticed I got a little more flexible. I could reach a little closer to the ground. I could close the gap between my thighs and the floor when I was trying to do the splits. I remember once seeing a girl lie like a pancake on the floor, her back so flat against it with her legs out on both ends. Flawless. It took me back because until I saw that, I didn’t know it was possible for the human body to do that.  I didn’t run very fast, and I never placed very high in meets, but I would stretch and stretch until at the end of eighth grade, I was able to get both my splits. I still couldn’t get that pancake, but it was far less impossible to me.  I think our brains are like that, maybe. I don’t know what the running would be in life, but I think everyday we stretch ourselves a bit, and we get better and better. I think sometimes we think something is impossible, or scary, or not worth trying for, but then we just stretch and stretch until it’s completely possible again. I don’t know why I thought of that, but maybe it’s because I feel like I don’t like anything I do, yet I still want to get better at it. Maybe that’s the running part, where I am now. And maybe the stretching is what will get me out of it.

July 29, 2014

I Know This Place

I know this place. I know it well, and I know that once I’m here, there’s no way around it. I can feel the panic attack coming on. And I also know that it’s not going to end anytime soon. It’s funny how different the relationships can seem, yet the feeling when it ends always is the same. Well, the same, but worse. It’s never been this bad, but then again maybe it always feels worse because I always find myself adding up my losses, like somehow every failure is connected to a mistake I could have avoided.  oh WOW. WOW. This is really bad. I can actually feel my heart convulsing, like it’s literally breaking or something. It feels like there’s a hole there and the hole is saying the word “no” over and over again.  Like softly, not yelling, just like this… ‘no no no no no no’ like it isn’t going to end. I know it’s going to end. 

I told you, I’ve visited this place before. 

I know my way around, but I never like coming here. Every time I’m here, I think - this is it, this is the last time. It is a toll road, after all, and usually those are convenient but can be avoided with a little bit of caution and creativity. Local driving. Slow.  I didn’t go slow. I guess I figured it was okay to go fast because I could slow down anytime. Right? That’s how roads work. I thought I could turn around before it was too late. Guess it’s more of a turnpike then, huh? 

oh, OUCH. That one really hurt. Like I can feel my entire stomach collapsing, and my brain is pounding and GOSH I wish it would stop. But I told you, I’ve been here before. It doesn’t stop for a while. A long while. The last time I was here, it took me almost 5 months to get out. I didn’t eat and I hardly ever slept. It always hurt to wake up. For months, I’d feel like reality was haunting me every moment I was awake. All I wanted was to sleep and forget, but every time I closed my eyes I would get that awful ‘no no no no’ and then my heart would start to give and then before you knew it I couldn’t breathe and it was dark and oh GOSH I hate this place. 

I know what’s going to happen, too. I am going to stop eating for a while, then binge eat because I think it will make me feel better. Eventually I’ll start working out obsessively, because I think I can trick my body into feeling better faster. It never works. And one day, I’ll wake up and things will just feel a little bit better. And better. And better. And then it will be mostly gone, but the scar will still be there because occasionally I’ll remember something and I’ll be back in that dark place again. But mostly, the feeling will be gone. 

I’m scared because now that I’m here, I know it’s going to take me months to feel normal again. At least. And every time I’ve come here, it’s gotten worse. This place is expanding, I guess… they’ve built parking lots or something because every time I’m here it seems it takes me longer to find my way out. Like a reverse Shangri-La or something. Hah. That’s funny. I wonder if anyone would want to live there. You would still be young forever, just miserable.



I’m on my 3rd panic attack and 4th bowl of mac and cheese today.  Maybe I should get a prize for that.

It’s funny because I start to realize how alone I am whenever I come here. I think about my family, like my mom and my dad sometimes, and then everything gets darker and deeper instead of more comforting. That feeling when I can’t stop crying, like I’m in some bottomless hole or something - the first time I remember feeling that way was when my mom would lock me in the car at the mall because I was misbehaving. A bad child. Bad. Did I do something bad?

I feel bad. Like I did something wrong. Like maybe I had to come here for time out. Like I know maybe things would have ended, like eventually, but why now? Maybe I was driving too fast. I should have waited. I should have watched the road more. Well, anyways. Here we are. We’re here. I know this place, and I guess I should find a parking spot. I’ll be here for a while.

July 27, 2014

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