My effin life

Your lives may be good. My life is just better. Deal with it.


2. Maniac

So yea. My mom took me to the doctor's and so. They said I have this condition.

'Everyone has a condition', I replied wittily. I am a very smart person, dunno if you already noticed. So anyways, they say that whenever I get overexcited the capillary blood vessels in my lungs pop. One by one, like one of those computer networks which crumble into the hands of a skillful hacker. Like playing cards towers when someone opens the window. The domino effect. One pops and then another and if you don't stop they will all pop in a supernova of blood. My doctor basically suggested I don't give a fuck anymore if I want to keep living. He said 'you better not fall in love, hun', also 'you may want to keep your teenage angst contained'. As if that would be all the implication of my terrible new found disease. As if the cure is less drama, have no crushes darling. Dr. FancypantsdegreeatfuckingOxfordorsomething thought I was an idiot so he had to explain everything to me in an accessible way. Poor me, both sick and mentally challenged at the same time. I gave him a cold stare. 'Must. Not. Get. Angry.', it echoed in my head like a mantra. He gave me a pat on the back and wrote a prescription while flirting shamelessly with my mother.

'You have a beautiful dress, lovely madam' he said as I was wondering who ever speaks so Victorian in the modern age. To sum up, as if ending a bad report, I have to keep it zen apparently, as if a life without emotion is a life worth living.

Empty shells. You go to the seaside with your mother, the only parent you've ever known and you walk on the beach. Endless walks. Sometimes the waves touch your soles and the cold water makes your ankles shake and then your whole body to the tip of your ears. 'Moooom', you yell and she lifts you up and holds you in her arms. You are too heavy and you know it but you love how the body cream she's put on after the shower smells like her. Or it's the other way around. You can't tell, it's the only smell you've ever known of her as if the existence of your mother before the shower is a blurry unknown, void of any kind of presence. She keeps carrying you around until you see shells on the beach and you start screaming again 'Momma, let's gather beautiful shells!' She has to do whatever you say. Like a little tyrant you give clear instructions regarding the search area. But an hour later you sit disappointed on your bum and cry with tears the size of transparent liquid pearls. 'There is no meat in it. Where is the animals?' Your mother could tell you the truth, those shells have been dead for years and decades. Stranded on the shore, eroding, lifeless, with only the calcium carbonate exoskeleton remaining of what once was their being. The animal inside rotted away or was eaten, the soft meat gulped down by some natural predator. But she can't say. Instead, she says it's probably gone to gather food for his little shellfish kids. It won't be able to come back if we stay here. We gotta get going. And we did.

I dun wanna be an empty shell. I wanna live and love Isaac and have sex and babies. I wanna throw tantrums and get divorced and I wanna live Greek tragedies. I dun wanna be cut off. I dun wanna die. But I will anyway. There is no way around it, one way or another I still will. Which one is worse though? Which one? The death of the body or that of the spirit? They say it's the same, if one dies the other goes. Guys at school say that we're just bags of meat anyways. Not Renee though, he knows this shit. He sayin' these stuff are different, connected but different. He also says the soul is what matters, the emotions and passions. But science says it's all just chemical process anyway. Gah! Why does it have to be so complicated? I just want to be. BE. Whatever that may be.


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