Self Conversation

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You’re being angsty and edgy again mate.

For some reason, you sound like Togami.

Whatever. Would you prefer me to sound like Kaya? Or Daniel?

Do whatever the fuck you want. You’re my head, after all.

So what are you doing out here?

Like you said, being angsty and edgy.

Why are you being angsty and edgy though?

Why the hell would you care?

I am you. And I’m not sure if you know yourself.

I do. Somewhat.

Then enlighten me.

I can’t finish my IT.

…that’s it?

No. Of course not, otherwise I wouldn’t be breaking down, would I?

Fine then. What else is there?

The fact that I can’t finish anything I start.

You finished one thing.

That doesn’t count and you know it.

I see. So we’re discounting anything involving mass destruction?

…yes.

Very well.

My point is, I can barely finish the things that interest me, let alone things that don’t even peak that interest.

And?

It makes me feel bad about myself. Because I want to be able to finish, but I just feel so…unmotivated.

In other words, your depression decides to add a few pounds so that you can’t do shit.

Precisely.

Then again, that could just be you making excuses.

That is another thing. I’m probably just lazy, and I just blame it on the mental illness.

Then get over it. Stop hating yourself. Give yourself proof that you’re not a bad person. Actually work.

Oh, I get it. You can’t. There is something physically weighing you down. You just can’t tell if it’s just mental illness or laziness.

…yeah.

Well you’ve got to get over it. Your future lies in the balance. This shit is year 12, make or break year.

I want to be able to…

…but you don’t think you can?

No.

Why not?

Because I can’t finish anything, even if I set my mind to it. I don’t know what I want to do with my life, fuck, I don’t even know what my morals are!

Ohhhh, I see. It’s not just self hate. It’s guilt.

For some part.

Togami? Ash?

Yup.

I don’t know what you see in them. Togami’s a self absorbed prick and you’ve seen your other suitor. If one can call him that.

Togami appears to believe that I can get better. It’s not a relationship anyway. As for Ash…yeah, I can’t make excuses. He’s a sleaze bag.

So it’s Ash that you’re guilty about, not Togami.

Yeah. Everyone hates him.

Except for you.

I hate him too. Just not enough to stop seeing him.

Are you going to sleep with him again?

No.

Good. Now stick to it. Don’t let him seduce you with Sword Art Online.

Shaddup.

But that’s not it.

Of course it’s not.

Jeezus. It never stops, does it? What is it with being seventeen? Does something change suddenly that lures in hot dudes? Hehee. Cat Madigan 101: How to pick up hot dudes.

Oi.

Okay. Togami I’ll let you off the hook for. Ash, you’re kinda a bad person for. So what about candidate number three?

…he’s insanely intelligent, sweet and not condescending. And probably isn’t at all interested in me in that way.

…he asked you to the fucking movies. On fucking VALENTINES DAY.

…it’s Valentines Day on Saturday?

Argh….yes. And you’ve got a fucking date.

…he’s probably called it off. I’m a nutcase, as he’s now well aware.

Whatever…I know where this is going. ‘Why would he be interested in me? I’m insane, I’m ugly, I’m retarded. He’s going to lose interest in me eventually.’

Of course.

So what? You’re going to let a potential relationship slide out of your grasp?

Look, if he’s not interested in me, he’s not interested in me. And chances are, even if he is, he’ll eventually decide that I’m not worth the trouble.

If that’s the case, then what are you alive for?

Hmm?

You’re insane, ugly and retarded, as you pointed out. You’re lazy, because you’re not finishing the work you need to. And you’ll never be desirable to anyone because of those things. So why are you still alive?

…because I don’t have the guts to kill myself.

Oh, I see. So you’re just a waste of space, taking up everyone’s time and oxygen. You’re disgusting.

I hate myself.

As you should.

But…

What?

…I hate you more.

I hate you, the voice in my head that reminds me how horrible I am. You’re the one thing standing in the way of me living a normal life. You’ve always been there, clinging to me like a chain around my neck. I know what you are…

You are that miserable illness that’s been eating away at me since I was six. You just sit there and whisper things to me and feast on the pain it produces. I hate you far more than I’ll ever hate myself.

So kill me.

I can’t.

Of course you can. All you need is a bullet in the brain to take away the pain. Heh, I should be a poet.

No. I’m going to live.

No you’re not.

I am. I’m going to live so that every day for the rest of my life, I can tell you to go fuck yourself.

Everything you said was true.

No. Everything you said was true. It could happen. But then again, it might not. But I think I’ll stay around and find out.

You’re not going to survive me.

I will. I’m stronger than you. Look at what I survived already.

Give it up. I’m the one you should fear.

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I have found another part about myself that I hate. Yes, it turns out that it is possible. After discovering millions of flaws in myself, I thought there couldn’t have been anymore.

I have a feeling that whenever I say things like ‘What could be worse than this,’ or ‘I’ve hit rock bottom’, my brain seems to determine this as a challenge.

THIS IS NOT A GAME BRAIN! I DON’T WANT TO FEEL EVEN MORE INSECURE ABOUT MYSELF, I’M A NUTJOB ALREADY!!

So I’ve figured out something else about myself.

I develop attachments to the simplest, stupidest things.

About a few months ago, I nearly had a panic attack when I was deciding to change my radio from 92.9 to 99.3, more commonly known as Triple J. You see, my radio is difficult to change stations on, and if I chose to change my radio station, it would probably stay on that station for the rest of that radio’s existence. And I was freaking out about it. And it was a radio station!

And for all you imaginary 92.9 fans who are asking, I got sick of Nicki Minaj and songs with horrible meanings. Yes, I’m looking at you Miley Cyrus, and you Robin Thicke.

I also tend to be frightened when something happens to Daniel. Yes, the same Daniel who teases and picks on me whenever he has the chance. Because I’ve also gotten attached to him. He’s a friend, and he protects me.

And I shouldn’t get attached to him because he’s a part of my head which isn’t real, and my doctors are splitting hairs over getting rid of him.

I can imagine what you’re thinking, nonexistent reader. Why am I only just noticing this behaviour of mine?

I believe it happened because of a painting I had done. Well, it brought about the realisation.

A few months ago, we were painting abstract self portraits in Art, and mine actually won a prize, much to my astonishment. I was a better drawer than a painter, and the fact that I had won something for that painting was surprising in itself.

So today, I found out from my art teacher that someone wanted to buy my painting, and to think about if I wanted to sell it.

As I am incapable of expressing emotion properly, my only reaction was, “Oh, wow, okay.” On the inside, I felt everything spinning out of whack.

I was carrying my canvas outside when I saw Daniel waiting for me. He was pumped. “That,” he told me, “is wicked. Someone wanted to buy your work, that’s incredible!”

I just smiled tiredly.

Then Daniel noticed I hadn’t said anything. “Are you going to sell it?”

“I’m not sure,” I admitted.

There was a story behind the painting. It probably wouldn’t make much sense without seeing it, but I’m a bit reluctant about letting it out on the Internet, especially when I’m considering selling it. But I’ll describe it as best as I can.

Anyway.

I am not in a good state of mind. In the slightest. Nor was I when I was painting my picture. I don’t know if I ever will be again, (yes, that’s right, I used to be sane). But I can’t let people know that, otherwise I can’t be anything more than the ‘mental girl’. So I appear calm on the outside. I had used green in the background, and for my eyes, and I painted my hair a pretty blue. Calm colours, nice colours, they remind me of a meadow by a lake. I’ve also painted my clothing red, not bright red, just a muted, pretty colour. It doesn’t get much attention.

My face on the other hand, is bright yellow and orange, like a flame. I always feel like I’m burning up on the inside, the pain is bright and vibrant, and it hurts.

It’s not a good feeling.

I ask Daniel now. “Do you see what I’m getting at?”

“Somewhat. But do you?”

I frown, and shake my head at his logic. “I feel like it’s too emotional,” I said slowly. “And too personal. I mean, it means something to me, about myself, and it’s not a very nice part about myself. It’s like giving away a secret, and for someone else to have that secret?”

“What do you know about secrets?”

I make a face. “Enough to know that it’s a bitch.”

He chuckles. “Silly Cat. A person only has a secret if they understand it completely. This person won’t know the truth unless you give it to them.”

“Then I’m selling a lie.”

He cracks up. “You are an idiot.”

“I believe that’s been established.”

He sighs. “What are you upset about? You could sell a painting, what’s wrong with that?”

I shake my head. “It just feels almost like I’m telling them about what’s really happening in my head.”

“Cat Louise Madigan,” Daniel says. “Will you remember this painting for the rest of your life?”

“I’m not sure,” I said slowly. “I could feel differently tomorrow about it, and I might want to sell the painting. On the other hand, what if I sell it and I’ll always want it?”

“Now you’re overthinking this,” Daniel said. Then he starts calling out “RED ALERT, RED ALERT! OVERTHINKING IN PROGRESS! INITIATE DISTRACTION!”

I hit him over his head with a book. “Better?” he asked.

“Much, thank you.”

Daniel lies back. “Ask your teacher more about it,” he says. “Don’t give it away practically for free, if it’s so precious. How much would you sell a secret?”

I actually don’t know. Here I am, writing up our conversation for millions of nonexistent readers to see, and I’m worrying about an implied message in a painting. “You’re right, I am an idiot,” I said.

He rolls his eyes. When I look back up, he’s gone. And I feel sad.

Damn you Daniel.