Photo by Clay Banks on Unsplash
I’m heading back out west,
After a week of smelling like a cigarette & having self reflection in progress slapped on my face everywhere I went. A few moments of “I should join a church.” quickly abandoned by “I should start a cult.” bounced around my head when my parents asked me if living 2,000 miles away from home is as lonely as I look.
Which, I don’t even have to walk you through the process of those thoughts. Because you’ve had them in some variation; To be insidious or to be compassionate? That is the question that takes a lifetime to answer. Yes, I’m heading back out west where I’m surrounded by white people with dreadlocks who preach that the end is near. Is the end not already here? Nobody smokes cigarettes in Utah or if they do, they’ve forsaken me. They eat chicken that is wet, devoid of seasoning & ignore the growing homeless issue. Out west they are obsessed with redheaded women--the west is obsolete. It’s very obsolete & that’s obvious. & I’m obviously not-not fucked up. I am, & not even in a cool way. Because I am not a musical genius who can rely on the desperadoes to revive my ego when my close friends abandon me. I can not sing my way into soft sweet gazes. I’ve noticed that I talk too much as a regular person, am arrogant, dismissive, lazy— probably a narcissist. Definitely not a narcissist, actually! Just fucking crazy. Which is fine, I know nothing outside of madness but there is guilt. In Salt Lake City I used to drown my guilt by drinking vodka crans with other (definite) narcissists. Who I actually don’t like & who lie a significant amount.
“You don’t have to believe me but people use me for my apartment & clout.”
A 23 year old teacher I spent a couple weeks smoking weed with, told me over a blunt in my white Kia.
“Oh really? I totally believe you.” I didn’t nor did I care to believe when this internal war raged inside of me. Could I really escape my own ego while surrounded by ego indulgence?
They were the second person to accuse the people of using them for their amenities & It was the second time I had to take a moment to try to figure out why anyone would want to use these people for a nice view? Substance-less, judgmental, fun only because there was something unhinged about them-- type of person these humans were. I accepted their invitations because I was guaranteed the unexpected.
On the east coast my friendships are falling apart. Not all of them, not even a majority of them. Two. But they’re B I G ones. You know the ones you ask for forgiveness for if you marry a white guy? The ones you cry for when they cry? Huge friendships. Something went wrong, we’re not communicating issues anymore. Which now has me internalizing it as; “I’m a fucking narcissist & I’ve driven all my friends away.” Who, even though I’ll admit with no hassle (because I’m self loathing) that I did have a fundamental part in the decay of two decent sized losses; so did those motherfuckers. It’s easier to be mad, I tried self deprecating but I’m on a flight...with a faint suspicion that my privacy is up for piracy.. I only know ONE narcissist on the east coast, the rest are poisoned by low self esteem to which I was raised in. Cannibals to their own sense of self, quickly losing their ability to function as individuals due to insecurity. I only know three regular people on the west coast though.. three. I’ve spent a lot of time partying in high rises above salt lake. In between appetizers & being forced to watch two people who are not performers BUT are regular entitled partygoers— sing Celine dion ballads— I’ve finally realized that I’m the worst version of myself in both settings. What scares me about saying that is; it’s not completely true. But it hurts too much to admit that I might be part of the problem in the equation of myself. Does that metaphor make sense? I spent a night hanging out with a blonde guy from Wisconsin. I was too drunk to remember the entire ordeal but I do remember him rolling his eyes at me fairly often, kissing me when I told him I was too tired to make out, & us hooking up just so I didn’t seem like a bitch. also so he’d stop grinding against me. Afterwards I fell into a depression, not solely because of him but because I had been on the precipice of suicidal thoughts for a while & something about the complete disregard he had for my visibility as a person, rubbed me the wrong way. He wasn’t drunk by the way, just me. Picked me up at a club where I threw up, told him I was embarrassed to meet because I was drunk. Because I’d always lost myself whenever I sat in liquor's lap, lost a grip on reality. Retrospectively, I was not in reality when I was with him. I needed closure on the situation-- the hookup. Sort of how I always seek closure is by putting myself down. Seeking forgiveness, hoping he’d known how intelligent I really was & how beautiful my face really could be in the sober daylight.. Then a more significant part of me hoping he’d apologize.. maybe he’d understand why I asked him aggressively if he’d gotten cum on my blanket. Maybe he’d apologize for pressuring me into hooking up with him & just maybe we could begin again.
“It was slightly callous, I was just reacting.” was what I heard back from him.
But fuck, if I’m callous for putting my foot down-- what is he for ignoring no?
My two best friends hate him but they also seem to hate me.. So are he & I as alike as I’m afraid to be?
How many boundaries set by others have we hurdled? How many times have we hijacked the conversation? How many people are willing to admit that there is an unpleasant narcissistic air to them?
Whether it’s woe is me 99.9% of the time or woe can’t be me because —
Am I the rookie for refusing to accept the antiquated version of all things, especially me? Or am I a fucking revolutionary? Questions that should be answered by someone who does not live out in Utah, or not by someone who moved to Salt Lake City because they always kinda liked that movie (SLC punk!). I’d always been the big dog in the east coast prison yard, vocal, poorly received, & with a decent amount of company. Whether that was from fear or from respect, I never questioned my highschool popularity. Here, I’ve found myself soft hearted, bleeding to an uncanny degree. I’ve enjoyed the time spent listening to others speak for me because it means I’ve been underestimated, taken advantage of. When in reality, I could put this discombobulation to rest but I chose to lay down. Being a big dog meant being an angry black woman for so long, here when I’m amongst narcissists-- they are the ones given dismissive narratives. I’ve been thinking of getting electroshock therapy (rough childhood). If I could forget this blonde Wisconsin man then perhaps I could forget all the men before him as well. All the poverty & feelings of self-worthlessness. The woman next to me (on my flight) asked for a seat change because I smelt like cigarettes..she has asthma, which reminded me I always liked those people who do rude shit for themselves. Especially because she smelt like puke & alcohol but I was too jaded over what people I actually care about think of me, to cause a scene. Plus I did smell like cigarettes. I brought that up because I’m trying to find a balance in my life. What are the things I can control & why exactly do I desire control? I’m trying to figure out how to navigate crumbling friendships, depressed loved ones, re-learning how to roll blunts, crying in public— these are difficult quests to embark on. I have trouble not believing I create spaces where people feel like they’re drowning, & while I was drunk on the night I met that man— I frequently think about how self absorbed & callous he thought I was. When in reality he was just a douchebag who came to collect some cum & head back to Oregon. Who told me I was callous to free himself of any guilt. Still all the criticisms of me as a human being bleed into my veins, while I appear almost narcissistic (like I’ve been taught to), my inner core is penetrable like pudding. You are your company so why do I keep such a bizarre company?
If he ever reads this; I know how to pronounce Oregon you fucking dick. I mispronounced it on purpose.
I no longer kick it with narcissists, because my down to earth friends cite it as a reflection of thyself.
“How can you stand that behavior?”
Because it’s funny, strange, empowering, & self destructive.
I also no longer kick it with my down to earth friends because they’re crazy & absolutely in the way that’s like will scream at their boyfriend in public then ask you in the girls bathroom how to proceed but when you say
“Man, if it gets to a point where I’m screaming at my boyfriend over a taco in a Bahama breeze restaurant— I’m single.”
You are interfering with their relationship & don’t understand the pull of love.
I don’t even kick it with myself anymore,
Because I’ve managed to wipe out about 200 friendships in the past five years. Plus I cry all the time & get my feelings hurt frequently— like a bitch. I moved so far away from the east because I needed to. I needed to get away from the past me, who everytime I’m there, threatens to creep back inside.
Everything is a lot to handle. Feeling like I’m constantly running away from prior me’s & making it so well known that I’m not insane anymore.
“I’m doing real well, was afraid for a moment there!” Followed by the audience's belly laughs that rub me the wrong way, my face turning in the way it does before you say something you shouldn’t. Then the pressure I feel to add that I’m still mentally ill, just have a better handle on it.
But I’m not doing well, I went home for the holiday because I wanted to get the fuck out of this place (Utah) & by the end of the week I was AGAIN listening to the Weekends ‘Nothing Compares’, blunt lipped, sobbing. So I’m learning that no matter where I go on this planet; I’ve got to get my kinetic energy corrected. This is mostly a letter to my therapist so she figures out where my head has been the past two weeks without her. But also, totally, a testament to the aging brain. An impossible companion, too perceptive while maintaining an ignorance that is detrimental. Is there a way to balance the chemicals in your brain so that you are neither a narcissist nor a slug in the field of friendship? Field of self?
When I started smoking weed again I asked myself many questions like this, trying to gauge the depth of my own brain but also asking because my brain knows more than me. Our brains know more than us. It freaked me out because here I’ve been guided by the logic of psychopaths, misery clingers, nut jobs-- when I could’ve been asking my brain to help me.
Does this make sense?
My therapist always tells me to escape the past, move on to things I can currently dominate. Which I think is shitty advice, because I’m really trying to ask her questions that may alert my brain to bring back memories that created these fucked up coping mechanisms. She also asked me to stop juuling over Zoom with her which rubbed me the wrong way, because I was trying to articulate that I’m so over this idea of fixing the peripheral. Focusing on things about individuals they do not want to focus on. In a lot of ways, this is why my friendships ended. I couldn’t stop trying to fix the broken parts of them to distract me from hearing my mind say; Finley, these are the broken parts of you.
Lastly, is being 21 supposed to feel this deep?
Will I ever feel like the big dog again?