turn my pages, bitch!
nice try, good job, etc etc. very difficult things to hear when you can never find it in yourself to believe it. i almost cried a few times, so i pretended to yawn. i think i must've done it about 3 times.
there's one thing you have to know about me. i have like ed gein levels of social ineptness, the sort of fundamental disconnection from others that only a lonely mama's boy working at a deserted motel would have. maybe comparing myself to somebody like anthony perkins is doing him a bit of a disservice. i'm a botched thing wearing the skin of a human. soon i'll probably start grave digging and dressing like mom too! book norman is more like me. he's fat and a drunk. like father like daughter?
i must've failed somehow, even though i got tons of compliments and i tried my best the only thing i could really think about was how many gashes i would slice in my thighs when i got home. catharsis. a pain i can control. i like when i can control things.
this is how serial killers are created, everyone! i don't know if i've seen too many horror movies or i'm not taking enough prozac, but please be gentle with me! all i want is control. control over myself and control over others. is that a good backstory or what? fits narratively too. child of divorce, eating disorder, perfectionist... etc etc. control control control.
maybe having an abusive bald man like the guy from whiplash yell at me could straighten me up. i need andrew levels of discipline. i can be better. you can always be better. that's how you get noticed. that's how you start to feel like living is okay. that the air and space you're taking up is worth something.
it keeps you from wanting to hang yourself from the coat rack, or rather, wanting to choke yourself with a badminton racquet. or maybe murdering other people but i have no good reason to do that. my motive would fucking suck. i don't want to hurt any feelings. i'm soft and gross.