Monsters Inside Me
Grappling with anger and frustration through introspection, empathy, and absurdity. In this essay I divulge my literal and metaphorical parasites & become a little more tender towards all the chaos.
Red hot swords of chorizo sizzle on the grills of street vendors in Guatemala and I get a flashback to the time I stood in front of a frying funnel cake, itβs oil bubbling while my cheeks flushed with the rosacea I inherited from my father, a condition neither of us would ever claim or see a doctor for. I was stoned out of my mind on handfuls of psychedelic mushrooms I had anxiously shoveled in my mouth while stuck in traffic on the way to the Renaissance Fair in rural Virginia. The Jeep Cherokee Sport was full of friends and one boyfriend, and I was trying to blend their energies, like I had to hold all of them in my hand and make sure nobody got irritated or upsetβbecause God forbid Iβd internalize that, too.
If my friends didnβt want to get high, I would. If they were afraid, I couldnβt be. The Virginia countryside was stunningly beautiful. I became a giggling director, brushing my hand against the inside of the porta-john wall, claiming the third eye omniscient perspective of the director and the aspiring director and the ex-boyfriend who showed me Letterboxd and hated my taste in everything. all of it laid bare, but all still under my control. A futile effort, really.
Iβve been so angry lately and I donβt know why. Itβs this free-floating, electric kind of rage that builds, no matter what I do. Itβs not the first time. I tried to read The Dance of Anger, like my therapist recommended four years ago, but I hardly made it past page fifteen. Iβm angry when people stare unabashedly at me and Iβm happiest when Iβm alone, but I still think about their eyes. If itβs early in the morning and Iβm in a good mood I might find myself singing stop staringgg at me, the fuck are you doinnggg quietly under my breath like an unburdened child who canβt stop the flow of words out of his mouth.
I have a parasite inside of me and have had three in the past four months, something like a family. I wonder if they are turning me into an evil, angry, woman, like they said Demi Moore was in that Fendi Runway show and as she actually was as Monstro Elisasue in The Substance.
Lately, Iβve been referring to them more affectionatelyβmy parasites. Itβs an act of self-assurance. Surely a positive mindset, removing my Catholic pendant necklace (I was raised Episcopalian), and saying the Lordβs Prayer (a childhood habit), will work better than the three rounds of antibiotics Iβve tried. Maybe if I call them mine and stop fighting, theyβll feel welcome enough to leave. Or maybe not. Maybe theyβre like the toxic emotions I hold on toβtoo deeply embedded to flush out completely.
I imagine they have tiny souls with little veins and spawning limbs squirming inside my epithelial tissue, curling up when Iβm full of food, like baby lambs on the ridges of my stomach lining when Iβm hungry.
βIβve never seen a case like this,β the doctor says. βItβs extremely unusual.β
My aunt told me my yearβs astrological chart says Iβll get sick a lot due to my pisces moon. She said I need to set physical and emotional boundaries in my life. Maybe not living in an apartment where you have to walk through someoneβs bedroom to use the bathroom. Or maybe blocking that dude I met on Hinge who constantly canceled, then sent harassing messages after I stopped responding. Or maybe just washing my vegetables well and imagining a beam of white light radiating from the top of my head and not listening to so many ghost stories before bed.
I have dΓ©jΓ vu a lot, but only for things Iβve seen in dreams. Like that time at a Thai restaurant in Guatemala, and I knew this man would walk in and sit down with me. I had experienced it before, it had already happened, albeit in a dream. Β He never came. I feel guilt for the self-indulgency of thinking I could prophesize something but the whole thing is involuntary so should I really?
When I was in preschool, we had to run around a gym completing a series of spins and tumbles and finally a jump off a short rubber block. I firmly believed I was quantumly entangled with the spirit of my crush two states away in Georgia and he would undoubtedly appear and catch me midair, leaving everyone astonished and envious.
My crush, the son of my fatherβs fraternity brother, did not catch me. I landed on my ass, sending a shock of pain up my spine. My teacher screamed at me begging to know why I didnβt even try to land on my feet.
When I was 15, I picked fights with my boyfriend screaming insults and crying hot hot tears on the street between our houses, forcing him to feel something, because if my daddy wouldnβt show emotions, I could easily make another boy cry.
This time last year I went to Italy with a man I met in Germany and only knew for four dates. It was the best trip of my life, Iβve never laughed so much. I came back to Berlin to see him a few months later because he asked and he offered to pay for my plane ticket. In Berlin I told him I loved him, and he said he wasnβt ready and though humiliated I donβt mind so much now.
I think of my lovers, my exes, my one-night stands, and even the strangers who stare at me on the street, unblinking, as little parasitesβhamsters I check on through social media or some dark LinkedIn spiral search. And yet, for the first time in a long time, Iβm okay. I dare say, the happiest Iβve been in a while (cue the other shoe dropping).
Iβm not numb, that I know of, but I donβt cry over everything, and I only long for a boyfriend or sex for validation or to be told Iβm beautiful 30% of the time which is a steep improvement from the previous 92%. Maybe my microscopic companions are doing a good job of keeping me company or maybe I have become accustomed to being alone or maybe I have realized -actually realized- thereβs a lot of people who donβt deserve my time.
But also that everyone - including my parasites and my ex-boyfriends and the creep on the street - deserve love. In this simple and corny truth, I am learning over and over again that love, and a little compassion, melt away rage.
Fuck ur brilliant