I am so very tortured. I guess it started long ago. All I know is that, well, since, forever, there has been a cloud of shame hanging over me. It causes me to shit blame all over myself, and lose any valuable footing I may have worked towards gaining in our American society today. "Why are you taking yourself so seriously, Brenda?" I ask myself that question repeatedly. Sometimes I ask it aloud in public, when I'm least aware of my vulnerabilities, and people stare. Sometimes I ask it alone at night, right before I turn out the lights, where nobody except for me can hear it.
Its just like that song from A Chorus Line that sings about graceful men lifting lovely girls in white. When I envision the perfect Brenda, I envision a Brenda that's prim, perfect, proper. Positively radiant, porcelain, primordial and most importantly, post-depression. And that is why I am giving up on therapy, and going on anti-depressants.
Give me some drugs! Foryousee I've tried to overcome it the organic way. I've tried to stop getting sad at the truly awful events going on all around me each day by meditating and thinking about the smiling babies who really are our future, and those furry puppies who seem to cry out for me to save them from their death chambers of pet store windows. I've tried eliminating caffeine, I've tried a special vegan diet, I've tried everything short of the coffee enema, but I've got one of those penciled in for next week. I don't know if any of these organic methods are making me happy. I think I need something that's going to change the chemical compound of the very bitter juices that are flowing in and around my tired, overused, and well-worn stomach.
If I could just lift this omnipresent veil of blackness, this heavy weight from off of my shoulders, and find an all loving and peaceful God who loves me just the way I am, it would signify the departure of a very dark cloud from above my head. This is a cloud that chokes off all of my creativity, and all of my loving. If I could get rid of my depression, I just know I would be perfect.
Perfect, beautiful and loving! And that's what America is all about, God Bless you Sarah Palin. But until then, there's bingeing and purging, and let me tell you, living in the Los Angeles basin affords a girl some of the choicest vittles and the meatiest combinations for both scarfing down, and bringing back up again.
Yes, I am tortured daily, but I've recently begun looking on the brighter side: living in Los Angeles is quite possibly a bullemic's dream come true.
