licking wounds with happy pills

After you have been at war, no matter if you have won or lost, you will be hit by some kind of depression, or better said, by a feeling of guilt and despair, of uneasiness. For many reasons, you will wonder about what caused this war in the first place; you will wonder about who you were before and after this battle, and even more how this battle affected the people you have around.

Take for example the king Dutugamunu, who did not shoot a single shot in the war, but went in to a depressive type of reaction soon after the Wijithapura battle; he got really fucked in the head for some time, but the king’s emotional worries were soon after healed by a monk.

I am also being healed now. My healer is not a monk but he has several stamped diplomas on his walls that officially certify him to charge 178 kr a visit – maybe more if you need some tests, and give you a prescription for some funny pills. He is supposed to help me overcome this anxiety and do some peacemaking in my soul so this war doesn’t happen again, at least not under his watch.

Truth is, all good deed he does in 43 minutes disappears when I stand in front of the pharmacist and he asks me many unnecessary questions, and makes me sign this form and that form and even one more, and looks at me very skeptical because I am one of those ones that need those pills, and I am thinking “did you ever encounter the monster, you asshole, you would be shoving the pills up your ass in pairs…”

Fucking sorcerer.

(…) A reason I went to war, and I am not ashamed to admit, is that I believed I was some kind of superwoman and I could do it all. Apparently, I am not – and I cracked as badly as an egg. Stress is a bitch, time a bigger one, and trying to be everywhere and for everyone is not a funny business. We use our time in very wrong an unproductive ways. For example, the time we spend online on social media. AttentionWhore just wrote this great piece wondering what the hell happened with time, with the time we had before we had Facebook, Twitter, blogs… and all this social media stuff that is consuming us, and consuming most of our time. I realized i became part of this race to have more friends, more followers, to attract people to our comment’s field. We suddenly get attention and, as a perfect drug, we crave more attention. I am seeing some craving that attention desperately; some are so pathetic that will agree to anything, will always be nice and polite just to be recognized, to be included on the loop, sometimes contradicting themselves with their comments just to be accepted. I decide I don1t want to be that consumed all the time.

Put it this way… if one dies tomorrow… how many of those followers or friends would really give a shit?

AttentionWhore is very right on how consumed we are with this attention business. I, for example, started watching Mad Men; I wasn’t particularly in the mood nor I had much time to sit my ass and watch. But because he is watching, I had to also. God forbid he made a comment on Twitter about how talented secretaries were back then and I didn’t understand what kind of talent he is talking about – and I know he is not referring to their speed typing letters.

All this insecurities from war made me question many other things, one of those ones myself as a woman, and as no way in hell I am one of those secretaries, I am not one of those perfect wives with pointy bras and perfect hair and happy smiles. Or at least I don’t think so, but I am not all that sure. I came to figure out that being perfect it can be as subjective as one self and that I actually do not need to be perfect at all times.

So I may not have a pointy bra, but as for now I got my happy pills, and let me tell you, I totally understand how those housewives got to smile all the time.

Minus the booze.