{31st may 2013}
dear jen,
i think i've become unhealthily addicted to abba's music, which as a problem, since they're from the seventies and all. god fucking damn, i can't get mamma mia out of my bloody head, and it is a very big problem, let me tell you.
how was your date with joe? pretty good, i'd warrant. he's a gentleman when he can be arsed.
(he can be arsed for you.)
i went to visit liz. she's doing alright. i sort of cleaned up a bit as well, there were weeds growing everywhere and i don't think she'd like that, if you know what i mean.
(bit of a control freak, was liz.)
ah, i was going to say something else but now i've forgotten. hey, maybe you dating joe and stuff will mean we can talk.
(that idea has me nervous and excited at the same time. don't ask me why.)
i went to see my therapist (can we call him my friend? my guy, maybe. my fallback guy. i don't really know what that means, but you americans say it a lot.)
anyway, went to see my fallback guy. he seems pretty confused at the moment, probably because some days i come in looking like a fucking wreck and the next i'm all rainbows and butterflies.
i told him i was adjusting to my life. that confused him a whole lot, let me tell you.
i'll be honest, it hurts a lot. i can't really say what exactly hurts, but you know, at least these letters are getting a lot more chatty. i might even make it onto the other side of the page at this rate.
anyway, where was i? not a clue, to be honest. mamma mia, jen. mamma mia.
(just kidding. i'm not italian. just quite fond of abba.)
alright, i'll get to the end of this letter. maybe. probably. yeah.
god, i'm different when i can be bothered to talk, aren't i?
fallback guy/therapist got quite wound up, i can tell you. wrote down dissociative identity disorder in his little notebook and everything. i told him not to worry, i didn't have that, i was just trying to be a little less doom and gloom.
then it was like
fallback guy: well, you're allowed to be doom and gloom, you know.
me:
me: i know.
me: but i reckon i've been doom and gloom for, what is it, now? a year and a bit?
me: god, look at me. getting so cheerful i can't remember when my bloody best friend got run over.
fallback guy:
fallback guy:
fallback guy: so is this what you're calling it?
me: what?
fallback guy: being cheerful? is this you being cheerful?
me:
me: well, i'm certainly not crying my eyes out, and i'm considering that an improvement. aren't you?
(fallback guy stopped to write something down, and i breathed really hard, so it was a pretty pissed off sigh.)
me: you don't have to write everything down, you know.
fallback guy: it's my job.
me: well, my mum's paying you to get me to feel less like i want to throw myself off the roof of my apartment block, am i right?
(fallback guy looked up with a very panicked expression on his face.)
fallback guy: you want to throw yourself off the roof of your apart-
me: no. but i'm pretty sure i did, at some point.
(fallback guy began to flick through his notebook.)
fallback guy: i haven't got anything down about suicidal thou-
(i snorted and that shut him up.)
me: look, evan, i really like you and stuff, like honestly, you're a fucking great guy, but you seriously don't think i'm going to tell you everything that goes through my head?
fallback guy:
fallback guy: well, isn't that what you're here to do?
me: correction. you're here to listen to me. i'm pretty sure if i told you everything i thought about, you wouldn't like me as much as you do.
me:
me:
me: who am i kidding, you hate my bloody guts.
fallback guy:
fallback guy:
fallback guy: i don't, actually.
me: well, that's another improvement we've made.
fallback guy: back to my original question -
me: no, it's not cheerful.
fallback guy:
me: but it's honest, right?
fallback guy:
me: and besides, being cynical is better than...
me: whatever it was i was doing before.
fallback guy: right.
me: you don't think so?
fallback guy:
fallback guy: oh, i do.
fallback guy:
me:
fallback guy: at any rate though, it's not about what i think. it's about what you think.
me:
me: god, what do you do on a saturday? or whenever your day off is? please tell me you do something normal. you've got a fucking depressing life as it is, listening to these people moaning on about whatever the fuck is wrong with them.
fallback guy:
fallback guy: it helps them. i like helping people.
me:
me: makes one of us, i suppose.
fallback guy:
me:
fallback guy:
me:
fallback guy:
me:
fallback guy:
me:
fallback guy: alright, that's our time up for today.
(i got up to leave.)
fallback guy: oh, you know what i do on a saturday?
(i turned around. i kind of did want to know what he did on a saturday.)
fallback guy: i go see my girlfriend. she lives in new jersey, so it's only twenty minutes away, anyways.
me:
me: what's her name?
fallback guy: amy.
fallback guy: and she knows all about you.
me:
me: why?
(fallback guy smiled.)
fallback guy: you're my favourite. patient, i mean.
i'm my fallback guy's favourite patient. mamma mia, jen. mamma mia.
