God Yes, Pity Me...

I left work early tonight. I wasn't sick, though I hadn't felt this horrible in years. It all happened so fast and before I knew it, I was swept away. Since meeting Kristina, I took every opportunity at the restaurant to slip into any and all conversations her name and our quickly changing status. "This girl I know, Kristina," eventually became "my friend, Kristina," which soon changed to "my girlfriend, Kristina". She wasn't imaginary or made up, she was as real as any one's girlfriend. And I felt for the first time in a long time, people looked at me as normal, and I liked that...to be looked at as normal...but I keep forgetting...I'm not normal.

The day after Kristina stormed out of my house, I went to work and as one might assume, I was sad. I'm usually pretty good at checking my emotions at the door like our Policy Manual dictates, but in this, a time of weakness, I relented. I didn't expect anyone to notice my saddened state much less care enough to ask if I was OK, but to my surprise and eventual dismay, someone did. Someone looked at me, detected something was wrong and cared enough to ask. Amazing! Fuck! That attention, that split second moment of legitimate human connection rushed through my veins, more powerful than any drug, addictive, and before I knew it, I craved. Craved their attention, their sympathy. Craved their hands on my shoulder, their soft words. I craved their pity. I knew it was wrong but it felt so right. The small, still sane portion of my soul lowed its head in shame as I strategically mapped out which of the restaurant's corners and nooks were best suited for me to appear alone for the audience. Far enough away but always just in sight. When to smile, when to frown for optimized viewing. "He's so strong," I imagined them saying. "He's really holding himself together." This went on for days. I got the best stations, the easiest customers, the least closing duties all to make my sad life a bit easier to live. And in their eyes, once filled with contempt and hatred, now flooded pathos...and I never felt worse about myself...well, I have, but not in a while.

Like any addiction, overdosing is inevitable. I took too much too fast and today, it made me feel horrible. I feel I have taken two steps back, back to the days I lied about my disease, back to the days I lied about who I truly am. Rock bottom. I knew this needed to stop so when early cuts were made, my sympathy card was flashed one last time, knowing there would be no objections. I went straight home and called Dr. Goode.

He said it was normal. What I was feeling was normal. But when I told him how much I liked the pity, how I searched for the pity, needed the pity, on the other end of the phone, there was a pause. A long, quiet, brain squeezing pause. He paused! And as many words to fill a book ran through my head in that pause, fearful of his upcoming, after the pause words, knowing all of them saying what a horrible person I am, craving pity, what is wrong with you, you sick fuck. He would use my past words against me. Like how, after my first breakdown, rather than telling everyone I was psychotic, I told them I had Cancer. Talk about compassion. Depending on how I felt that day, the Cancer would be either lung or stomach but never skin. Pity is best served to a pretty package. Skin cancer is a little too deforming...facially. How the lie got so big and so involved, bake sales were planned, car washes were commissioned and every kid in my class came to school with shaved heads to show solidarity with my own hairless head - from Cancer they assumed, a result of chemo and surely not a sick order from Tommy, the voice in my now bald head. All this was done to make my sad life a bit better. And I loved every fucking second of it. The pity, all that beautiful pity, and it was all for me.

And now Dr. Goode was going to use my words to tell me what I have always known, that I am still crazy, that I will never be sane and I better pack up my belongings cause it's back to the hospital for you, young man. As soon as he speaks, this is what he will tell me. As soon as he stops cursing the day he ever took me on as a patient, as soon as this pause stops. Good God, this is a long pause. OK, I get it, the effect is noted. Hello? Hello? Dr. Goode? I looked at my phone and saw the call had been disconnected. A moment later, the phone rings and I see in the caller ID, Dr.Goode's name and number. I answered and like nothing happened, he says, "Hello, sorry, we got disconnected." I smiled but didn't know what to say. He continued, "OK, so where were we, oh yes, so you got sucked into that whole pity thing again, well, I'm proud of you for stopping it before it got too big. You did really good. You stopped the behavior before it got carried away. Good job. You are really making good progress, Paul-David, a year ago, you would have kept that up for months. You're doing really good, buddy. I'll see you at our next appointment. Try not to worry about it. You're gonna be fine." "OK," I said, "Thanks?"

I hung up the phone, exhausted. I'm gonna be fine.

A moment later, the phone rings again. Did he change his mind, did he realize I really am crazy?

No. In the caller ID another familiar name and number is shown. It was Kristina. She was calling me. After a week, she was calling me, and I was so excited to answer the phone.