CaptainWacky
I want to smell dark matter
(Two men are sitting on a bench on stage. One is talking as the curtain raises.)
Man1: ...at all, not it at all, not depression, not a chemcial imbalance, if my chemicals were balance any other way they'd be wrong! My chemicals are balanced in exactly the appropriate way to my current situation. Anyway, anti-depressants don't work, I've tried them. They just substitue the bad feeling with a kind of fake, grey feeling that BECOMES the bad feeling. And they make my hands feel weird. No, it's not me that's "wrong" it is the world. Well, that is to say, the world is wrong for me. If the world was different in several key areas, some subtle, some gross, then I would be considered "right" and everyone else would be considered "wrong". There's no use saying that I just need my chemicals rebalanced, because the world is not FOR me! Fundamentally, it is not mine. It is alien. You can't change me to fit it. Squre peg, round hole.
Man2: Well some people get over depression.
Man1: I'm not depressed!
Man2: You've been on anti-depressants.
Man1: Look, did you listen to a word I just said?
Man2: Yes. Sounds like you're in denial. You just need to let people help you...
Man1: Let people help me? LET PEOPLE HELP ME?
Man2: Umm, yes? Is that so bad? Would that wound your pride?
(Man1 laughs heartily.)
Man1: Wound my pride...you really have no idea. No idea about me, do you? Of course you don't! You're not me! You can only speak from your own experience, from what you've seen, from textbooks, message boards...you're not me! You have absolutely no idea of the architecture of your mind, yet you're arrogant enough to assume I can be helped! That I can fit some acceptable pattern that there's a treatment for. I'm me. I KNOW my mind. I know it better than anyone. I, more than anyone, am qualified to make an assessment of my mental state! How can anyone else...without being a person you can't know a person! Pride does not enter into it!
Man2: I just think, with depression, it's circular, it feels like there's no way out, so it then becomes that there is indeed no way out, and that adds to the hopelessness and so on and...
Man1: Oh for fuck's sake.
Man2: There's no need for profanity.
Man1: Seriously?
Man2: Seriously.
Man1: I think there is very often a need for profanity.
Man2: Well, maybe, but I'm only trying to help...
Man1: I didn't ask for your help! If you were a Jehovah's witness trying to save my soul and lecturing me on my spiritul wellb-eing, would I be required to be thankful?
Man2: I'm giving you practical advice...
Man1: YOU DON'T KNOW ME.
Man2: But I know depression. Would it surprise you to learn that, too, once suffered from that affliction?
Man1: No.
Man2: No?
Man1: No, it wouldn't surprise me. But I'm not depressed.
Man2: What are you then.
Man1: Fucked off.
Man2: Come now...
Man1: I'm fucking ANGRY but in an impotent way. Sometimes I'm just amused by it all, sometimes I'm crush by sadness and YES, I SUPPOSE, DEPRESSION...but mostly I just hate everything. I hate this. I hate you. I hate this bench. I hate my clothes. I hate the way this shirt looks. I hate the buttons. They're so small. I hate small things...HATE THEM. Hate my underwear. It's twisted, uncomfortable. I hate the shape of my testicles. I hate...eyesight. I hate having to look at things. I hate the light. I hate the dark. I hate sound. I hate the sound of your voice, I hate the sound of mine even more. I even hate the way it sounds in my head. I hate this bench. My neck hurts. I hate that my bus isn't here yet, and I'll hate it when my bus IS here because then I'll have to be on a bus with a lot more people and a lot more reasons to feel hate. I hate...the world. I hate the structure of it, the organisation...I hate life. I hate the nature of existence. I hate how short human life is. I hate how quickly we grow old. I hate that we only get to be one person all our lives, to be one thing. I hate human history. I hate humanity. I hate the dog shit over there that I can smell. I hate.
Man2: Ah.
Man1: I hate it when people say "ah". See, I'm not depressed, I just don't like anything. Pills aren't going to change that. Finding God or cosmic love isn't going to change that. It's not going to give me a reason to care, because I don't care because there's nothing that I could possibly care about because it's all WRONG. If I cared, I'd be being false and I'd hate that. I hate pride. I hate the fact that people can take pride in their lives, in THIS, this small pathetic human existence. I hate it all.
Man2: Right.
Man1: Not going to try to convince me that life is worth living? That I should smell the daisies, find a nice woman, have kids, there's nothing greater than creating another person after all? No?
Man2: Not when you're like this. So self-pitying, self indulgent...
Man1: This is me. I'm being myself. To lie, to pretend I'm like everyone else, to put on a happy face...that would be self-indulgent. Well, no...it would be something. I hate words. It would be unbearable. Maybe I'm just smarter than everyone else? Maybe reality is all bullshit and I'm the only one who can see it, because the rest of you are distracted by the happy chemicals in your brains and your false little beliefs that there's something better just around the corner and it is achievable. Maye that's it.
Man2: This is my bus.
Man1: Mine too. Fancy that.
Man2: Want to sit next to me and carry on this conversation.
Man1: Really? Conversation? You haven't seen much in the last five minutes.
Man2: I've been listening. Perhaps you're right. Perhaps I can't possibly judge you at all without getting to know you. And I don't know you. But I'd like to.
Man1: Well...okay then.
(They both get up and walk off stage.)
FIN
Man1: ...at all, not it at all, not depression, not a chemcial imbalance, if my chemicals were balance any other way they'd be wrong! My chemicals are balanced in exactly the appropriate way to my current situation. Anyway, anti-depressants don't work, I've tried them. They just substitue the bad feeling with a kind of fake, grey feeling that BECOMES the bad feeling. And they make my hands feel weird. No, it's not me that's "wrong" it is the world. Well, that is to say, the world is wrong for me. If the world was different in several key areas, some subtle, some gross, then I would be considered "right" and everyone else would be considered "wrong". There's no use saying that I just need my chemicals rebalanced, because the world is not FOR me! Fundamentally, it is not mine. It is alien. You can't change me to fit it. Squre peg, round hole.
Man2: Well some people get over depression.
Man1: I'm not depressed!
Man2: You've been on anti-depressants.
Man1: Look, did you listen to a word I just said?
Man2: Yes. Sounds like you're in denial. You just need to let people help you...
Man1: Let people help me? LET PEOPLE HELP ME?
Man2: Umm, yes? Is that so bad? Would that wound your pride?
(Man1 laughs heartily.)
Man1: Wound my pride...you really have no idea. No idea about me, do you? Of course you don't! You're not me! You can only speak from your own experience, from what you've seen, from textbooks, message boards...you're not me! You have absolutely no idea of the architecture of your mind, yet you're arrogant enough to assume I can be helped! That I can fit some acceptable pattern that there's a treatment for. I'm me. I KNOW my mind. I know it better than anyone. I, more than anyone, am qualified to make an assessment of my mental state! How can anyone else...without being a person you can't know a person! Pride does not enter into it!
Man2: I just think, with depression, it's circular, it feels like there's no way out, so it then becomes that there is indeed no way out, and that adds to the hopelessness and so on and...
Man1: Oh for fuck's sake.
Man2: There's no need for profanity.
Man1: Seriously?
Man2: Seriously.
Man1: I think there is very often a need for profanity.
Man2: Well, maybe, but I'm only trying to help...
Man1: I didn't ask for your help! If you were a Jehovah's witness trying to save my soul and lecturing me on my spiritul wellb-eing, would I be required to be thankful?
Man2: I'm giving you practical advice...
Man1: YOU DON'T KNOW ME.
Man2: But I know depression. Would it surprise you to learn that, too, once suffered from that affliction?
Man1: No.
Man2: No?
Man1: No, it wouldn't surprise me. But I'm not depressed.
Man2: What are you then.
Man1: Fucked off.
Man2: Come now...
Man1: I'm fucking ANGRY but in an impotent way. Sometimes I'm just amused by it all, sometimes I'm crush by sadness and YES, I SUPPOSE, DEPRESSION...but mostly I just hate everything. I hate this. I hate you. I hate this bench. I hate my clothes. I hate the way this shirt looks. I hate the buttons. They're so small. I hate small things...HATE THEM. Hate my underwear. It's twisted, uncomfortable. I hate the shape of my testicles. I hate...eyesight. I hate having to look at things. I hate the light. I hate the dark. I hate sound. I hate the sound of your voice, I hate the sound of mine even more. I even hate the way it sounds in my head. I hate this bench. My neck hurts. I hate that my bus isn't here yet, and I'll hate it when my bus IS here because then I'll have to be on a bus with a lot more people and a lot more reasons to feel hate. I hate...the world. I hate the structure of it, the organisation...I hate life. I hate the nature of existence. I hate how short human life is. I hate how quickly we grow old. I hate that we only get to be one person all our lives, to be one thing. I hate human history. I hate humanity. I hate the dog shit over there that I can smell. I hate.
Man2: Ah.
Man1: I hate it when people say "ah". See, I'm not depressed, I just don't like anything. Pills aren't going to change that. Finding God or cosmic love isn't going to change that. It's not going to give me a reason to care, because I don't care because there's nothing that I could possibly care about because it's all WRONG. If I cared, I'd be being false and I'd hate that. I hate pride. I hate the fact that people can take pride in their lives, in THIS, this small pathetic human existence. I hate it all.
Man2: Right.
Man1: Not going to try to convince me that life is worth living? That I should smell the daisies, find a nice woman, have kids, there's nothing greater than creating another person after all? No?
Man2: Not when you're like this. So self-pitying, self indulgent...
Man1: This is me. I'm being myself. To lie, to pretend I'm like everyone else, to put on a happy face...that would be self-indulgent. Well, no...it would be something. I hate words. It would be unbearable. Maybe I'm just smarter than everyone else? Maybe reality is all bullshit and I'm the only one who can see it, because the rest of you are distracted by the happy chemicals in your brains and your false little beliefs that there's something better just around the corner and it is achievable. Maye that's it.
Man2: This is my bus.
Man1: Mine too. Fancy that.
Man2: Want to sit next to me and carry on this conversation.
Man1: Really? Conversation? You haven't seen much in the last five minutes.
Man2: I've been listening. Perhaps you're right. Perhaps I can't possibly judge you at all without getting to know you. And I don't know you. But I'd like to.
Man1: Well...okay then.
(They both get up and walk off stage.)
FIN
