(no subject)
Mamet knows he's fucked up. He goes up and down like a roller coaster, once so low he put a bullet in his brain. He thinks about it, sometimes, sometimes feeling so low he wants to try again. Like that thing people say; when you can't do something right the first time try, try again...or whatever. But he doesn't have a gun, so he'll do something else instead; beer, drugs, sex - life's best distractions.
Now, though, now exactly, he's stopped using and he's stopped drinking (mostly) and as much as he'd like to, he can't fuck all day. Then something happened that he hadn't planned, he started playing instead. When he feels bad he picks up his guitar. It doesn't always work, but sometimes it does and he thinks maybe he'll be okay.
Today he feels the drop of the roller coaster and it's so unbearable he wants to claw his own chest out. Get rid of the useless things inside and be done with it.
He's pacing restlessly around the Compound, going from one bad thought to the next, over and over until he finds himself in front of a door labeled Psychology Office. He knows he's fucked up, he's just never really thought about doing anything for it. So, what, this? Psychologists? No, fuck no, he's not crazy, just kind of sad sometimes. He'll feel better in an hour. He spins around to go back upstairs and slams right into someone.
"Shit," he says, turning red, hands coming up. "Sorry!"
Now, though, now exactly, he's stopped using and he's stopped drinking (mostly) and as much as he'd like to, he can't fuck all day. Then something happened that he hadn't planned, he started playing instead. When he feels bad he picks up his guitar. It doesn't always work, but sometimes it does and he thinks maybe he'll be okay.
Today he feels the drop of the roller coaster and it's so unbearable he wants to claw his own chest out. Get rid of the useless things inside and be done with it.
He's pacing restlessly around the Compound, going from one bad thought to the next, over and over until he finds himself in front of a door labeled Psychology Office. He knows he's fucked up, he's just never really thought about doing anything for it. So, what, this? Psychologists? No, fuck no, he's not crazy, just kind of sad sometimes. He'll feel better in an hour. He spins around to go back upstairs and slams right into someone.
"Shit," he says, turning red, hands coming up. "Sorry!"