June 27, 2015
For the most part, my inner monologue is an unreliable narrator. What I mean is that the voice in my head is very kind to me. It talks me into doing stupid things, into thinking that very bad ideas are in fact very good ideas, and it lets me get away with murder.
My out-loud voice, however, is an entirely different mistress. She only speaks the truth, she makes sense and she is, most often, a fucking bitch who ruins all my fun.
Whether I’m talking to myself as I get dressed, or I make eye-contact with myself in the mirror and have a quick word, you can guarantee my out-loud voice always knows what she’s talking about.
Despite my frequent moments of denial, I know myself better than anyone, so naturally me, myself and I have some cracking exchanges. Here are seven conversations I have with myself on a daily basis.
‘What the fuck are you doing?’
Occasionally – and this may surprise you – I don’t make the best choices, and at some point during doing the thing I probably shouldn’t be doing, I’ll find myself in front of a mirror. So I’ll be in the loo or something, and I will make eye contact with my reflection and I’ll have a moment with my her, this girl staring back at me who knows exactly what I’m in the process of doing and there’s no hiding it from her, she’s not looking at me, she’s looking through me, seeing everything. And that’s when she has a word with me, or rather, I have a word with myself. I ask myself what the fuck I’m doing, in the hope I’ll reconsider. Sometimes, I do.
When I know I am doing something stupid, I will implore myself to stop. I will say two words to myself: ‘stop it.’ So whether I’m letting something get to me or doing something I’ll regret in the morning, those two words will often help me to see sense. Stop it. I stop letting people get to me, I stop letting that thing that happened earlier in the day bother me, I stop over-plucking my eyebrows, I stop texting back people who don’t talk to me nicely. I can be quite assertive when I want to be.
‘Don’t fuck it up this time.’
This is my little pep talk that I give myself before a work meeting or date: don’t fuck it up this time. I mean, I didn’t necessarily fuck it up the last time, but if it’s something I’m having to do again then I haven’t made enough money to retire and I haven’t married Henry Cavill, so time to try again, and this time I’ll do better. It’s also setting myself a nice low bar, so that anything other than fucking up seems like a victory.
OK, maybe I don’t actually tell myself to own it, but I’ll tszuj my hair, pull a pouty face – maybe give myself a wink if I’m looking particularly fly. However I’m looking, I’ll own it. Yeah, OK, I look alright today. My eyebrows work. That new top I bought is worth every penny. Colour co-ordinating game is strong. I’ve thrown something together that is working for me, so I’ll congratulate myself on a job well done…
‘You can’t go outside, there are people there.’
…except that rarely happens. Most of the time I’ll take one look at myself and realise that I can never leave the house again. Maybe it’s because I tried to wing my eyeliner, but I couldn’t get it even so I kept making each side bigger and now I look like Zorro. Maybe there’s a ladder in my only pair of tights. Maybe my boobs pop out of my top when I inhale. Sometimes I just decide I look like a poorly pony, and I can’t even explain what I mean by that, but it’s not a look I want to take out for cocktails. Outside there are people who have eyes and taste and I just cannot be around them, so I’ll have a word, see if I can’t find a way to fix things.
When it comes to insulting people, I get creative. Hey, I’m a writer, everything I say/type/think is art. However, when someone pisses me off, ‘prick’ is all I mutter to myself. It’s weird because it’s not really a word I ever say in front of people – I mean, there are so many more interesting, creative and offensive words out there for me to use, so ‘prick’ just doesn’t come up. But when I’m alone, it’s the only word I need to say to myself. If someone pushes in front of me, likes a racist post on Facebook or I see them yelling at the staff in a shop, I’ll just mutter ‘prick’ to myself – watch out for that, because I don’t think I’m as subtle as I think I am with it.
‘Do you wanna build a snowman?’
And finally, when I’m all alone with no one to talk to, if I’m in a bad mood and need to cheer myself up or if just want to amuse myself to pass the time away, I will sing, and for the past year now my go-to songs have been from the Frozen soundtrack. I don’t know why. I don’t even watch it that often – I like the soundtrack more than the film. So whether I’m singing Let It Go in the bath, Do You Wanna Build a Snowman as I cook or even just belting out a few bars of Love Is An Open Door in the hope one of my housemates will join in on a duet with me (failing that, my dog is happy to perform Reindeers Are Better Than People with me), you can guarantee whatever I’m going through, I’ll be doing it Elsa style. It’s going to take a strong man to love me – a regular Kristoff.
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