Am I repeating myself yet?
I started having panic attacks when I was four. We lived in this little suburban ranch house in a wealthy, coke-infested neighborhood and our well dried up. Someone had to come dig us a new one. Since it was going to take a while and at this time in my life my family was apparently shitting money, we stayed here while everything was going down:
I was so excited. I've always loved hotels. It's that fake-air smell when you first walk in and it's so cold and comfy - I don't even care that all the blankets are undoubtedly coated with ten years' worth of semen and blood.
Anyways. I remember a little restaurant in this center courtyard. We would have breakfast there and I would drink orange juice and try to come up with ways to make my dad's face turn purple and his voice get REALLY LOUD and I would watch the elevators go up and down. I think they were glass. Like little spaceships.
There was cable and a pool and an ARCADE, which is where it happened:
RAMPAGE! Where you're a giant ape [are you? I never played it] and you DESTROY SKYSCRAPERS AND HOTELS and you KILL INNOCENT SMALL BLONDE GIRLS WHO ONLY WANT TO SIT IN THEIR HOTEL ROOMS WITH THEIR MOM AND WATCH SESAME STREET ALL DAY.
When I saw that stupid pixelated ape, that's when the big panic attacks started. I couldn't eat. Or breathe. Or sleep. Or stop crying. Any second, the monkey was going to break through the wall of the hotel and EAT me. I was SURE of it.
And. While, eventually we went home to our house [ONE story! Nothing for the ape to climb! Nothing to fear from the monkey!], I forgot about the game. But I kept the panic attacks. Because my mom was going to die. The planet was going to explode. We were slipping into nuclear war. Dinosaurs were going to come back to life. Someone was going to kidnap me and I'd learned from Oprah that with every passing hour, the chances of my survival became slimmer and slimmer.
After my parents got divorced, my mom took me to this therapist who wanted to try biofeedback to calm me down. She sat me down in this dark little office and attached these little things to my fingertips. She turned it on and there was this superloud BUZZZZZZZZ and then the machine STOPPED.
Because I BROKE it.
With my superhuman TENSION.
I hate that fucking monkey.
I was so excited. I've always loved hotels. It's that fake-air smell when you first walk in and it's so cold and comfy - I don't even care that all the blankets are undoubtedly coated with ten years' worth of semen and blood.
Anyways. I remember a little restaurant in this center courtyard. We would have breakfast there and I would drink orange juice and try to come up with ways to make my dad's face turn purple and his voice get REALLY LOUD and I would watch the elevators go up and down. I think they were glass. Like little spaceships.
There was cable and a pool and an ARCADE, which is where it happened:
RAMPAGE! Where you're a giant ape [are you? I never played it] and you DESTROY SKYSCRAPERS AND HOTELS and you KILL INNOCENT SMALL BLONDE GIRLS WHO ONLY WANT TO SIT IN THEIR HOTEL ROOMS WITH THEIR MOM AND WATCH SESAME STREET ALL DAY.
When I saw that stupid pixelated ape, that's when the big panic attacks started. I couldn't eat. Or breathe. Or sleep. Or stop crying. Any second, the monkey was going to break through the wall of the hotel and EAT me. I was SURE of it.
And. While, eventually we went home to our house [ONE story! Nothing for the ape to climb! Nothing to fear from the monkey!], I forgot about the game. But I kept the panic attacks. Because my mom was going to die. The planet was going to explode. We were slipping into nuclear war. Dinosaurs were going to come back to life. Someone was going to kidnap me and I'd learned from Oprah that with every passing hour, the chances of my survival became slimmer and slimmer.
After my parents got divorced, my mom took me to this therapist who wanted to try biofeedback to calm me down. She sat me down in this dark little office and attached these little things to my fingertips. She turned it on and there was this superloud BUZZZZZZZZ and then the machine STOPPED.
Because I BROKE it.
With my superhuman TENSION.
I hate that fucking monkey.
posted by inveil | 1:13 PM
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3 comments
