The Bloody Doors Off

I think it went wanderin’ off down yonder
And stumbled onto Jeff VanVonderen
‘Cause I need an interventionist
To intervene between me and this monster
And save me from myself and all this conflict
‘Cause the very thing that I love’s killing me
And I can’t conquer it
My OCD is conkin’ me in the head, keep knockin’
Nobody’s home, I’m sleepwalkin’
I’m just relayin’ what the voice in my head’s sayin’
Don’t shoot the messenger, I’m just friends with the

I’m friends with the monster that’s under my bed
Get along with the voices inside of my head
You’re tryin’ to save me, stop holdin’ your breath
And you think I’m crazy, yeah, you think I’m crazy

The Monster, Eminem

I was having a good day.

Even went out to see The Eternals. Spoiler-free review: it’s uneven, but overall I enjoyed it.

Got home, had a conversation with the wife.

Then.

Wham.

It hits.

The feeling is indescribable. For me.

Sometimes it’s like someone took a knife baby edgy and dull
And cut a six inch valley through the middle of my skull

At night I wake up with the sheets soaking wet
And a freight train running through the middle of my head

I’m on Fire, Bruce Springsteen

And I’m totally freaking out and I need to talk about this to Marlo but there’s that little voice that says ‘you shouldn’t burden her’ and that quickly deteriorates into mental fisticuffs. The pit in my stomach is growing and I am repeating my mantra ‘this will pass’ and.

It.

Does.

Thank whatever deity you worship — or not, I don’t judge — the malaise dissipates.

Well, not entirely. I can feel it on the edges.

I won the fight.

But I’m worried a war is brewing.