I guess this is kind of like “Deep Thoughts” by Jack Handey, except darker, and more morbid, and not so funny or short and jokey. I might try to make them more funny and short and jokey, for sensitivity’s sake.
When I feel like killing myself, I think about it for a few minutes. It makes me feel anxious, then relaxed, and then the feeling goes away. Suicide is like being in love. It isn’t going to fix anything, but it is something to do. I know I talk about suicide a lot, and I promise you this, I am way too much of a pussy to EVER actually go through with it. But, it is SO reassuring to know that if ever the bottom just totally falls out, there is an escape. That is part of what makes contemplating suicide so relaxing. The other part is purely creative. I am an introspective person who likes to explore my internal reserve, and I like to visually imagine the things I find there. Sometimes my imagination gets the better, darker half of me and those images go to corners so dreary and deviant, I am surprised to find them. It’s like discovering money in an old coat pocket. It’s pleasing, but also, a bit shocking. I think, “I can’t believe I just left $20 in my pocket. Am I an idiot? Was I drunk? Is this a gift from god?” And also, of course, “Cool. Money!”
Here’s the Deep Thoughts version:
Suicide is for people with lots of free time. And a gun.
Sex with Children
This is the way I feel about sex with children. I think there is a lot of grey space in this topic. And this is why. Rape is a shunned topic, word, concept. But if you want to get technical, when I lost my virginity at age 14 to a 19 year old “man?”
I was “raped,” though willingly so. I remember seducing HIM. We were laying in a grassy field, kissing. I said, “Do you want to go back to my house? My dad isn’t home.” I took him up to my room and we did it on my silly little mattress. I think I had flowers or hearts on my bedspread. I had an orgasm. I didn’t even know what it was. I had to ask him. Then, he explained it. I was confused by the concept. I thought that sex just felt good all the way through, I didn’t understand the point of climax or completion. Kids. Now I realize, it’s because if not for a sign when to end it, we’d all probably just do it all day long until we were raw and bored. So, say my dad had come home and caught this kid in my bed, balls deep in his daughter. He could have technically pressed the rape issue, right? According to the law, and what adults know about temptation, he was in the wrong. But how could he turn me down? I was so adorable. Perfect little body. I was crazy about him. I lured him to my room. He could have, maybe should have said, “No.” But, he didn’t. And I didn’t. And if you were on the jury, you wouldn’t have convicted him. Would you have? OK. So, now, what if I was 13? Same set of circumstances. OK. So, now what if I was 12? Same set of circumstances. OK. So, now what if I was 11? Is that getting too close to your sensors yet? Am I setting off an alarm? But what if, at age 11, I begged a 19 year old to take my virginity. So, maybe it’s wrong, by what is considered to be acceptable social standards, to take the virginity of an 11 year old. But is it rape? Because, it happens, you know.
Deep Thoughts version:
I have never been involved with sex with a child, per se, unless you count the time I was a child and someone had sex with me.
Abortion. The word itself is an abortion. It makes me cringe. It envokes images of coat hangers, and blood, and paper gowns, tears, three hundred dollars, valium, angry parents. I think that if the name was nicer, it might be more widely accepted. Like, what if it was called the baby game? Or, a sweet fix? It takes some of the sting out of it. It reminds me of an old joke my ex-boyfriend used to tell. He said that the problem with Jewish people is that the word “Jew” has a terrible connotation to it. If you changed it to fuzzy bears, it would fix everything. Fuzzy bears own all the banks. Awwww! Go, fuzzy bears!
Deep Thoughts version:
I feel sorry for people who get abortions. They obviously don’t know about garbage cans.
Society hates people who love heroin, for the most part. If you’re doing heroin, generally, that’s the last stop before Morguesville. But, what if you only try it one time, and then never try it again? I’ve never, ever tried heroin, but I’ve thought about it many times. I used to really like taking pain killers as a college aged teen and young adult (I sound like a behavioral expert on Oprah) and found them to be a lot of fun and very fulfilling. They were cheap, easy to get my hands on, and - the coolest part - they kill all pains you might be feeling, physical and emotional, and leave you with a nice, warm body wide glow. I don’t take pain killers anymore, really, because I don’t have the time or years left to be spending hours on end bathed in sweet, mind numbing bliss. But I’ve heard, heroin is a lot like pain killers, they are both opiates and made from similar compounds. Just that heroin is a lot stronger. I think it would be one of those things I’d like to maybe try one time via the nose and then never try again. Some people say that’s not possible - one try and you’re hooked. But I have been a one cigarette a day smoker since age 14. Sometimes, not even one a day. Usually, especially lately, not. So, that’s my opinion on heroin.
Deep Thoughts version:
I’d never try heroin. But then again, when I was younger, my mother used to always say, “Never say never.”
Send me a dark topic. The darker, the more abstract, the better. What bleak imaginings reside in your brain?