Depression Part two
My iPod is in love with the Drop Kick Murphy’s. It’s like a pet sometimes, it knows your mood, and reacts to it. Like a cat that cuddles up to you when you’re sad, or the dog that knows to hide when you kick open the door after that really bad day at work.
My iPod is slightly different, it eggs me on. Maybe it’s less than a pet and more of that little devil on your shoulder that pushes you over the edge.
“No officer it wasn’t God, it was the iPod that told me to kill. What was it playing? The Beatles actually.”
When the chemicals subsided today, I woke up and I felt a little different. The depression was still there in my apartment, but it was chilling on my TV arm and arm with rage. Pure fucking unadulturated rage. He was there smiling at me, as an old friend. “Oh hey.” I said “I remember you. Weren’t we going to burn down that house in Queens that one time?”
He shrugged and I went to work. On the subway, Drop Kick Murphy’s played, and it hit. It was in my chest in that choking feeling. My arms began to shake, and then that sense of enlightenment that hushes everything out. Rage found his home, and I wanted to kill. I wanted to put a bullet right between the eyes of every republican who is still standing behind the war.
I wanted to execute every fucking latte slurping fuck at the starbucks, I wanted to stab in the chest every fucking fraud charity on the subway until my arms turned sticky and red. I wanted to take a bat to every protestor who screamed about GTA in front of my job, instead of taking responsibility for their fucked up brats. I wanted to backhand every person who wanted me to fix their computer, I wanted to garrote every outsourcing fuck out there, I wanted to gas senators, all of them.
I had a seat to myself on a rush hour train. By the time I grabbed lunch, rage got bored of me torturing other testers on a game we were working on. But he left a postit note on my monitor. “I’ll be seeing you you soon”.
He was right, that same feeling of wanton murder and mayhem came back on the subway. Twenty minutes ago I was eating ramen and mumbling to myself, and sipping whiskey from the flask my brother gave me.
I think I need help this time. I was such a nice person once.
