Zero to fuckin' ten

Yesterday was the worst fuckin' day, man, and I fuckin' lost it and I still haven't recovered, man.

You showed me what you wrote, farmboy, and I've been concerned. What happened?

I don't want to talk about it. 

You need to talk about it, farmboy. I've seen you. I know you. You never want to talk about anything that affects you this way. And that's not good. It's not healthy. You hold in what hurts you and then you explode. And the person you hurt most is yourself.

So what is this about, farmboy?

Now it doesn't seem like a big deal...

farmboy...

It was financial, of course. Take away music and it's always about money. That, apparently, is all I'm good for.

That's not true.

Okay, look, man. I went to the food bank and got some stuff. It had finally come down to this. I went to the fuckin' food bank, man. That's how...you know, I hate to say poor, but...I had to go to the food bank.

So I come home. And there's one piece of mail. And so I open it and it's a fuckin' bill for $205.00. It's from the medical supply place that I had to go through for a piece of equipment that I needed. And here I am, a poor person, for lack of a better word. (laughs)  I'm fuckin' financially challenged, man.

So I get on my cell phone -- one of those pay-for-minutes cell phones that you buy at Walgreen's for, like, ten dollars. I I have it because I can't afford a real cell phone. But anyway, I get on this cell phone because my landline died. And I call the insurance company. I'm worried about using up those minutes, you know. I call up the fuckin' company and they give me the fuckin' runaround and I get so angry, man. I fuckin' lose it and I'm an asshole to these people.

Who are giving you the runaround and not giving you adequate answers...

Well, yeah. But I should be nice 'cause it's not their problem.

So I get off the phone and I fuckin' explode. I started hitting this chair and I'm just fuckin' so mad. And I say to God to fuckin' do something and help me. So, of course, now I've got this guilt coming out. Then I start thinking about whether God exists and I start think about atheism and then I start thinking about suicide.

Jesus, farmboy...

See, man? See what happens? I go from zero to fuckin' ten in the blink of an eye. It's like something possesses me, and there's all this fuckin'...adrenaline or something. Something physical, something inside. I don't know how to describe it, man. 

So what did you do?

I'm not sure. I calmed down, but it took a big, long while. Actually, I think I'm still in it. I wanna say it's like that feeling like I've been beaten up, but I'm not sure that's how I should describe it. 

Are you aware, farmboy, that you're talking in terms of...well, violence...

All that got beat up is a metal chair, man.

And you talk about feeling beaten up. And you've talked about that before.

I have this thing, man, since I was a little kid. It's like I don't know what I'm gonna do with all this fuckin' rage so I naturally want to hurt myself in a physical matter...

"Naturally?" farmboy, there's nothing natural about it. You didn't come out of your mother's womb wanting to harm yourself.

I don't know where that comes from. I just get so fuckin' mad, man. It used to be worse. I used to bang my head, hard. 

But I don't want to talk about it.

farmboy...

That's a whole other conversation, man. I've got enough stuff without bringing that in the conversation we're having.

What time is it?

Do you have somewhere to go?

No, I just...it's late. Or early, depending on how you look at it. (turns to the computer and looks at the time)  Fuck, man, it's after five in the morning! I guess I can't sleep anyway. It's a good thing it's the weekend. 'Cause if it wasn't I'd have to go to my stupid job so I can earn money so I can make these people -- the insurance companies, the medical system, the banks -- so I can make them richer, 'cause it seems like that's my fuckin' purpose in life. I mean, nobody wants to hear my music. 

A lot of people like your music, farmboy.

I wouldn't say a lot. I would say a very, very small group of people with very questionable musical taste...

I get bitter, man. If I choose to live, I've gonna be a bitter old man. Especially since nothing ever fuckin' happens in this pathetic little inconsequential life of mine.

Hey farmboy...

See what happens, man? It's like there's fuckin' poison in my blood and it infects everything around me and inside me. You better watch yourself, man. You don't want to end up like me.

I'll take my chances.

Anyway...fuck, man, I don't know what to say.

Call me later, farmboy. I think you need to try to get some sleep.

I won't be able to think, man. Plus I just had a cup of coffee.

At five in the morning?

I like coffee.

Is there anything that would help?

Weed. Marijuana would be very, very beneficial. But of course I don't have any. Because I can't fuckin' afford it, of course.

I wish I could help you out.

I appreciate that, man.

Try to get some rest, farmboy. See if you can think about something else -- anything else -- and you need to get some sleep.

Call me later, all right? I just want to know that you're okay.

I will, man.

Promise, farmboy? Can you promise me that you won't hurt yourself?

Oh, I won't hurt myself. Don't worry.

Promise me you'll call if you feel like you're going to do yourself harm.

I'm not gonna hurt myself. I feel a little better now that I've expressed myself. Usually Ii don't and I feel like my head is gonna explode, 'cause it can't hold all the poison inside it.

Call me, farmboy.

I promise I'll call you if I decide to hurt myself, okay? But I'm all right. Really. Thanks for listening, man. You're a good friend.

Get some sleep.

I will. Talk to you later, man.