PHETASY: The One That Got Away -
140 Plus
Bridget Phetasy

By Bridget Phetasy
Published on 03.05.14

I'm taking 40 Days off Twitter. 
This is my descent into madness chronicled.

Dancing w/the Devil

3.25.14: Day 20.  A year ago today I returned from what was essentially 2 years of traveling.  I had no job.  No money.  India had been my last stop before coming home.  The reverse culture shock of coming back to America from the Third World, more specifically the shallow, pop-culture obsessed LOS ANGELES, did my head in for most of the summer.  To be honest, I’m not sure I’ll ever be the same.  Sometimes I feel like I left a part of my soul, floating eternally in the Indian Ocean.


In Phetasy’s 7-year history, this is by far the longest I’ve gone without a blog.  It’s been too long.  Whether I like it or not, something happens to me when I sit down to write for my beloved website.  Truth pours out of my fingers.  Whatever I’m searching for is in me at any given moment—all I have to do is sit down and let it out.  I know enough about my writing process now that whatever emerges in the forthcoming blog** will inevitably spell change and upheaval, because I’ve obviously been avoiding some hard truth I’m unwilling to face.

**I've been working on it and it should be up in the next couple of days.  Just trying to find the time to clean it up & post it.

3.10.14: Day 5.  Oh the Tweets that have gone unTweeted!  Not surprisingly, I feel more focused after just 5 days away from The Bird.  My executive functioning is better and I'm back on track making lists and checking things off.  My ADD was getting so bad, I would put on one flip-flip and walk away from the process.  That's not a joke.  I couldn't even finish putting on two shoes; no wonder I couldn't finish a thought, a sentence, a blog.  Five days into my excursion into the "Deep Web" that is Phetasy and I'm rediscovering my roots. 

Day 1. 
These days I only think in 140 characters or less.  My thoughts seem more disjointed, cynical, less compassionate.  Why even bother doing anything if it doesn't get starred, retweeted or even admonished?  I'm constantly seeking approval, reaction or numbers--Hell, even rejection means they care. No matter how much I consume, whatever the form of attention, IT'S NEVER ENOUGH.  NEVER.  So just like Jesus, I need to head into the desert & do some soul-searching.  Not sure I'm gonna make it without the stars, the constant affirmation, the fake demonstrations of love.  BUT I MUST TRY.  Whatever small piece of humanity is left in me, I need to resurrect before it's too late & I'm just another shallow, self-consumed victim of a generation too cool for everything...including life.

17:09 PST:  Disconnected from Twitter, I reconnect to my real friends on Facebook.  It's another online vortex that sucks me in.  I find myself playing the compare & contrast game there as well.  Is my ex-boyfriend's new girlfriend fat or pregnant?  My better self would be happy for them if she's pregnant.  My lower self hopes she's just getting fat.  Holy shit.  My ex-husband is having a baby.  I'm simultaneously jealous and glad it's not me.  How is that even possible?  Shouldn't those feeling negate one another?  They don't.  Those feelings sit side by side in the balcony, like the bitter old men, Statler & Waldorf, heckling the show.

20:25 PST:  Here's what I would have Tweeted: "It's 8:35 PM and I'm already in my Muppet pajamas.  Gee, I wonder why I don't have any friends." 

Here's what's behind that Tweet:
  I should be heading out to a going-away party.  There are lots of friendly people there, mostly male comics who I basically treat like the plague (because they're assholes) & females who love shopping & drinking--two things I have no interest in.  I used to love drinking.  I loved it so much, I decided I should stop.  I'm not sure that was a great idea. 
Apparently drinking gave my life meaning.  Anyway, the going-away party is for a woman who's about as close to a friend as you can get in Los Angeles (for someone who lives on the other side of the 405), but in the past months we've drifted.  Mostly because her endless melodramatic Facebook posts about her upcoming move are slowly driving me crazy.  You would think she's about to embark on the Oregon Trail--not move to a city connected by 1400 direct flights a day.  But we live in a world where no one tells anyone the truth any more.  We have to either be Politically Correct or Positive Thinkers.  Cynical Liars or New Age Douchebags.  There is no room for realism any more.  Realism has gone the way of logic or grammar or busy signals.

My downward spiral into darkness from which there seems to be no escape hasn't really helped my friendships, either.  Also, due to my stitches from my recently removed minor skin cancer (the best kind of cancer you can have) I'm on Doctor's orders not to smile.  That's not a joke.  She said, "I don't want to tell you not to smile because that's not good for you but--try not to smile." I told her it shouldn't be that hard.  I'm on a steady diet of Girl Scout Cookies & self-hatred.  I'm too depressed to even watch TV.  Everything feels overwhelming, exhausting & pointless--and I'm not even a single mom with an autistic kid.  I feel guilty for feeling so defeated knowing I have so much to be grateful for and in fact, AM grateful for all of it.  Gratitude helps, but it does nothing to quell my persistent, nagging existential crisis:

WHAT'S IT ALL FOR???  This question runs through my head while I sit in traffic.  While I drive to work.  All day.  All the time.

I fantasize about sitting in my garage, car running & "accidentally" killing myself while I surf the web or Tweet or read some dumb list on Buzzfeed.   In fact, just re-reading that previous sentence makes me want to kill myself.  This is the world we live in now.  But I know I can't.  My family doesn't deserve that.  Granted it would be the perfect ending for a long lifetime of trying to take the easy way out; but if it follows the same trajectory as my life, I'll epically fuck it up & end up making things much harder for myself.  I see brain damage, feeding tubes, long hours of physical therapy & a speech impediment on the other side of what will inevitably be a horribly botched suicide attempt. 

Gee, I wonder why I don't have any friends?  Fuck it.  I'm staying in.  And as you can see, there is a lot more going on in that Tweet than early bedtimes & Muppet PJ's.