It was, in fact, very easy.
He had it all worked out in his head.
Step one. Stop thinking in steps. In fact, stop thinking at all, because it’s the thinking that’s evil.
Step two. Tell the voices to fuck off.
Step three. Fake it till you make it.
Step four. Change yourself.
He was still a bit hazy on step five.
He looked awful. People were staring. He hadn’t showered in a long time. They probably thought he wasn’t right in the head- well, surprise! He wasn’t.
In a way, not giving a shit was liberating. And at least he’d gotten himself to go out, even if it was just to get coffee.
He had to focus so damn hard on not thinking that way. It was like cycling with the hands off the steering wheel, and the wheel was wobbling all over the place. On the street, he thought about his shoe lace, and how it touched the ground, and then he wondered how much residue was on that tip of his shoe lace- he didn’t tighten his shoe lace in disgust; it was just a safe path for his mind to wander.
Next up was the shower.
He hadn’t cleaned his bathroom in two months.
He didn’t want his sister to do it. That would be embarrassing and she’d see oh god no he can’t go there with his mind stop.
First shower, then he’d deal.
He’d forgotten how good a shower can be. He stayed under that spray until the hot water ran out, and then he waited for a while, crouched in his bath tub, until the water was heated again. Getting out of that spray was about as hard as getting out of bed, but at least he felt clean now- not as if he’d just rolled out of a stinking heap.
The mirror was fogged up. That was ok; he could wait.
There he was. The changed him. Part of him wanted to congratulate himself for letting things get out of hand like this. Instead, he focused on the part of him that congratulated him on how long his beard had become. It had never been that long or full before- it had always grown in patches, and he’d never had the patience. Instead of going for his old clean-shaven look, he trimmed and groomed and snipped until it was a good inch shorter, and less scraggly. It was a new way of seeing himself in the mirror. His eyes still looked bad, but at least the bottom half of his face looked okay.
He was so beat he wanted to crawl back in bed, but now he was clean and the bed was still stinking. It felt like he would undo hours of work getting back in there, so instead he turned to the couch. He could sleep there until he’d gotten his bedroom cleaned.
First a cup of coffee. Then resting on the couch. And then he would continue the fight.
He had it all worked out in his head.
Step one. Stop thinking in steps. In fact, stop thinking at all, because it’s the thinking that’s evil.
Step two. Tell the voices to fuck off.
Step three. Fake it till you make it.
Step four. Change yourself.
He was still a bit hazy on step five.
He looked awful. People were staring. He hadn’t showered in a long time. They probably thought he wasn’t right in the head- well, surprise! He wasn’t.
In a way, not giving a shit was liberating. And at least he’d gotten himself to go out, even if it was just to get coffee.
He had to focus so damn hard on not thinking that way. It was like cycling with the hands off the steering wheel, and the wheel was wobbling all over the place. On the street, he thought about his shoe lace, and how it touched the ground, and then he wondered how much residue was on that tip of his shoe lace- he didn’t tighten his shoe lace in disgust; it was just a safe path for his mind to wander.
Next up was the shower.
He hadn’t cleaned his bathroom in two months.
He didn’t want his sister to do it. That would be embarrassing and she’d see oh god no he can’t go there with his mind stop.
First shower, then he’d deal.
He’d forgotten how good a shower can be. He stayed under that spray until the hot water ran out, and then he waited for a while, crouched in his bath tub, until the water was heated again. Getting out of that spray was about as hard as getting out of bed, but at least he felt clean now- not as if he’d just rolled out of a stinking heap.
The mirror was fogged up. That was ok; he could wait.
There he was. The changed him. Part of him wanted to congratulate himself for letting things get out of hand like this. Instead, he focused on the part of him that congratulated him on how long his beard had become. It had never been that long or full before- it had always grown in patches, and he’d never had the patience. Instead of going for his old clean-shaven look, he trimmed and groomed and snipped until it was a good inch shorter, and less scraggly. It was a new way of seeing himself in the mirror. His eyes still looked bad, but at least the bottom half of his face looked okay.
He was so beat he wanted to crawl back in bed, but now he was clean and the bed was still stinking. It felt like he would undo hours of work getting back in there, so instead he turned to the couch. He could sleep there until he’d gotten his bedroom cleaned.
First a cup of coffee. Then resting on the couch. And then he would continue the fight.
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