Evicting the B***h Upstairs

Memoirs of a nasty inner voice, and my last-ditch effort to kill it.

1.28.18

Perhaps it came in with the new year, and how with it the aggressive air of self analysis sweeps into our hearts and homes along with the wave of guilt that arrives the day after Christmas, but this year it's come to my immediate attention that I've got a nasty inner voice. No, not the "talk dirty to me, baby" kind of nasty, but the "oh my god my thighs are growing fatter at a colossal rate and when did that dimple appear on my a*s" kind of nasty.

Ew. No, not the cellulite. Ew, to that evil, condescending, critical, overbearing, stifling, trifling, demeaning, demoralizing, no-good, peanut-gallery-with-a-megaphone voice I've got in my head.

She's there all. the. time. So, I figured rather than let her have all the fun up there within the walls of my abusive mind, I aught to douse some accountability on her and put this chick on blast.

Sure, maybe I should just go to a shrink. Maybe I have already been to a dozen. Perhaps I'm crazy. Or, perhaps I'm exactly like every single person who will ever read this, because let's face it... the self-help section at Barnes & Noble was pretty damn big last time I checked, and yes, Weight Watchers is still alive and thriving. I know that my little demonic cheerleader and I are -- very much -- not alone.

Alas, here I am near midnight on a Sunday wondering how the hell I'm going to get through this next week, and it hasn't even begun. If I can tackle the beast of negativity that's been living a comfortable lifestyle upstairs while I constantly run around this world like a clueless chipmunk trying to find an acorn in an apple tree, maybe I'll have a chance at avenging myself from the tireless execution of negativity that bombards my every thought.

Truth is, these conversations are scandalous. They're not just mean, they are downright abusive. Would you ever say to someone else, "Why are your eyes so puffy and crooked, you look like a deranged crackhead in need of a fix?" I should hope not.

So why is it that we are perfectly fine with abusing ourselves on the daily, spoon feeding ourselves negativity that we wouldn't say to our most arrogant, opinionated cousin-in-law who most certainly could use a dose of humble f*****g pie, yet we carry on sabotaging our thoughts with the dependability we lack in, you know, the most important areas of our lives?

I don't know. But it seems like a good time to explore it. While I publicly humiliate myself by publishing these inner rows, consider this my want ad for a new inner voice. I've written it, placed it in the classifieds, it appeared in the Sunday paper, and I'm currently interviewing eager applicants.

Until I find a new and happier tenant, you know, one shining with positive affirmation and glowing in the light of self-love, I'm going to write my daily dialogue as an exercise, and plea, to finally evict this damn b***h.