Zodi’s Blog

Just be which self?

Batshit Crazier.


I was beginning to have doubts about my sanity when I wrote Batshit Crazy. Now though, all doubt is gone; I’m crazier than a syphilitic Al Capone with mercury poisoning, on 14 hits of acid, while stuck in the Divine Comedy. I’ve come to realize that I have hundreds of different personalities. They don’t have their own names and they mostly know of each others existence, which I take to be a good sign, but it’s still pretty bad.


I started to really wonder and worry after overhearing a mother tell her daughter, “just be yourself, and everything will work out.” Holy increased Lithium intake Batman, if somebody said that to me, I don’t know what the hell I would do. Who I am at any given moment depends on so many factors and contingencies that when multiplied by the possibilities, must be in the hundreds. I would put Sybil to shame in modern psychology folklore.




Maybe the most unusual symptom of my psychosis is how different I am depending on the day of the week. My Tuesday morning self and my Friday afternoon self would not talk to each other if left alone together in an empty room. The only thing those two would have in common would be a mutual hatred of my Saturday night self. But that self wouldn’t care because he rarely remembers anything after uttering phrases like, “Hey lets do tequila body shots off of big Sally!”


It’s not just days of the week that influence who I am either. Some other weird, but for some reason major factors include caffeine intake, whether I’m tired and hungry or sated and energetic, the last time I had sex, the last time I had sex with another person, how close I am to a vacation, even whether the dog rolled around and made me laugh, or shat on the floor and made me frown.


My multiple personalities can be observed when I meet someone new or when I’m with an old friend. It’s weird because if I was on a first date, I wouldn’t make jokes about the time I snorted blow off a stripper’s ass in Vegas. It was an entirely different personality that did that to begin with. But then after a week or two of knowing someone I seem to shift into more of a relaxed, even a fart friendly persona. Come to think of it; all the women in my life must have known how nuts I am because they’ve all mentioned that ‘I’ve changed’ at some point. Then again though, they did too; nobody forgot to check the toilet paper supply before dropping a deuce during the first week. Did they? They must have all been as Britney as me.



I have different persona’s come out when I’m around strangers as well. I slip into a certain character when I’m pitching something to someone, or meeting potential in-laws for the first time. But I am completely different person if I meet someone at a football game or in a bar fight. It’s like I don’t even know who I’ll find looking back at me in the mirror sometimes.


Lately I’ve noticed that the rate of my decline into dementia is accelerating. Any little thing will drive the previous personality back into the shadows and bring a new one forth. I can change on a dime. I can change just from finding a dime. For instance, right before having sex I’m really excitable, alert, horny, I even have an elevated heart rate and blood pressure. Then as soon as I’m done…BAM, I’m lazy and mellow. When I quit smoking, most of the me’s wanted to quit but a few didn’t. A few me’s still thought they were the cool rebel who would walk a mile for a camel. Then I’m arguing with me. One time I had to repudiate myself for taking me to Atlantic City while drunk. At other times if I’m sentimental, even a song can change me.


Now, I’m lost when it comes to important decisions. Are we going to move back to the US in October? Holy Jim Jones, what voice should I let decide that one? I’m worried that I’ll start bringing out the wrong persona at the wrong time. What if I bring the “Hey let’s do tequila shots off of big Sally!” to meet the in-laws? What if I bring the ‘middle of a Steeler game’ me to a meditation class? I’ll get myself hurt if I bring my just after sex self to my next UFC cage fight. 


I’m thinking of going to psychiatrist but after I tell her that I’m nervous, she’ll tell me “just be yourself,” and then inevitably I’ll snort blow off of her ass. See my problem?

August 14, 2009 Posted by | Uncategorized | , , , , | 58 Comments