nothing more than a set of jaws that bites down on his heart. After Rafael said that, I got this picture in my head of those jaws and I started thinking that if Rafael was right, then God was the monster. Look, I think I know what Rafael’s really talking about. He’s talking about pain and where it comes from. And me, what I’m trying to do is figure out this whole thing about monsters. I thought I was supposed to get a guardian angel. No guardian angels for Zach. Nope. Look, maybe God is the real monster. What the hell do I know?
WHAT DOES THE MONSTER WANT?
-1-
I have a new addiction: I read Rafael’s journal.
Okay, this is not okay. But the guy leaves it on his desk and it’s just sitting there and it feels as though it’s calling my name. All right, journals do not call you by name unless you hear voices. There’s a woman here who walks around and shakes. She looked me straight in the eye and told me I was suffering. I may be suffering but I do not suffer from auditory hallucinations.
This is just the way it is with me right now—I just feel compelled to read what Rafael has written in his journal. Compelled, that would be a Mr. Garcia word. And now that I think of Mr. Garcia, I am absolutely certain that the only thing I really suffer from is intellectual curiosity. Okay, yeah, and the therapists here would call it something else. They would say I was not respecting someone else’s boundaries. The real story depends upon your point of view—that’s what I’m thinking. We’re back to that perspective thing.
This is what I’m thinking: if Rafael’s journal was such a private thing, then why was it just sitting there on his desk? It just sits there all the time, and it’s a public space. Okay, this is all bullshit and I know it and this is a really bad thing to be doing, yeah. Look, I guess I like getting into other people’s heads too—just like everyone else. And I especially like getting into Rafael’s head. It’s cool, the way he thinks.
Reading Rafael’s journal—around here it would be classified as a very unhealthy behavior. I mean, we have these sessions on healthy boundaries. Healthy people have healthy boundaries. Unhealthy people, well, let’snot get into that. It’s like this: some people have walls which means they let no one in. This equals unhealthy. Some people let everyone in and let themselves be stepped all over. This equals unhealthy.
No one has to tell me that reading Rafael’s journal is a violation of his privacy, which equals a definitely unhealthy behavior. In group it would also qualify as a secret. We are not supposed to keep secrets. Secrets are killing us—that’s the theory. And another thing, I am not supposed to be talking about us. I’m supposed to be talking about me. It is not a healthy behavior to speak in universals. I am only supposed to speak for myself. And I’m not supposed to use sentences using you . I’m not supposed to say things like: “When you feel sad, you cry.” No, no, no. I’m supposed to say: “When I feel sad, I cry.” Adam always corrects us. He’s all nice and sweet about the whole thing, but he corrects us all right. Stops us right in mid-sentence. Okay, so I got the point. I, I, I. I, I, I. Okay, I am feeling this. I am feeling that. Yeah, I get it, I get it.
Therapy is tearing me up. Am I better? I’m mad. Is getting angry part of therapy? Isn’t all this about getting un-angry? What do I know? What I do know is that there’s an anger group on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Maybe I’ll join that group. Hell, I bet I could run that group.
Sharkey’s angry, that’s for sure. Worse than me. Okay, this is not a contest. I get that. And even Rafael’s angry. This is the thing: life has not been kind to us. I think I’ll make a new list: The Reasons Why I Am Angry. I am stunned out, torn up, wigged out. I am A-N-G-R-Y. This is why we have no baseball bats around this place. This is why everyone is all concerned about some
WHAT DOES THE MONSTER WANT?
-1-
I have a new addiction: I read Rafael’s journal.
Okay, this is not okay. But the guy leaves it on his desk and it’s just sitting there and it feels as though it’s calling my name. All right, journals do not call you by name unless you hear voices. There’s a woman here who walks around and shakes. She looked me straight in the eye and told me I was suffering. I may be suffering but I do not suffer from auditory hallucinations.
This is just the way it is with me right now—I just feel compelled to read what Rafael has written in his journal. Compelled, that would be a Mr. Garcia word. And now that I think of Mr. Garcia, I am absolutely certain that the only thing I really suffer from is intellectual curiosity. Okay, yeah, and the therapists here would call it something else. They would say I was not respecting someone else’s boundaries. The real story depends upon your point of view—that’s what I’m thinking. We’re back to that perspective thing.
This is what I’m thinking: if Rafael’s journal was such a private thing, then why was it just sitting there on his desk? It just sits there all the time, and it’s a public space. Okay, this is all bullshit and I know it and this is a really bad thing to be doing, yeah. Look, I guess I like getting into other people’s heads too—just like everyone else. And I especially like getting into Rafael’s head. It’s cool, the way he thinks.
Reading Rafael’s journal—around here it would be classified as a very unhealthy behavior. I mean, we have these sessions on healthy boundaries. Healthy people have healthy boundaries. Unhealthy people, well, let’snot get into that. It’s like this: some people have walls which means they let no one in. This equals unhealthy. Some people let everyone in and let themselves be stepped all over. This equals unhealthy.
No one has to tell me that reading Rafael’s journal is a violation of his privacy, which equals a definitely unhealthy behavior. In group it would also qualify as a secret. We are not supposed to keep secrets. Secrets are killing us—that’s the theory. And another thing, I am not supposed to be talking about us. I’m supposed to be talking about me. It is not a healthy behavior to speak in universals. I am only supposed to speak for myself. And I’m not supposed to use sentences using you . I’m not supposed to say things like: “When you feel sad, you cry.” No, no, no. I’m supposed to say: “When I feel sad, I cry.” Adam always corrects us. He’s all nice and sweet about the whole thing, but he corrects us all right. Stops us right in mid-sentence. Okay, so I got the point. I, I, I. I, I, I. Okay, I am feeling this. I am feeling that. Yeah, I get it, I get it.
Therapy is tearing me up. Am I better? I’m mad. Is getting angry part of therapy? Isn’t all this about getting un-angry? What do I know? What I do know is that there’s an anger group on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Maybe I’ll join that group. Hell, I bet I could run that group.
Sharkey’s angry, that’s for sure. Worse than me. Okay, this is not a contest. I get that. And even Rafael’s angry. This is the thing: life has not been kind to us. I think I’ll make a new list: The Reasons Why I Am Angry. I am stunned out, torn up, wigged out. I am A-N-G-R-Y. This is why we have no baseball bats around this place. This is why everyone is all concerned about some
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