My Name is Jimmy

What the f**k is ennui? Jimmy begins a downward spiral that leaves him feeling purposeless.

My name is Jimmy, and this is a song about self-hatred. 

Actually, no. This is a poem about self-hatred, because guitars are expensive, and I can’t sing. 

There are ten letters in self-hatred

And forgiveness is just like broken glass 

Actually, f**k it. 

My name is Jimmy and this is pathetic. I am twenty-two years old, and this morning I realized I can’t do anything. It came as a swift, stinging shock, while I was getting dressed for work. I can’t do anything. I work at the liquor store down the street. I am not a rockstar, or a poet, or a scientist, or a scholar. I never really thought that I would become anything, well, maybe I did a long time ago, but up until today I just didn’t think about it. I just did what I had to to get through the day: go to school, take a test, go to work. None of it meant anything beyond the immediate moment. But suddenly I’m looking ahead of myself and realizing I have no future. I have nothing to offer the world, except cheap liquor. I sell poison to men who hate themselves. I used to wonder what could happen to a person that could make his life feel so empty, so worthless. They scrape together some cash, wander in, look right through me, buy a bottle of the cheapest toxin and head out the door to go drink themselves to death somewhere. I didn’t get it. Now I do. 

It happened gradually at first. I got a seventy-three on a biology exam, I got a sixty-eight on an essay about the French Revolution. My English professor told me I wasn’t trying, and I got straight fifties on everything I did for a week. I dropped out of school. Tasha was cool about it at first, but after that we fought a lot, over stupid s**t. She wanted me out of her life and she didn’t have the stones to say it to my face. When she finally left she dropped me an email full of flowery bullshit; I’ll give you the short version: she was sick of me. She needed someone more stable. Fine. Whatever. I’ve been dumped before. I didn’t care. Until I went home for thanksgiving and had to listen to my brother and his fiancé, Maria, tell the story of how he proposed for every f*****g relative that walked in the door. David is a f*****g year older than me. But he’s got a f*****g baby on the way, and a ridiculously hot fiancé, and a job lined up for when he graduates this summer. I mean, Jesus Christ, give me a f*****g break, man. 

Even that might have been okay until we joined hands to thank the good ol’ Lord for all He’s given us before dad carved the turkey, and my mother thanked God for that stupid fetus. 

On Christmas Eve I picked a fight with my dad, drove into town and bought a bottle of vodka to keep me warm on the drive home, since my car’s heater is a piece of s**t. I woke up in the bathtub Christmas day. We opened presents like usual, Maria got me a silk necktie, and to show my appreciation, I didn’t use it to hang myself on New Year’s Eve. 

After that, it was easy. Being an alcoholic was easy. Being worthless was hard, it came with so much stress and guilt. But being a worthless drunk was easy. Vodka became my life coach. He taught me not to let anyone tell me how to run my life. If I wanted to spend half my paycheck on sweet, brain-cell murdering nectar, I could. I’m an adult, damn it. If I wanted to skip work because I was too hung over to get out of bed, I could. If I wanted to stay up until two drinking until my head stopped making that horrible thinking noise: I could. 

I met Julia after I had been an alcoholic for about three months. She was blond and her voice was too old for her body. I can’t remember her face, just falling asleep next to her at night and her white cotton panties. 

After three weeks I woke up to the sound of her throwing clothes in a suitcase. She had bruises on her face and she wouldn’t come near me. 

I spent the next seven days throwing up and staring out the liquor store windows. In the end I had to leave. The bottles sparkled under the florescent lights like the gates of heaven, and all I had to do was take a sip. I could forget it all. Drown the pain.

So I quit. And for a week I moved from my bed to my couch everyday at noon, spent the entire day feeling the burden of the emptiness that surrounded me. I could fill the silence with daytime television, I could fill my stomach with peanut butter and jelly or mac and cheese, but the void was bigger than that. There was nothing behind me or in front of me: my entire life was nothing. And it made me think. What’s the worst thing about nothing? It’s endless. So I made a plan. 

Reviews

[Tree]

Jimmy is one f**ked up individual, and we love this about him. Songs about self hatred are some of saddest and loneliest in the world, and here we want to know more about Jimmy, more about his world. The thing about this piece that stands out to me most is the honesty captured in Jimmy's voice, he feels real to me. I know him. You want to root for him, but at the same time you know this might not end well. The other thing, is the humor, you do a good job of blending light/ with revolting, it pulled this reader in /deeper.

Well done

[Elle Thompson]

Thank you for your review, I'm glad you enjoyed this
Jimmy is one of my all-time favorite characters, he feels real to me too.

[Jake Donald Stephens]

This is very inspired, and beautifully (though sadly) written.
I've been exactly like Jimmy is in this chapter, and for very long stretches.
And that's about as long as I bother to make a review these days. The fact that I said anything at all is a clear indication that I loved this.

[Elle Thompson]

Oh, well I'm glad you enjoyed it, thank you for taking the time to write a review
and sorry that you identified with the character, self-hatred sucks

[SquinklaPsyOps]

Brilliant imagery and great transitions!

I feel like I went on a journey and saw all those images!

Great work.

[RainDancer1997]

Wow the emotion is clearly hurt and ticked off in this. I love the sarcasm and character in this. I like how you said "Vodka became my life coach". Great first chapter:)

[Elle Thompson]

thanks for taking your time to review :)

[snowe.daye]

The pain in this piece is obvious. It's raw and unapologetic and it makes me absolutely love it. You have talent at capturing Jimmy's suffering. And the light sarcasm helps to keep this piece from being too over powering. Overall, I think you've done a good job at realistically painting Jimmy's point of view. Thank you for sharing such an intense piece! (:

[Elle Thompson]

Thank you for reading, I really appreciate your comments, they made my day. :)

[snowe.daye]

You're very welcome (: