Depression: the Liminalities of Racism, Parody, Pastiche and Insult
After working on my MA material, non stop, for God knows how many hours, I snapped. (It happens at around 9:00 pm).
Their music stresses me out. Their spats stress me out. Their voices - though they're good people - stress me out. We, equally, stress them out. It's a love hate relationship. We stress them out. I'm not shirking away from that. We stress them out equally if not more than they stress us out. As neighbours, we're both sorry to be living like this. We're both sorry. But I'm more sorry for this.
These walls are paper thin. I'm living practically on top of them. She shouts 'don't be racist!' to her son - discipline intended. Loud enough for us to hear. She wants us to realise that actually, she finds that kind of behaviour intolerable. I understand that.
My sister explains it to me: a rational side to my brain that was absent at this following moment.
Because I didn't stifle it this time.
It simply erupts. Something's happened to me this week. I'm not myself. I need to contain it better. I'm ashamed of myself.
So what happens is...
I imitate, scathingly, adopting her vernacular: 'we're all a bit racist - it doesn't matta.' She hears this through the wall. This is clear, because there's an awkward silence on both sides of the wall.
I'm on a high. Some sort of ecstatic trip. Never taken a non-recreational drug in my life. It's got to be some sort of loose tongue drug. I'm snapping at the wrong people. I'm snapping at the wrong moments. No one will really understand why. She didn't deserve it. And that's depressing me.
I imitated my neighbours. Let the persecution begin. It'll spread like wildfire. Can't really see how the land lies. Impossible now. Can't really apologise either. Can't retract it. Just childish behaviour really... and completely out of character.
Comedians can get away with it. It's all in the timing, delivery, expression and the drama. It's in the relevance of the joke. It's about that fine line that you should / shouldn't, dare / dare not cross.
I speak vociferously in the hallway, elucidating my views on how such an insulting imitation could explode from these lips. It doesn't quite cut it.
Could list all the turbulent feelings overwhelming me at the moment. Doesn't quite cut the mustard though...
Should post this through her letter box.
I can't even apologise because of the nature of this one.
Half a brain intact.
God. I've got to find the rational side. Keep it tame. That's enough.