This is the book you'll need after you take a spoonful of LSD in your parent's kitchen and black out and forget your name. With this unconventional guidebook to your new self, you'll use my memories and fantasies, delusions of grandeur and depressive snags to map your new world.
I have the skillset to guide you (at least halfway, depending on my unbalanced moods) back into something that resembles reality. You wanted those pretty colors and tingles down your spine. You wanted to find cosmic significance in crappy music. Someone or something tricked you into opening these boxes and, together, we'll try and get a lid on them.
You might still be hearing other voices, but it's time to focus in on mine. I have eleven years of solid experience trying to navigate the world in a post-hallucinogenic haze. Your psychiatrist doesn't have the time or the communication skills, I do.
I'm not going to spoon feed it to you. You're going to have to work for it. Like an old voodoo woman, I'll try to confuse you and waste your time, I might even try to get in your pants- but you'll be better off for it.
I'll dig it all out for you. You're gay, you had an AIDS scare, you'll check into a mental hospital at the drop of a hat, you're addicted to porn, you were obsessed with Dolly Parton as a child (and feel this is so interesting it should be listed on your resume), you have toenail fungus and you're unemployed. We'll get to all that and more.
I understand the position you're in. You didn't go to McLean hospital. You aren't John Nash, Patty Duke or even Margot Kidder. You're not a girl interrupted. You're a gay Midwestern manchild who got all hopped up on goofballs when you were nineteen and you're trying to keep it together as you enter your thirties.
We can do this.
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