Am I a psycho? — Story Time

2019 was hands down the year in which I was called a psycho the most.

Not in a nice way either.

As ridiculous as it sounds the truth is that last March, in London, I saw an 8 minute live solo sketch called Drank- and it turned me gay.

It was an internal monologue to elevator music. Set in a ‘bar’ Billie’s attempt at hiding behind a newspaper when she spots the awful woman she had stood up the night before- fails.

The whole audience was pissing themselves- it was hilarious. The funniest thing I’d ever seen performed.

I later found out the newspaper hid her freshly written script. She wrote the piece on the tube there.

Every other writer had spent weeks agonising over their set. Tears- nudity- feminism.

Billie smugly strolled over to me afterwards, picked up my Moschino jacket and worked the room in it for the rest of the night, without really acknowledging me.

Who is this fucking arsehole? I thought.

Three months later, I came out.

At 33 years old, with two young children and in the middle of a degree (at one of the worlds most prestigious drama schools) , - I left my (already struggling) relationship of 10 years.

The comedian is now my girlfriend, living with me through Quarentine.

While I make it sound like a flippant decision it wasn’t and it’s safe to say that becoming a single mother and all the guilt and shame and financial difficulty it presented made me physically ill. Literally. Shaking, vomiting and leaving a me-shaped-patch of sweat on whichever temporary bed I was in that week- and I DO NOT sweat.

It was the worst summer of my life.

Now my best friend thinks I’m weird and my parents have disowned me.

No housewarming card, no birthday wishes and I think my invite to the huge family Christmas meal that was splashed all over Instagram must have ... been lost in the post or something.

Oh well.

I was called a psychopath a lot last year.

It doesn’t offend me, it just made me even more fascinated by myself.

Occasionally, I would ask my friend who has a masters in psychology whether I am a psychopath and she wild always say

“if you’re worried about being a psycho, then your aren’t one.”

I never said I was worried about it.

So what is it that’s makes me so numb at times? And it is at times- not always- but enough to make me seriously question the size and shape of my amygdala.

I’ve been told by a professional that I have add. Is it impulsivity?

I’ve been told by friends who see doctors for their add that it is linked to autism- in fact, people have told me they think I am on the autistic spectrum.

It certainly would explain a lot- the knowledge that I regularly wear a social ‘Mask’ or imitate mannerisms of people I perceive to be likeable. But then- psychos are also known for ‘apeing’ people.

Or is that just me wanting to be liked?

I am a risk taker. I have had addictions. I was very promiscuous- until the age of 23 when I stopped. - as I proudly announce to anyone. I am told I have no filter, am rude and inappropriate or don’t give a shit. Others tell me I’m charismatic. I am ‘high impact’ and people who meet me once feel like I am familiar. I form friendships and keep in touch with people I meet in passing- out of my best friends, I met one in a corridor, one in a queue at a bar, one as I walked past a nightclub, one up a tree and I met my ex- under a Christmas tree.

Is this a lack of humility and a need for attention- using ‘superficial charm’ to get strangers to like me- like a psycho would?

I have a temper and god HELP anyone who pisses me off. A business owner was very rude to (amongst others) a member of my family a few years ago. He later got into a fight on Facebook- I screenshotted it- wrote a buzzfeed style article highlighting all the points where he made a fool of himself and had it published in a local paper. He wasn’t popular anyway, so It was shared all over social media and read by thousands. I had dozens of missed calls from the furious subject of my piece, threats of court action, and outraged Tory farmers after my carcass. I didn’t care.

I wondered if what I did was the innate behaviour of the ‘sociopath next door’ blending in just enough to be accepted, or am I someone with a conscience who doesn’t like ‘male pale stale’ types, just letting them know they aren’t in control all of the time?

I don’t panic when others get hurt or are in pain- I considered becoming a midwife for a week or so and even went to an interview to get the ball rolling. They said I had a clear goal and that that was refreshing. Then I changed my mind and went to drama school.

A tutor at uni recently read my dissertation plan. She was horrified. After skimming over what I thought was a brilliant exploration of ‘Shock Aesthetic’ -the reasons for violence and real death in performance, she irritatedly flicked her hair.

“Are you saying we should all go around ... shooting each other in the name of art?!”

The words choked out and fell like heavy rubber balls from her mouth down onto my dissertation plan, bouncing up, smack into my face, dislodging my ‘mask’ completely.

SHIT!!! She knows I’m mental.

Naturally, I quickly returned fire- twisting the situation to try to make her look like the arsehole.

“No... I’m not saying that at all. I don’t like guns. And that’s insensitive. I’m American.”

I never once mentioned guns . As I said- I REALLY don’t like them.

If you like hearing me talk about myself as much as I do, feel free to follow me on Instagram.

@suchababes