Enhanced Interrogation Techniques
This is Water.
Disclaimer: If you for some reason have a high opinion of me, please do not read the following because it will quickly make you realize that I am in fact an idiot. But it’s a funny story.
The hours between dusk and dawn tend to be what I call “The Danger Zone”. In other words, every idea that I come up with in this time frame is incredibly stupid.
It’s 9:30 PM and I’m lying in bed about to continue watching Cinema Paradiso, an incredible film. However, I feel a wave of intense loneliness and melancholy coming. These sets of emotions are common in “The Danger Zone” and are probably the reason why those hours are “The Danger Zone”. Sometimes there isn’t a stimuli, sometimes there is. It could be seeing a picture of us in my camera roll, it could be checking my Letterboxd account and seeing a film we watched together; in short it could be anything that reminds me of the joyous times we spent together. A brief feeling of happiness that is instantly chased by loneliness and guilt. The realization that I am a has-been, a pariah, hated.
It’s 9:35 PM and I decide to deal with this melancholy by stepping outside to listen to music and smoke a cigarette.
It’s 9:45 PM and the feeling is still there. I go to my next healthy coping mechanism.
It’s 9:48 PM and my HOKAs are laced up and I start to run, a quick 2 miles to clear the mind. I’m listening to Screamo music, I didn’t start listening to Screamo until after the breakup; maybe a futile attempt to cling on to a memory of her. It doesn’t matter though, I like it. I’m listening to “>_<“ by OLTH.
It’s 9:50 PM and despite smoking a cigarette I run the first quarter at a 5:45 pace. It’s crazy how fast I’m getting back into shape. I’m listening to Rammstein. Much more my style.
It’s 9:53 PM and I’m running by Joe’s Market on Jenkintown Road and I realize that despite the pain of running on tarred up lungs, it’s still not enough. What did I mention to my therapist today? Oh yeah, I was thinking of waterboarding myself last week just to try it out. But I told her at the end of the session I wouldn’t do that.
It’s 9:56 PM and I’m still listening to Rammstein. I’m still thinking of healthy coping mechanisms. I’ve run out of ideas. The only option would be to cut, but that’s the polar opposite of a healthy coping mechanism and I got my fill of that last week anyways. The idea of waterboarding comes to mind again. But that’s not a healthy coping mechanism is it?
It’s 9:58 PM and well writing is a healthy coping mechanism, so if I waterboard myself only for the purpose of writing inspiration, then the act of waterboarding myself wouldn’t be a maladaptive coping mechanism, would it?
It’s 10:00 PM and I need to focus on running because I’m feeling the tar in my lungs right now and it’s kind of hurting. I’m still running fairly fast though. Let’s save the waterboarding talk for later and focus on maintaining a good pace.
It’s 10:03 PM and I just PR’d this route. I’m drinking water and smoking another cigarette. A classic recovery combo.
It’s 10:05 PM and I’m on the toilet watching George W. Bush responding to the backlash on the recently (at the time) released reports on the CIA’s enhanced interrogation techniques at Gitmo.
It’s 10:06 PM and you know what it’s an experience worth having and I can listen to David Foster Wallace’s “This is Water” speech that he gave to the Kenyon College graduating class of 2005. That’ll be a topical thing to listen to while I’m getting waterboarded. And then maybe after I can write about all the emotions I felt and all the memories that flooded to me; the walks in Rittenhouse square, the time I took her to the 8th floor of Ritter Annex between classes, the first movie we watched together, the time I took care of her while she was sick in bed, the time we baked cookies for her club’s bake sale. Maybe all these thoughts will come to mind while I’m listening to David Foster Wallace and getting waterboarded. And then maybe I can write a passionate piece of writing to my substack on how lonely and sad I am and how much I’m suffering. Ok let’s do it.
It’s 10:10 PM and I just waterboarded myself three times (for good measure) in my bathtub. Absolutely none of the above happened. There was nothing. For the first time in my life I experienced a pain so incredibly profound that I could not think of anything. There were no touching memories that came to mind. There were no flashbacks. There was no melancholy. There was no smiling at the fragments of the past. All that ran through my mind was “Holy fucking shit I’m drowning. Holy shit I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. Get this rag off my face.”
I did this three times. For good measure. Just to make sure.
George W. Bush was full of shit. Enhanced interrogation techniques my ass.