Last Night I Sang to the Monster

by Benjamin Alire Sáenz

  And the thing is that a lot of people who are troubled hurt themselves. That’s a special kind of addiction. Around here, they call these types of people “self-harmers.” They cut themselves and stuff like that. I can’t take it. I just can’t. There’s enough blood in my dreams.

  I guess I’m thinking that we’re all self-harmers. In a way we are. Yeah, well, maybe not. Like I would know. I understand that there’s something wrong with me. But I don’t have more than one person living inside of me and I don’t cut myself and I don’t yell and scream or cry all the time like some people around here do, so I figure that I’m about as close to being a normie as it gets. At least around here. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know what Adam says, this isn’t a contest. You belong here, Zach, trust me. Like that’s supposed to me make me feel good.

  See, I just want to get back to my plan. Finish school with all my A’s and go to college. I want my plan back. That doesn’t sound so complicated. I’m going to talk to Adam about this. Let’s just get me back to my plan.

  But every time I want to talk to Adam about what I want to talk about, he brings other stuff up and we wind up talking about all kinds of issues that I just do not want to talk about.

  -2-

  Adam says I almost died from alcohol withdrawal. He says I was in a hospital for ten days before I came here. “Do you know how serious that is, Zach?” He didn’t say it like it was some kind of accusation. He said it, well, like maybe I was lucky to be alive. Okay. Lucky.

  I don’t remember much about the hospital. I knew I was in there. But that’s it. The details didn’t hang around in my head. This is a good thing. I don’t like the ugly details of my life loitering around. Look, if Adam says that’s what happened, I guess that’s what happened. I don’t take Adam for a liar. The guy does not have it in him to go around bullshitting people. He’s a straight-up guy. I mean, the guy is Mr. Get-Honest-With-Yourself. So, I guess I’m an alcoholic. But I just turned eighteen. So how can I be an alcoholic? If I was an alcoholic, I think I would know.

  This is my thinking. I’m not really an alcoholic. I just overdid it one night and got some kind of alcohol poisoning. Okay, maybe I overdid it for a period of several days. Maybe weeks. But I’m okay now. That’s my thinking on the subject. No use in wigging out over things you shouldn’t wig out over. No use in getting all stunned out over alcohol. I’m okay. I’m fine. I may be torn up about a lot of things, but this alcohol thing, well, I’m okay on that score. I really am.

  Like I said, we have these categories in our group and every day I’m supposed to try to add something to the list. Category I: Things I know. Category 2: Things I don’t know. Category 3: Things I know that I don’t know. Category 4: Things I don’t know that I know. It’s hard to explain. Sometimes I understand the categories. Sometimes, I just get all confused. But this is the thing: There are things about myself I really don’t want to know. What would knowing get me? I hate trying to come up with things for the list. Adam is always asking me how I’m doing on my list. I tell him that I’m working really hard on it. Like he believes me.

  I think the therapists around this place think that if you know yourself, then somehow you’ll be better and healthier and you’ll be able to leave this place and live out your days as a happy and loving human being. Happy. Loving. I hate those words. I’m supposed to like them. I’m supposed to want them. I don’t. Don’t like them, don’t want them.

  This is the way I see it: if you get to know yourself really well, you might discover that deep down inside you’re just a dirty, disgusting, and selfish piece of shit. What if my heart is all rotted out and corrupted? What about that? What am I supposed to do with that information? Just tell me that.

  Most of the time I get the feeling that I’m just an animal disguised as an eighteen-year-old guy. At least I’m hoping that maybe deep down inside I’m a coyote.

  Coyotes are decent.

  Not like people.

  People are not decent. That’s the real secret nobody wants to talk about.

  I talk to myself a lot.

  Adam is always asking me, “Zach, how much time do you spend talking to yourself?” I shrug and don’t say anything. After a while, he starts shooting numbers at me and we come up with an honest figure. Honesty is a very big word when you’re in therapy. Don’t ask me what I think about that word. Just don’t.

  Look, I don’t believe in honesty. I’d rather have a cup of coffee and a cigarette than live in all that honesty.

  Anyway, Adam and I came up with this figure: 85%—which means that 85% of the time, I’m engaging with myself instead of engaging with the people around me. Look, I like the 85% thing. I do. I’m giving other human beings 15% of my time. That’s plenty. Believe me. No, no, don’t believe me. I’m a liar. Before I came here, I was always lying about all sorts of crap. I mean, I don’t even believe the crap I tell myself. I don’t. Why should anybody else fucking believe me? Okay, okay, I have to stop with the F-word. Adam put me on contract.

  When you’re on contract around here that means you can’t do something. I’m on contract concerning the F-word. Can’t use it. I use it too much. Not according to me but according to Adam. The group agrees with Adam. Well, except for Sharkey. He thinks we should all use the words we like to use.

  -3-

  One day Sharkey got all mental during group about the F-word. He shot Adam a look and said, “Lizzie likes to use the word stupendous.” That’s what he said. Then he looked around the room, then turned back to Adam. “Look, people need to use the words that best describe what they feel.”

  And Adam said very calm and sedate-like, “Really?” I hate the way that Adam is always so relaxed. It really pisses me off sometimes. So he said all calm and sedate, “Sharkey, don’t just talk to me. Talk to the group.”

  And Sharkey shot back, “It’s not the group that put Zach on contract over the F-word.”

  Adam sort of nodded. “Is that what this is about? This is about Zach?”

  “No, this is about freedom of expression. I should be able to say fuck anytime I want to. And so should Zach.”

  That’s when Adam interrupted him. “You can speak for you, Sharkey, and Zach can speak for Zach.”

  “Yeah, you like that because Zach never says a fucking thing.”

  Adam looked at me and asked, “You want to say anything here, Zach?”

  “I like the word fuck,” I said.

  Adam smiled. “I get that.” He nodded and then he looked at Sharkey. “What are you angry at, Sharkey?”

  “I don’t believe in censorship. That’s all I’m saying. Lizzie can use the word stupendous if she likes even though I fucking hate that word. And she can use that stupid expression terminally unique all she wants. I don’t give a shit. I don’t have to like her words. She doesn’t have to like mine. And the group can go to hell if they get all offended at the word fuck.”

  I could go on and on about what happened next. Lizzie let loose on Sharkey and told him that he was pretty much behaving like a selfish adolescent. And then she added: “There is nothing wrong with the term terminally unique. It means that you think you’re so special that no one could possibly understand you. It means you should wake up and smell the coffee, Sharkey. You’re twenty-seven years old. Zach is more mature—and he’s eighteen.” Man, when Lizzie gets going, she really gets going.

  I decided I wanted to be left out of the discussion. You know, the thing about not talking very much is that people think you’re mature. They make things up about you.

  Then Lizzie put her head between her hands. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

  The thing about Lizzie is that every time she said something she really believed, she apologized for it. I really think Lizzie should be put on contract for apologizing. She should not be allowed to apologize. Why was she so afraid of hurting Sharkey’s feelings? I mean, Sharkey didn’t give a damn. He didn’t. If the guy was gonna shove shit down your throat, well, the two-way street rule
applied. That was my thinking.

  Rafael, who’d been pretty quiet, looked at Sharkey and repeated Adam’s question, “What are you really angry at?”

  Sharkey completely ignored him. “You say the word fuck plenty, Rafael.”

  “Guess I do.”

  Sharkey looked at Adam and pointed at Rafael. “Why don’t you put him on a fucking contract?”

  I could tell Rafael wanted to go for a few rounds with Sharkey. I studied his face. He was deciding. And then he smiled. Rafael smiled a lot. I think sometimes Adam wanted to put him on contract over that smile of his because sometimes he smiled and said the saddest things. It was like Rafael’s smile was a way of clearing his throat and it wasn’t a smile at all. “See, the thing about that word, Sharkey, the F-word, is that sometimes I make that word do too much work. I mean, I say that word as if it clearly articulates what I’m really feeling. And it doesn’t. It’s a shortcut.”

  “A shortcut to fucking what?”

  “To my anger. Maybe I cheat myself when I use that word. Maybe I cheat you too. Maybe the people around me deserve a better word.”

  “Are you saying I’m disrespecting the group? Is that what you’re saying, Rafael?”

  “I wasn’t talking about you, Sharkey. I was talking about me.”

  “I think you’re accusing me of disrespecting the group because I like to say fuck.”

  Rafael was trying to stay calm. Sometimes he was really calm. And sometimes he got all worked up. “Nope,” he said. “I’m having a tough enough time owning my own shit. You own yours, Sharkey.” He sort of sat back on his chair. “And if I want to accuse you of something, I don’t need to be circumspect.”

  That’s when Sharkey really lost it. “See!” I mean the guy was almost yelling. “Circumspect! What the fuck kind of word is that?” Sharkey was acting as if Rafael had stolen his car or something.

  He went on and on for a while. We all knew Sharkey. That’s what he did. When he was done, Adam got up from his chair and went up to the board. The board. That meant that Adam was about to do some serious analyzing. He wrote all our names down across the top of the board and then he went around the group and asked each one of us what they thought was really going on in the discussion.

  The whole thing made me really anxious.

  See, Adam had a way of putting the brakes on things. He re-focused us. That was Rafael’s theory. Rafael watched Adam. It’s like he was studying him. It was like he was learning from him. I noticed that. So Adam says, “What’s coming up for all of you? What’s this about?”

  Then Maggie says, “It’s hard for me to trust this group when everybody’s angry.” She crossed her arms. Maggie, she was pretty. She always wore dangling earrings. She was nervous about things. Especially about anger. I mean, she would not have liked my brother.

  Adam asked her if she was angry too. “Yes,” she said.

  “Who are you angry at?”

  “You,” she said.

  “Okay,” he said. “Why are you angry with me?”

  “Because you let Sharkey run this group.”

  “Does Sharkey run this group?” He let the question hang in the air.

  Sheila pulled her hair back really tight. She did that. She looked right at Adam and said, “You run this group.”

  “No,” he said, “I don’t run this group.”

  And then Rafael said, “Well, I’d say you’re pretty much in charge.”

  “In charge of what?”

  “You fucking get paid,” Sharkey said. “Don’t they pay you to be in charge?”

  Adam wrote the question on the board. WHO IS IN CHARGE? Then he wrote:

  ADAM IS IN CHARGE

  SHARKEY IS IN CHARGE

  SHEILA IS IN CHARGE

  RAFAEL IS IN CHARGE

  LIZZIE IS IN CHARGE

  ZACH IS IN CHARGE

  MARK IS IN CHARGE

  KELLY IS IN CHARGE

  MAGGIE IS IN CHARGE

  We all stared at the board. Rafael got this big smile on his face. “Well,” he said, “I’m just thinking that if Sharkey’s in charge of the group, it’s because we let him.” And then he laughed. He looked right at Maggie. “Can I tell you something, Maggie?” That was the thing in Group. If we wanted to say something to someone, we were supposed to ask them if it was okay. Not that we always followed the rules. Maggie nodded.

  “If you feel Sharkey’s taking over the group, maybe you should say something to him.”

  “Well,” she said, “don’t you feel Sharkey’s taken over the group?”

  Rafael smiled. “I guess I don’t. He hasn’t got that much power.”

  Everyone laughed. Even Sharkey. “You got that right,” he said.

  Then Adam looked at me and asked, “What comes up for you, Zach, when you look at the board?”

  I hated to say stuff in Group. Like Adam didn’t know that. “Look,” I said, “all I know is that the only thing I’m in charge of is Zach.”

  Adam smiled. “And how are you doing with that?”

  “I’m doing a pretty shitty job if you ask me.”

  He nodded. “That’s honest. That’s really honest, Zach.”

  He looked at Rafael. “What about you, Rafael?”

  “In charge?” He laughed. It was a really sad laugh. “It’s all gotten away. Everything. It’s all gotten away.”

  “What’s gotten away?” Adam got this really serious look on his face.

  “My life,” he said. “It’s gotten away.”

  Everyone got real quiet.

  Then Adam said, “Homework.” I knew that was coming. “Everyone make a list of the ways you’ve lost charge of yourself, lost control of yourself, lost control of your life.”

  “I thought we were supposed to turn our control over to our higher power.” Mark had this cynical look on his face. He was like that sometimes. And the thing was that Mark just did not get into the whole concept of a higher power.

  “Is that what you’re working on, Mark, turning your life over to your higher power?”

  Adam knew damn well this was not the case.

  “Look, I’m still not into this higher power thing. I just don’t get it.”

  “Sure you do,” Adam said. “You turned your life over to cocaine and vodka.”

  “That’s bullshit.”

  “Is it?”

  I mean the guy had been living in some cheesy hotel. He’d left everything, left his house, his wife, his job. He’d told us so himself. “You got me,” he said.

  “No, Mark, it’s not like that.” That Adam, he was one sincere guy. “I’m making up that you’ve handed over all your power to the crap in your life that screws you over. I’m making up that everyone in this room has done that.”

  He looked at the board. And this is what he wrote:

  ADAM IS IN CHARGE

  SHARKEY IS IN CHARGE alcohol and marijuana and cocaine and heroin and anger are IN CHARGE

  SHEILA IS IN CHARGE alcohol and marijuana are IN CHARGE

  RAFAEL IS IN CHARGE wine and sadness and depression are IN CHARGE

  LIZZIE IS IN CHARGE cocaine and self-loathing and negative self-talk are IN CHARGE

  ZACH IS IN CHARGE liquor and isolation and not remembering are IN CHARGE

  MARK IS IN CHARGE Heroin and cynicism are IN CHARGE

  KELLY IS IN CHARGE marijuana and depression and anxiety are IN CHARGE

  MAGGIE IS IN CHARGE alcohol is IN CHARGE

  When he finished, we all looked at the list. Adam studied the board for a moment. “Anybody want me to change anything?”

  Maggie spoke right up. “You forgot to add anger next to alcohol on mine.”

  Adam nodded. “Okay,” he said. He added anger next to Maggie’s name.

  Then Sharkey said, “You forgot to write something next to Adam.”

  Adam grinned at him. “Don’t worry about Adam. Worry about Sharkey.”

  That sort of made Sharkey quiet down. But, God, it was a sad list, I’ll tell you that. And it wasn’
t like Adam was really making all this stuff up. I wanted to walk up to that list and erase it.

  I looked at Rafael who just kept shaking his head.

  I don’t want to know these things. I don’t. I know that Adam—look—he’s okay. He reminds me of Mr. Garcia. But he’s tearing me up.

  I hate this.

  The list makes me really sad.

  I’m thinking about bourbon.

  I’m thinking about how bourbon was my higher power. I’m feeling very anxious.

  -4-

  At the end of the day, I was still on contract concerning the F-word. Sharkey went on contract concerning that word too. In fact we all went on contract. While he was at the board, Adam got this brilliant idea. Yeah, brilliant. We all had to list our favorite expressions and he put us all on contract. We couldn’t use those expressions in group for a week.

  “Look,” he said, “it’s not a bad idea for us to take a good look at the way we talk, at the way we express ourselves. Let’s call it change with a small ‘c.’ It’s only for a week. Let’s try it.”

  So I was okay not using the F-word in group. It wasn’t going to kill me. I could think it. I didn’t have to say it. I could use another word. And it wasn’t as if I said that much in group. But I did like to say things like That really stuns me out and that tears me up or I’m really wigging out right now. So I was on contract about using those expressions for a week. Big deal. I’d use them in my head.

  No one can put you on contract for the things you keep in your head.

  But I’m telling you, Sharkey was one pissed-off dude. After group I heard him tell Adam that he wanted to change therapists. Adam wasn’t all that shaken up about it from what I could tell. He kinda smiled at Sharkey and said, “Sorry, buddy, but we’re kind of stuck with each other for now.”

  “I’m serious,” Sharkey said.

  “Okay,” Adam said, “we’ll talk about it.”

  Sharkey, he was just letting off steam. He gets himself all worked up. See, I get Sharkey. He gets all worked up and gets all verbal. I’m like that but different. I get all worked up and get all anxious. Maybe I get verbal too. Only I get verbal in my head. You know, that internal life Adam talks about.