Don't Talk! (Freddie Mercury / Queen)

37. God Knows, Got To Make it On My Own

H.G
June — August

Previously, when it came to concealing pain, I was an expert. Granted, my methodology was slightly flawed because it turned me into an cold and beastly sod. Nevertheless, it was effective. That's all that mattered. It worked.

I could bury any unsavoury event or thought somewhere deep and hidden away within me and then function as normal. It was a sensation similar to that when you undergo anaesthetic but try as I might, I couldn't bring about that numbed state in the past few months. After I wrote the article, I thought that maybe that would be it, my anger would ebb because I had gotten back at Freddie. Unfortunately for me, things weren't that simple. No matter what I did, this time around, I couldn't force myself to feel nothing.

When my usual method failed me I attempted it's inverse. I wouldn't feel nothing, I would feel everything, and hopefully that would drown out anything I didn't want to acknowledge. Overstimulation would make it impossible to dwell on any one thing.

If I overindulged in every vice that life could offer, well then perhaps it would distract me from pining over Freddie. If my mind was constantly occupied, if I didn't give myself a chance to process my feelings, then eventually any Freddie related thoughts would be buried in my unconscious. As long as he wasn't in my conscious, that's all that really mattered.

Dr Bennett (Alfred) almost violently disagreed, but I was no longer paying him to try and sort me out, so I ignored his psychobabble and carried on with my hedonistic quest to induce Mercury-amnesia. Besides, I had wasted away the majority of my life not living it, so I could bloody well do as I pleased now. It was so freeing not having to worry about protecting my family's image anymore. I needed to experience all the things that I had missed before I was too old for it to be considered anything but a midlife crisis.

I assure you that's not what I'm going through. Nor is it a spiral after a break-up. It's simply... living. It's fine, no need to dwell on the rationale behind my behaviour, it's not important.

"I keep having this awful nightmare."

Dr Bennett adjusted his rounded specs, and nodded for me to continue. The poor man tried not to appear too excited at the prospect of me offering up some scrap of my messy psyche to tear into, but failed as he leant forward eagerly in his seat.

"I find myself trapped in this bloody musical number, which I'm aware is very ironic, hilarious, ha ha, it's not lost on me." I grumbled, "But anyway, for weeks now, I have dreamt that I'm stuck performing the same tune."

Alfred tried to muffle his sigh, "Explain to me why you would describe that as a nightmare."

"Well you know how I feel about musicals."

"And that's enough for it to be a nightmare?"

"Exactly. I find it strange how I also know the lyrics to the song, when I have only seen said musical once. Nine, have you heard of it?"

"Oh my god, yes of course I have heard of it!" Alfred exclaimed excitedly, "I made Phillip bring me to New York to see it! Did you see how many Tony's it won?"

"Yes, I stayed up all night with my fingers crossed." I cracked him a grin that had him rolling his eyes.

"Continue," he muttered, "You bloody spoilsport."

"Right, well you know 'Guido's song', that's the one I keep butchering. There's no audience, thank god, but I think there's a few attempts at dancing." I rubbed at my jaw, "Nothing changes."

"Hm. Well based on the lyrics, and what you've told me about your current erratic behaviour—"

I quickly cut in, "I do fear that one night, the musical will progress and I'll be met with my ex performing 'A Call From the Vatican', because that's something he would do in real life."