Have you ever had one of those
weird, distressing thoughts where you're just like, fuck!
Where did that come from?
Like something totally inappropriate or shocking,
like imagining your boss naked.
- Mmm! - Or punching an old person in the street.
Or, er, jumping off a train platform.
Most people can easily dismiss them,
because you know deep down
that you don't really want to do those things.
But what happens when the part of your brain
that allows you to dismiss those thoughts isn't working properly?
What happens if you get those thoughts so regularly
that they start to become a real challenge to your sense of self
that you just don't know who you are any more?
It's a bad day if it ends with you freezing your tits off in a lay-by.
As of two hours ago, my life is fucked... literally.
The kind of fucked you cannot come back from.
_
That might look like a smile, but it's total delusion.
Oh, I've already paid him, Mum.
- Take that, come on, for the cab. - No, Mum, I don't want your money.
- No, Marnie, don't be silly, come on. - Please, Mum...
Oh, great, like I gave you a lap dance!
Is there a function going on?
Surprise!
- Did you do this?! - Come on!
And our wee besom!
How did you get everyone's numbers?!
Hello.
Sorry, it's the speech now.
Speech!
I wish my parents weren't so popular,
then there wouldn't be so many of you!
Um, I thought I'd say a few words
for Mum and Dad's special anniversary.
And they didn't have any other kids, so it had to be me.
On the plus side, being the only child,
I do get all the inheritance.
Thanks for having that vasectomy, Dad!
Shout out to my pal Helen for helping me pull this off,
and to Gran for paying for it.
Still got her credit card, she forgot.
No, I'm only joking. I just kept it.
No.
What can I say about Mum and Dad?
They just go together.
They come as a pair.
They're like...
... trousers or scissors or spectacles.
The world wouldn't make sense if they weren't together.
You inspire me.
Ahhhh!
And, on the third Friday of the month,
let's just say you do not want to be in the bedroom next to theirs!
Massive third wheel!
Shit...
Um...
Sorry!
It's a bit shit for them, 'cos I still live at home.
I'm one of those people who moves home,
er, in with their parents after uni, um,
and works their summer job till something better comes along,
and 13 months later still hasn't done anything with her English degree.
Except for write this...
... collection of words.
Errr...
Uh... Stop...
Er...
Um...
Fuck, er... Sh...
Sorry. And my hands are sweating.
Is it hot in here? It's, it's hot.
It's hot!
Ah!
Ah, ah, ah, ah!
Stop it!
Welcome to the fucked-up mystery that is my life.
Sorry if that made you a bit sick in your mouth.
I've thought about a lot of awful things,
but that shitshow was the mother of them all.
_
When I was 14, I started having
relentless graphic thoughts about sex.
Not just sex-sex, fucked-up-sex.
it hasn't stopped.
It's like The Sixth Sense, but I don't see dead people.
I see naked ones.
I've turned everyone and everything you can imagine into filth,
except my family.
Until today.
Most people move to London
to seek their fortune.
I'll settle for some fucking answers.
_
I'm doing them a favour.
Nobody wants a pervert for a daughter...
they can't stick THAT in their Christmas newsletter.
_
That's not just a random nipple.
That's 781 minutes of thinking what I could do to it.
Lick it,
suck it,
flick it...
... milk it?
Fuck's sake.
_
- Hi. - For fuck's sake, Marn.
Your mum said you're in fucking London! What the fuck?!
You can't just fuck off to London and expect me to do nothing.
I was SO worried.
I...
I just keep...
... thinking about all this stuff.
What stuff?
You always say that, but you never say what.
- I can't... - Shh!
Do you want me to come down?
'Cos I will, I've got holidays to take.
No, I don't want anyone with me.
Well, what am I supposed to do if I'm up here and you're down there?
I don't know what's wrong with me!
You're just a bit... anxious, aren't you?
That's what it is, it's anxiety.
Everyone's got it.
God, you're so mainstream!
Speak to someone.
Please?
I'm really worried about you, Marn.
S... s... so am I.
_
Marnie Macauley, room 5.
You won't shock me. I've heard some things.
Er... I just worry all the time.
About sex stuff, mainly.
And what triggers these worries?
Anyone with genitalia.
Who has an anxiety attack in the M&S lingerie department
or while watching Lorraine?
Oh, um...
So, what is it about those situations that... distresses you?
Well, um...
With Lorraine, er,
I was watching it and I noticed her shoes,
'cos she always has nice shoes on,
and I noticed the pointy heels, and...
... then I thought about where she could put one,
like in her vagina.
And then I was like, why did I think that?
Do I want to do that to Lorraine?
So then I tried to unthink it,
but it just made me think about it more,
and then it was an hour later and I was still thinking about it, and...
... I couldn't breathe.
That's why it distressed me.
So you mostly think about women?
- Not just women, but... - You have explicit
sexual thoughts about them and it upsets you?
Is it possible you could be gay?
Is being gay so hard to imagine?
I haven't been with a woman.
I've spent so much time trying to decide if I want to,
and I moved home to the Borders after uni so I couldn't,
'cos it's home, and you can't sleep with a woman
'cos she probably goes to Zumba with your mum,
and you can't go to the doctor because
sometimes he comes over to play penny whistle with your dad.
Not a euphemism, it actually happens.
You're not at home any more.
Sorry!
I had it left over from a work party, and I couldn't resist.
'Cos Marnie's in the house! Woo! Woo!
Woo! Come in! Come in, come in.
- Thanks so much for letting me stay. - Thanks for wanting to!
You look amazing, by the way.
Oh, thanks. So do you.
So, what have you been up to?
I've not seen you since school, except on Instagram.
And that one time at the Co-op at Christmas.
Erm, just... uni.
And moved home for a bit.
- Worked at the golf club. - Yeah, then what?
Erm... cut to now!
Oh!
I thought you would have written a book by now,
- or at least have a podcast, or... - That's why I'm here!
- Thanks again for letting me stay! - It's fine, it'll be just like school.
Except you'll have to talk to me,
and your friends won't victimise me!
So, erm, where's your spare room?
Funny!
Yeah, well, I still need to clear it out.
Oh, you're serious?
Well, I did say it was a little bijou, but, it's London, you know.
But it's private, it's got a door. Look, you can close it.
Thanks.
It's just going to be for a bit while I get myself sorted.
So what made you come to London?
- Just fancied a change. - Oh, yeah, me too.
I'm learning shiatsu at the moment,
'cos I work in corporate for Pets For All, and it's really dry.
I can't even remember the last time I touched an animal.
So let me know if you want a massage.
- Oh, I'm good, thanks. - Or anything that'll make your stay more comfortable.
Like a cup of tea, toothpaste, biscuits, sanitary towel.
Oyster card, tourist information leaflet.
Whatever you need, just say.
I can get you anything.
Except drugs.
Well, I can get you cat tranquilisers from work, but...
It's OK, I brought my own.
- Oh, did you? - No!
No. Erm, thanks, though.
You're a really good friend.
Yeah, well...
I'm going to go to the shops, but these are for you!
- Thanks! - Welcome to London, mate!
It's just a roomful of women.
I've been in loads of them. Toilets, fitting rooms,
Emily Brontė Society... This'll be just like that.
Except I'm wasted, and I won't have to discuss Wuthering Heights.
- Yes? - Can I get a vodka soda, please?
- Do you have some ID? - To see if I'm gay?
- To see if you're that. - Oh! Sure. Sorry.
Thanks.
I like your top.
You can tap here.
Thanks.
Can I get you a drink?
- Thanks. I'm teetotal till Tuesday. - Why?
For this article I'm writing.
I'm like the Duracell bunny, and my skin is mint,
but I'm boring as fuck on a night out.
Especially when your mates are hammered by half eight.
Are you a writer?
Sorry, do you mind?
She's, like, right there in front of me,
and she thinks I'm looking down her top.
Which I was, because that's what I'm like.
So...
... been gay for long?
Who asks that?
Have you just come out or something?
Well, I've opened the door!
I don't want any drama.
Me neither. Erm, I just want... pussy.
So who do you write for?
Ethel.
- It's this online magazine. - Wow!
I wish I could write professionally.
So what have you been doing?
I've just been living my life.
And then, suddenly, I was like, "I hate my life".
So, the other day I was like, "Fuck it, I don't have to do this".
I packed a bag, got on a bus in Scotland,
and got off a bus in London.
The other day?
Well, yeah. Yesterday, I was like, "I have to do this now!"
Well, we're always looking for interns,
so you should send us your CV.
Yeah?
Cool! Thanks.
Obviously, that will be redacted if your moves are shite.
? I feel depressed, I feel so bad ?
? 'Cos you're the best girl that I've ever had ?
? I can't get your love, I can't get a fraction ?
? Uh-oh, little girl, psychotic reaction ?
? And it feels like this! ?
- I'm going to the loo. - All right.
My hand's so sweaty.
Must be like holding a flipper.
Is that desire or anxiety?
Here's a feeling. I'm pissed off!
- Oh, hey, Amber. You all right? - Yeah, not bad, yourself?
- How's the art stuff going? - Yeah.
Just... yeah.
Right, after you.
So, what was it this time? Did you not like her drawings?
Doesn't matter, it's finished.
Hi, I'm Marnie.
Joe.
Babe, it's not a meeting.
Yeah, sorry, that was really formal.
Anyway, I should let you two...
It's OK, you don't have to...
It's fine, he's going to go upstairs
and listen to James Blake on repeat.
It's what he usually does.
So... which one's yours?
Um, it's that one.
Right.
Just make yourself at home.
It's like Pinterest in here.
When Nanna died,
- I got loads of her furniture. - Cool.
Not that your gran died,
but that you got free stuff out of her.
And loads of perfume.
I smell like a dead old lady.
No, I'm being serious. Go on, smell.
Do you have anything to drink?
Like booze or something?
No, I binned it all when I went teetotal, didn't I?
So...
what shall we do?
I'm just going to go to the loo, again. I drank a lot.
It's upstairs.
Amber told me to make myself at home, and...
When I'm at home, I like to relax with a nice glass of sherry.
That's sherry vinegar.
I'm realising that now.
I've got some vodka in my room.
Are you bragging or offering?
I'm offering.
Then I'll have some, with a vinaigrette chaser.
It's OK, you don't have to come.
Yeah. No, I'll wait here.
Why did I think that?
Do I want that?
What if I did that?
I can't get distracted by cock.
Cocks ruin enough already.
They're not ruining my first lesbian encounter.
- Straight? - Well, I'm with Amber, so...
Oh... I've not got any mixers.
Straight's fine.
You all right?
Amber will be wondering where I am.
It's like having sexual FOMO.
Why am I thinking about men
when I should be thinking about women?
The only way I'll know what I feel in my body
is if I feel nothing in my head.
On a scale of one to fucked up,
how fucked up would it be if I drank this?
I think we should have sex.
Whoa, keeno!
Are you OK?
- You've had quite a bit to drink. - Yeah, it makes me really horny.
You taste really minty.
We should lie down.
- Are you sure? We can just chill. - Shh, Judgy McJudgerson.
I'll do that.
It's a lot easier.
They get real tight at the ankles.
It's impossible to do this in a sexy way!
OK, boss.
Oh, your knickers are off too.
I can put them back on if it's a problem?
No. It's fine.
Keep going, that's it.
Oh, yes.
Oh, darling...
- Oh! - What the fuck?
Fuck. Fuck.
What happened?
I don't think you're my type.
What?
I've never done it with a girl before.
I didn't know you were that new.
You're practically still in your wrapping. Christ.
Sorry. I've really got to go now, bye.
Well, at least let me get you a taxi or...
Oh, you fucking twat.
Fucking stop!
I want it to stop.
- Shit! Oh. You OK? - Sorry.
I got a mixer.
I didn't go out especially. I was going... Whoa!
- Sorry. - It's fine, you missed. You all right?
Yeah...
Let's get this out of the way.
No, it's OK, you don't have to...
What did you eat?
I'm disgusting. There's sick on the street.
A fox will eat it. Now, that's disgusting.
- Those people are looking. - It's London.
Nobody gives a shit.
As long as you don't mug them or talk to them,
you can do what you like.
That's what's so good about it.
Why do you think people come and live here?
Do you want my number?
Oh, confusing, and forward.
Give me your phone.
- You definitely won't remember this. - I will.
I will remember this,
'cos it's quite nice.
Will you be OK?
- You want me to get you a cab or something? - No!
I'm a feminist.
If you follow me, it's harassment, so don't, please.
I'll just watch until you get round the corner.
Hey, this isn't creepy.
This is creepy.
People here don't give a shit what I do.
What if I sucked off that man?
What if I finger-banged that woman?
What if I wanked on that bollard?
I could do anything and no one would even notice me.
I'm anonymous, a nobody, a stranger. I could be anyone.
London doesn't give a shit what that is.
I am lost in a city of 8 million people.
But I will find myself here.
Even if that does make me sound like a massive wanker.
Something is wrong with me!
- Synced and corrected by chamallow - - www.addic7ed.com -