I’d Rather Stand Up To Myself [Friday Thoughts With TeeCoZee]



Good Moleman. This isn’t my house. It’s Friday, April 22, Two Thousand and Sixteen. The weather in Brooklyn is 78˚ & Pantone 7542 and somewhere, somebody is sitting in their car, waiting for “Hotel California” to end. He needs to hear one more tasty tune before he goes back to work. Why is this guitar solo so long? Why do people even like this song? Do people think that the thick-layered allusions makes them a smarter person? He wonders what Don Henley is doing right now. About 30 miles away, Don Henley is waiting for “Hotel California” to end, patiently anticipating the next tasty tune. To both of their disdain, the next song is “Lido Shuffle”. Somewhere, Boz Scaggs is laughing on his way to the bank. He thought of a funny joke on his way to order new checkbooks. He has no idea his song is playing somewhere randomly across the country. But I do, because I wrote this scenario. What’s going on, again? Whatever. I have some things on my mind…

– If you actually bothered to look up the sky’s Pantone, you’d think it was cloudy outside. This is not true, it’s moreso smoggy. I don’t think I’ve seen a legit cloud in over a week. This causes a lot of issues for me, as I’m not able to tell days apart. I try to place a memory and think, “When was that? It was really sunny and warm. Just like every day. So when was that?” This is why I could never live in Los Angeles. Constant blue skies stunt memory growth. That’s straight science for you. Or crooked science. Can we start formulating crooked science? Like textbooks edited by the Mafia? Example:

Humans are the only animals on the planet that get pleasure from sex.

What about the dolphins?


I think this could really make mobstering a legitimate profession again.

– Because I’m all about innovation and reader participation, this new segment is entitled “What The Hell Is This”. It’s actually not innovative at all, it’s just people guessing what an up-close picture is.


“The mouth of Howard The Duck” – Two-Toke Tammy

“It appears to be a tormented soul (Possibly Marco Rubio) trapped in the penis head of Donald Trump” – Robby Nast

“Upper lip” – Wes Hull

“Pineapple” – Joey Z

“The color indicates a skin tone and the marks indicate an alien probe. So I’m going with a human probed by an alien.” – Amy Amy

“It’s a sailboat.” – Pork Hertylman

“Chyna’s mouth?” – Butter Knife Gates

“Hah. Ummm. A WWE Wrestler’s gut?” – Danny J. Skymall

Skyman, you were really damn close. Answer:


Vader’s side-boob! Congratulations, Mr. Skymall. I’ll give you a mystery prize the next time I see you.

The next segment has no intention of being funny or satirical. It’s one of those segments where I pour my heart out and speak honestly about myself. If you came for for the ha ha’s, just skip this segment. There’s no poop jokes here. Okay, maybe there’ll be one at the end.

– I was trying out a new joke the other night. One punchline went as follows: “I’m on antidepressants, which really ruined cocaine for me”. The second part was muted by applause, which I didn’t expect whatsoever. I never thought of it as something deserving of congratulations. I saw it as totally normal and didn’t expect the mentioning to be a confession. After thinking hard about it, I realized that my admission took a lot of balls, even though I said it and constantly think about it nonchalantly. I don’t even think I’ve even mentioned it here, so let’s make this formal:

I am on antidepressants. I am still myself.

One of the common misconceptions is that these things are instant brain-strangling fun. Your pupils will dilate and the world will be sunshine and lollipops until it wears off, leaving you a sweaty and smiling mess. It’s quite the opposite. Or maybe not the opposite, but it’s totally untrue. If you have a negative outlook, this will not change at all. What it does change is what’s not in your control.

It’s something I’ve struggled with my whole life, but by the end of last year, the attacks were becoming more frequent. My depression is sharp and swift. I’ll start the day feeling just fine, sometimes even happy. Then about 3 hours into my day, I physically feel a change. Like a twinge in my brain, followed by a curtain or fog. I try to fight it off with exuberance and manic quippery, but it’s always a short bout. Then it’s an overwhelming sensation that my brain is drowning. There’s a slight pressure and I can’t for the life of me think of anything remotely positive. This goes on for hours, resulting in me losing all of my energy and locking myself in a room to have a long cry. This was happening more regularly than I feel comfortable admitting.

A few months ago, I gathered the courage to take a stand against my illness. I went to a doctor and we figured out a regiment that might work for me. When I took my first pill, I panicked. I was officially going down the rabbit hole. I felt like I was signing my personality away. I feared that everything I knew about myself was going to disappear and I’d turn into some brainwashed whackjob. What I realized was that nothing happened. I found the same things funny, I had the same fears/opinions/desires, I was still Coze. Days went by, which turned into weeks, which turned into months and nothing happened. It wasn’t until last week that I realized that nothing is good. Nothing is great. Nothing is freedom. Nothing makes life worth living. There are no longer intangible forces holding me down. If I’m in a bad mood, I have a damn good reason. I feared that I would lose control, but I ended up having more than ever.

I’m proud to say that since I’ve been medicated, I have only had one attack. And that was the day my Grandmother died. I’ll admit, there are some drawbacks. My temper is slightly hotter [which could probably be attributed to the lack of cigarettes] and my short term memory is not what it used to be [which I could blame on oldness/constant good weather]. I can’t say that I’m happy yet, that I’m out of the woods. That’s a process that I’m slowly working on. What matters is that now I actually have the ability to change this.

A friend of mine came out this week on struggling with a similar plight. What she did was frightening and brave and I’m so fucking proud of her. It’s not easy admitting to the world that you’re damaged, but it’s the first huge step to take towards recovering. And if you’re reading this and feel the same way, I urge you to speak up. I urge you to stand up for yourself by standing up to yourself. We are all entitled to emotional freedom and the journey getting there can be beautiful and breathtaking and hilarious and sad and thought-provoking and true and anything else that you could want out of life. All you have to do is speak up.

I took a poop a couple of weeks ago that spelled out “love”. Before I was able to take a picture, the turds shifted and spelled out “lob”. If I had more ammo in me, I would’ve went for “lobster”.

– This week’s Letter From Coze went out to Mara, a girl that I may or may not have a drink with next week, who will hopefully never read this and if she does, will probably cancel said drink and turn it into a piece of gum and a wave. For context, she think’s I’m the city of Dallas, which she mistakenly identified as a state:

But you might have a point [about me being a state]. I am home to 17 billionaires. That’s more than 16! Not to mention the 21 Fortune 500 companies that live here. That’s 4% of The Fortune™! People allegedly love my BBQ! That’s more than New Hampshire can say. New Hampshire doesn’t have shit! I’m gonna have a conversation with Ft. Worth and see if he’d want to secede. Thank you so much for the inspiration! How could I ever repay you?

I slyly stuck that last line in there so it could lead into a drink, because I’m slowly learning how online dating works [after 7 years]. But she’ll be sorely dissapointed when she finds out that I’m not actually Dallas, but rather, a Sony Minidisc Player! Muahahahahaha!

– This week’s Ad Nauseous is brought to you by Glossier:


Uh huh. This is a joke, right? How in the hell is this an effective ad for skincare? This model is supposed to display the final product? Since when was sickly sweat attractive? She looks like a melting doll. She’s semi-unconscious. Seriously, why is she so shiny?!? She seriously just finished throwing up. She’s got a thin layer of sweat, she’s licking the throat mucus from her finger and her eyes are glazed over. This is the least attractive thing I have ever seen in a subway ad, Dr Zizmor models included. And this company has an entire ad campaign displaying drugged out models that are half asleep. Why anybody would pay money to procure something that would make them look like this is beyond me. Maybe I’d understand if I had a valium habit.

– Try this trick over the weekend: Make yourself throw up and then make it look sexy.

Have a purgey weekend, everyone!