1) Not only am I a K-Fuck listener, I have the KFUK: The Sound Inside You t-shirt that somebody blasted at me from a shirt cannon. I used to listen to K-Fuck all the time. Now, it's more like I know the station is there.
2) I don't have a name for my inner critic, mainly because it's not really a distinct voice telling me things. It's more of an amorphous realization of things that aren't true: This thing I'm working on sucks. I am so, so stupid. Nobody wants to hear from me. That kind of thing. If I did name my inner critic, I'd probably call it Wormtoungue, for the poison it whispers in my ear to turn me from kickass Theoden to death-warmed-over Theoden.
3) For me, I don't think it's so much positive things I did to drive away the inner critic, as much as things I did that coincidentally denied it space. If I'm not writing creatively, I'm usually thinking about it. Or, I'm playing D&D, or I'm talking for my dog, or any number of other imaginative things where I'm actively crafting a voice in my head for *me* to use as I like. I honestly think that I spend so much bandwidth on that that when my inner critic decides to hit me with a K-Fuck Long Distance Dedication, there's no room left for a voice. So instead, it's just this negativity version of static.
4) I think it's weird that people who purport to amuse us hide behind a different face to do it. It's like how J. Jonah Jameson doesn't trust Spider-Man because Spider-Man wears a mask. That, and the painted masks clowns wear really do a good job of obscuring and contorting their expressions and as a result, clowns fall into the Uncanny Valley.
5) The names get tattooed on your body somewhere, but only in a relatively small, designated spot, where eventually they will run out of room and go on top of each other until the area blacks out. That dark field becomes your battle flag of how much ass you have and will kick.
Thank you, Bill! This entire comment is excellent. But one thing I want to put a spotlight on is what you said about time. It’s great that you run out the clock on the inner critic. One thing I realized is how much time (years!) I’ve given that critic.
On a related note, I REALLY want to thank you for encouraging me to seek help outside of my health insurance. Your comments, as well as the experiences of a few friends, pushed me to give out-of-pocket a try. It’s been a much better experience. Night and day.
I'm not a regular K-FUCK listener, but I've definitely tuned in and out. Therapy helps!
Good news: The book Winnie-the-Pooh entered the public domain in 2022, which means you have the legal right to make Eeyore your K-FUCK morning shock jock. Though you'd have to be clear it's the book version, not the Disney version, which is still under copyright,
It took a long time to smother my negative inner voice, which was often told to shut the fuck up and let the positive one grow. Thanks for being so honest and brave!
My inner critic is telling me, even as I type this, that it's pretentious and arrogant and needy for me to even want to point this out, or that you acknowledged this somewhere I didn't see, or someone else already pointed this out and I'm too tired or stupid to have found it, or to wait for someone else who is worthy to do it, but "the better angels of our nature" want me to go ahead and post the quote below, which is from Anne Lamott's "Bird by Bird," from which your friend Norm's dad likely first heard about station KFKD.
“I need to bring up radio station KFKD, or K-Fucked, here. It is perhaps the single greatest obstacle to listening to your broccoli [discussed elsewhere, this essentially means trusting your own creativity] for writers. Then I promise I’ll never mention it again.
“If you are not careful, station KFKD will play in your head twenty-four hours a day, nonstop, in stereo. Out of the right speaker in your inner ear will come the endless stream of self-aggrandizement, the recitation of one’s specialness, of how much more open and gifted and brilliant and knowing and misunderstood and humble one is. Out of the left speaker will be the rap songs of self-loathing, the lists of all the things one doesn’t do well, of all the mistakes one has made today and over an entire lifetime, the doubt, the assertion that everything that one touches turns to shit, that one doesn’t do relationships well, that one is in every way a fraud, incapable of selfless love, that one has no talent or insight, and on and on and on. You might as well have heavy-metal music piped in through headphones while you’re trying to get your work done. You have to get things quiet in your head so you can hear your characters and let them guide your story.”
Now back to the rest of my procrastinating ways. Thank you for a fabulous post.
Holy crap! I am astounded to read this quote. I am copying it right now. All this time I thought I was the only one experiencing these dueling dual voices! What a relief to know I am not alone. My inner critic, BTW, is named Sniveler.
I've been listening to K-FUCK Radio for 69 years. When that station comes on, I'm usually able to shut it off by this time in my life, but it's so annoying that it keeps coming back on. I don't think it ever occurred to me that the Inner Critic is actually not my own voice. I think this is a breakthrough for me. Thank you, Michael, for this insight! And I'm SO GLAD your therapy and meds are making a difference. Good for you, getting the help you needed. And sticking with the meds until the right one was found.
Michael, my brother, I went on a similar journey with the depression but the meds didn't turn it down, so I ended up in trouble first, and then found a way to shift any bullshit so that when necessary I could pull K-Fuck off the air. Good stuff, man. I'd be glad to share that with you if your radio gets too loud.
You and I have similar writing styles. So of course, I really really like your writing! :-)
I have given my inner critic a name (learned that in schema therapy). She's called Eucalypta (this is not a regular Dutch name), a witch with a horrible voice from a famous childhood book in my country.
And I have been an Eeyore (but do love Eeyore and Pooh both) ever since I was 11 or so... way before my first depression.
Is it really true (and not just a great writing trick/revelation in your piece) that Christina has a Viking warrior in her head? How does one go about doing that?? I blame my genes and upbringing, but boy, if Christina's inner fighter could be put in pills, I would want a prescription!! Pls. tell her she is one lucky woman!
I loved this. I never gave my inner critic/asshole a name but I visualize her. She is a two-year-old tantrum-throwing bundle of need and insecurity in an adult body that looks like Cruella Deville-meets-Miss Piggy. She hurls insults, demands, and criticism. She judges quickly and without mercy. She bristles with fear. When I think of her as the two-year-old she is I can neutralize her by imagining myself picking her up and holding her until she stops screaming. There are times -- fewer these days and farther between -- when she keeps me up at night with insidious whispering about every failure, every missed opportunity -- like a lawyer lining up evidence. All if it feels more true when everything is dark and quiet. She is easier to silence when I am working.
Oh, and the other thing she does: holds up a giant hourglass and points to the stream of sand draining out. She doesn't even say anything, just points and looks at me with contempt.
I had some weird dreams at first with Wellbutrin. Not nightmares, just super lucid. I didn’t mind them. But they don’t happen much anymore. Sometimes the side effects are as bad as the depression. Hope you can find something that works.
1. I actually interrupted a broadcast on the K to read this post. Glad I did.
2. I do *not* … but I’m gonna!
3. What’s this “don’t have an inner critic” thing of which you speak.
4. Not exactly answering the question … but way back in the day when IT was first published, I was deep into the floating, and … *shudder*. Anyway … came into the office one morning to be greeted by a popcorn box illustrated with a clown holding three balloons. I froze … looked around … no clowns … no nothing … no nobody. My business partner and I had left at the same time the night before. No clowns had waved us goodbye … or … at least … that’s what I thought I remembered. I took a step … reconsidered … stopped … looked around … again … (what did I think I was going to see?!!) … then I gallantly strode to my desk, sat down and hoped the clown on the popcorn box wasn’t staring at my back. (It was TOTALLY staring at my back.). My partner strolled in some minutes later. I slowly swung around in my chair … I pointed … “How. Did. That. Get. In. Here?” He replied, with a big smile, “I came back to the office last night to do some catchup and I got hungry and when I went into the market and saw the popcorn I thought, ‘gee, I haven’t had popcorn in a long time.’ Why?” I kept pointing. “Dude … the … clown …” He looked. And he, having only finished IT a couple of weeks earlier … remembered. And the he laughed at me and mocks me about it to this day as any great friend should.
5. Compile them and rent them out for $75 per thousand for one-time postal use.
I’m glad this post interrupted the broadcast. That station sucks. What doesn’t suck is your clown story. That made me smile. Sounds like you have a good business partner.
All the names—a bonfire! S’mores, hot dogs, bras, more names, warm my hands and butt, poke the fire with a big old stick then burn the stick, bonfires are big-girl grown-ass women’s tools, toys, media, with warning labels if you don’t know what you’re doing. Yawn while the fire dies, water it out, stir the goopy ashes, wipe my sticky hands on my jeans, go pee, sleep, my hair smells like smoke.
Clowns. Auuuuuggghh! My coulrophobia goes back to childhood. I remember tearing up a clown poster in my crib. Went to a birthday party in kindergarten and there was a clown. My mother had to stay at the party rather than drop me off; I remember cowering in a corner. There may have been cake, I don’t recall. A relative once gave me a piece of jewelry with a clown for my birthday — I traded it in for a Mickey Mouse watch. To this day my husband reads the comics first and gives me warnings: “Clown alert in Bizarro today.”
It’s not scientific, but I swear I’ve heard way more people share clown stories like yours than people who say they like clowns. Point being: enough with these clowns already.
Not sure if you saw my latest post from yesterday, but the med I mentioned during the first part is Wellbutrin. I like how you describe its effect on you.
I’m dealing with a different diagnosis than you and I’m not totally sure if it’s doing the trick. I’m still taking it but also added another that seems to be helping with my stuff more. Trying to find the right thing feels like trial and error, but it’s worth it for some relief.
The trial and error of these meds is frustrating. I started with lexapro. It lifted my spirits, but I felt so tired. The sad part was it was better than being depressed and I actually thought I could live the rest of my life like that. Thankfully, my doctor was like, nope let’s try something else.
That’s great that your doctor recognized it and recommended trying something else. It’s so common for them to dismiss what patients say or to think they know better.
Great post! What a great headline, too.
1) Not only am I a K-Fuck listener, I have the KFUK: The Sound Inside You t-shirt that somebody blasted at me from a shirt cannon. I used to listen to K-Fuck all the time. Now, it's more like I know the station is there.
2) I don't have a name for my inner critic, mainly because it's not really a distinct voice telling me things. It's more of an amorphous realization of things that aren't true: This thing I'm working on sucks. I am so, so stupid. Nobody wants to hear from me. That kind of thing. If I did name my inner critic, I'd probably call it Wormtoungue, for the poison it whispers in my ear to turn me from kickass Theoden to death-warmed-over Theoden.
3) For me, I don't think it's so much positive things I did to drive away the inner critic, as much as things I did that coincidentally denied it space. If I'm not writing creatively, I'm usually thinking about it. Or, I'm playing D&D, or I'm talking for my dog, or any number of other imaginative things where I'm actively crafting a voice in my head for *me* to use as I like. I honestly think that I spend so much bandwidth on that that when my inner critic decides to hit me with a K-Fuck Long Distance Dedication, there's no room left for a voice. So instead, it's just this negativity version of static.
4) I think it's weird that people who purport to amuse us hide behind a different face to do it. It's like how J. Jonah Jameson doesn't trust Spider-Man because Spider-Man wears a mask. That, and the painted masks clowns wear really do a good job of obscuring and contorting their expressions and as a result, clowns fall into the Uncanny Valley.
5) The names get tattooed on your body somewhere, but only in a relatively small, designated spot, where eventually they will run out of room and go on top of each other until the area blacks out. That dark field becomes your battle flag of how much ass you have and will kick.
Thank you, Bill! This entire comment is excellent. But one thing I want to put a spotlight on is what you said about time. It’s great that you run out the clock on the inner critic. One thing I realized is how much time (years!) I’ve given that critic.
On a related note, I REALLY want to thank you for encouraging me to seek help outside of my health insurance. Your comments, as well as the experiences of a few friends, pushed me to give out-of-pocket a try. It’s been a much better experience. Night and day.
1. All the previous clever comments have made me NOT want to comment because of KFUCK background noise.
2. I’m old and forgot the questions and I don’t want to go back and lose this to look for them (also mild KFUCK).
3. Is this a good enough comment to warrant attention? (Big KFUCK).
4. I write what I want to write and I say want I want to say (A big fuck you and fuck you too, to KFUCK. Thank you CeeLo).
And thank you, 🙏 Michael Estrin for writing with and without the KFUCK voice on in your head. And I’m so grateful you wrote this.
Thank you! I’m so glad this resonated.
I'm not a regular K-FUCK listener, but I've definitely tuned in and out. Therapy helps!
Good news: The book Winnie-the-Pooh entered the public domain in 2022, which means you have the legal right to make Eeyore your K-FUCK morning shock jock. Though you'd have to be clear it's the book version, not the Disney version, which is still under copyright,
Public domain Eeyore as a morning shock jock just screams podcast. Joe Rogen better look the fuck out.
It took a long time to smother my negative inner voice, which was often told to shut the fuck up and let the positive one grow. Thanks for being so honest and brave!
Thank you for sharing this one!
So relatable!
My inner critic is telling me, even as I type this, that it's pretentious and arrogant and needy for me to even want to point this out, or that you acknowledged this somewhere I didn't see, or someone else already pointed this out and I'm too tired or stupid to have found it, or to wait for someone else who is worthy to do it, but "the better angels of our nature" want me to go ahead and post the quote below, which is from Anne Lamott's "Bird by Bird," from which your friend Norm's dad likely first heard about station KFKD.
“I need to bring up radio station KFKD, or K-Fucked, here. It is perhaps the single greatest obstacle to listening to your broccoli [discussed elsewhere, this essentially means trusting your own creativity] for writers. Then I promise I’ll never mention it again.
“If you are not careful, station KFKD will play in your head twenty-four hours a day, nonstop, in stereo. Out of the right speaker in your inner ear will come the endless stream of self-aggrandizement, the recitation of one’s specialness, of how much more open and gifted and brilliant and knowing and misunderstood and humble one is. Out of the left speaker will be the rap songs of self-loathing, the lists of all the things one doesn’t do well, of all the mistakes one has made today and over an entire lifetime, the doubt, the assertion that everything that one touches turns to shit, that one doesn’t do relationships well, that one is in every way a fraud, incapable of selfless love, that one has no talent or insight, and on and on and on. You might as well have heavy-metal music piped in through headphones while you’re trying to get your work done. You have to get things quiet in your head so you can hear your characters and let them guide your story.”
Now back to the rest of my procrastinating ways. Thank you for a fabulous post.
Holy crap! I am astounded to read this quote. I am copying it right now. All this time I thought I was the only one experiencing these dueling dual voices! What a relief to know I am not alone. My inner critic, BTW, is named Sniveler.
A few people emailed me this morning about the Anne Lamott connection. Thank you for sharing it.
I've been listening to K-FUCK Radio for 69 years. When that station comes on, I'm usually able to shut it off by this time in my life, but it's so annoying that it keeps coming back on. I don't think it ever occurred to me that the Inner Critic is actually not my own voice. I think this is a breakthrough for me. Thank you, Michael, for this insight! And I'm SO GLAD your therapy and meds are making a difference. Good for you, getting the help you needed. And sticking with the meds until the right one was found.
Michael, my brother, I went on a similar journey with the depression but the meds didn't turn it down, so I ended up in trouble first, and then found a way to shift any bullshit so that when necessary I could pull K-Fuck off the air. Good stuff, man. I'd be glad to share that with you if your radio gets too loud.
You and I have similar writing styles. So of course, I really really like your writing! :-)
Keep Calm and Unfuck on!
Thank you, Lori!
Thanks for the shout out. Great piece today. Down with K-FUCK.
Thank you!
1. Used to be, but I changed the channel to W Fuck it let's go bowling YOLO radio about 20 years ago.
2. He dead.
3. Therapy and antidepressants. You're on the right path.
4. Where to begin?
5. Ask them to sign up for your newsletter. #always-be-closing
I think your comment explains why The Dude listens to the sounds of bowling on his Walkman.
Love this post of yours!
I have given my inner critic a name (learned that in schema therapy). She's called Eucalypta (this is not a regular Dutch name), a witch with a horrible voice from a famous childhood book in my country.
And I have been an Eeyore (but do love Eeyore and Pooh both) ever since I was 11 or so... way before my first depression.
Is it really true (and not just a great writing trick/revelation in your piece) that Christina has a Viking warrior in her head? How does one go about doing that?? I blame my genes and upbringing, but boy, if Christina's inner fighter could be put in pills, I would want a prescription!! Pls. tell her she is one lucky woman!
I love the idea of pills with the very specific benefit of installing a Viking warrior in my head.
I loved this. I never gave my inner critic/asshole a name but I visualize her. She is a two-year-old tantrum-throwing bundle of need and insecurity in an adult body that looks like Cruella Deville-meets-Miss Piggy. She hurls insults, demands, and criticism. She judges quickly and without mercy. She bristles with fear. When I think of her as the two-year-old she is I can neutralize her by imagining myself picking her up and holding her until she stops screaming. There are times -- fewer these days and farther between -- when she keeps me up at night with insidious whispering about every failure, every missed opportunity -- like a lawyer lining up evidence. All if it feels more true when everything is dark and quiet. She is easier to silence when I am working.
So, no name. Got any suggestions?
Oh, and the other thing she does: holds up a giant hourglass and points to the stream of sand draining out. She doesn't even say anything, just points and looks at me with contempt.
This!!!
All staions except one are KFuck…the other being Dirge Music To Go.
Still inside the hole trying to work thru the system. NOT fun.
No names left to take after kicking ass…not called Tornado for nothing.
Tried Wellbutrin back in the day. Gave me nightmares so went on a sleep-strike. Not a good scene
I had some weird dreams at first with Wellbutrin. Not nightmares, just super lucid. I didn’t mind them. But they don’t happen much anymore. Sometimes the side effects are as bad as the depression. Hope you can find something that works.
1. I actually interrupted a broadcast on the K to read this post. Glad I did.
2. I do *not* … but I’m gonna!
3. What’s this “don’t have an inner critic” thing of which you speak.
4. Not exactly answering the question … but way back in the day when IT was first published, I was deep into the floating, and … *shudder*. Anyway … came into the office one morning to be greeted by a popcorn box illustrated with a clown holding three balloons. I froze … looked around … no clowns … no nothing … no nobody. My business partner and I had left at the same time the night before. No clowns had waved us goodbye … or … at least … that’s what I thought I remembered. I took a step … reconsidered … stopped … looked around … again … (what did I think I was going to see?!!) … then I gallantly strode to my desk, sat down and hoped the clown on the popcorn box wasn’t staring at my back. (It was TOTALLY staring at my back.). My partner strolled in some minutes later. I slowly swung around in my chair … I pointed … “How. Did. That. Get. In. Here?” He replied, with a big smile, “I came back to the office last night to do some catchup and I got hungry and when I went into the market and saw the popcorn I thought, ‘gee, I haven’t had popcorn in a long time.’ Why?” I kept pointing. “Dude … the … clown …” He looked. And he, having only finished IT a couple of weeks earlier … remembered. And the he laughed at me and mocks me about it to this day as any great friend should.
5. Compile them and rent them out for $75 per thousand for one-time postal use.
I’m glad this post interrupted the broadcast. That station sucks. What doesn’t suck is your clown story. That made me smile. Sounds like you have a good business partner.
All the names—a bonfire! S’mores, hot dogs, bras, more names, warm my hands and butt, poke the fire with a big old stick then burn the stick, bonfires are big-girl grown-ass women’s tools, toys, media, with warning labels if you don’t know what you’re doing. Yawn while the fire dies, water it out, stir the goopy ashes, wipe my sticky hands on my jeans, go pee, sleep, my hair smells like smoke.
Clowns. Auuuuuggghh! My coulrophobia goes back to childhood. I remember tearing up a clown poster in my crib. Went to a birthday party in kindergarten and there was a clown. My mother had to stay at the party rather than drop me off; I remember cowering in a corner. There may have been cake, I don’t recall. A relative once gave me a piece of jewelry with a clown for my birthday — I traded it in for a Mickey Mouse watch. To this day my husband reads the comics first and gives me warnings: “Clown alert in Bizarro today.”
It’s not scientific, but I swear I’ve heard way more people share clown stories like yours than people who say they like clowns. Point being: enough with these clowns already.
Great post, Michael!
Not sure if you saw my latest post from yesterday, but the med I mentioned during the first part is Wellbutrin. I like how you describe its effect on you.
I’m dealing with a different diagnosis than you and I’m not totally sure if it’s doing the trick. I’m still taking it but also added another that seems to be helping with my stuff more. Trying to find the right thing feels like trial and error, but it’s worth it for some relief.
Here’s the post if you’re curious: https://www.lyle.blog/p/trustworthy-trust
The trial and error of these meds is frustrating. I started with lexapro. It lifted my spirits, but I felt so tired. The sad part was it was better than being depressed and I actually thought I could live the rest of my life like that. Thankfully, my doctor was like, nope let’s try something else.
That’s great that your doctor recognized it and recommended trying something else. It’s so common for them to dismiss what patients say or to think they know better.