When I’m alone, I talk to myself. I’d be embarrassed if I was caught doing it, but I’m not ashamed to admit it because I know plenty of other people do it too. This past weekend, I drove myself home because my roommates had done the same, and I didn’t want to be alone in my dorm for the long weekend. Sure, I could have invited other friends over or taken some time for myself, but the silence and stillness of my room drove me to pack up my things and make the hour-long journey to my house.
Being alone is a very conflicting experience. On one hand, I don’t mind it, because I can do whatever I feel like without worrying about someone interrupting or looming, but on the other, I find that perpetual silence and solitude can be incredibly sad and lonely. Perhaps that’s why I talk to myself when I’m alone. Even if the person in mind is just me, I want to feel like someone is always there to listen and care. I’ve never seen the mindset behind this practice represented so well as in Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s award-winning comedy series Fleabag. To call Fleabag a comedy would almost feel like a misnomer given the oftentimes heavy subject matter, but Waller-Bridge provides such a light in the dark world of her titular character that the story almost takes on an entirely new genre, one that in some ways essentially put a mirror in front of my entire psyche.
Fleabag is the story of an unnamed woman, assumed to be called Fleabag based on the show’s title, who grapples with herself, her family, and running a guinea pig-themed cafe after her best friend commits suicide. One of the most notable aspects of the show is the constant and consistent use of the fourth-wall-breaking by Fleabag, who appears to use the audience as a sort of therapist or friend figure. At first, I thought this narrative technique was odd, but as Fleabag’s story began to unravel, I realized that the fourth wall break was for more than comedic purposes: it was her coping mechanism. The loneliness spurred by the loss of her best friend led her to use the audience, the only thing that would listen to her, as a source to confide all of her true thoughts and feelings. Seeing this technique in the story made me feel incredibly validated in the art of talking to myself. Sure, my circumstances are not as extreme as Fleabag’s, but I felt comforted seeing my weirdness represented in such a unique, artful, and humorous way.
Series two of Fleabag (supposedly the last series), however, made me think about Fleabag’s fourth-wall-breaking in a brand new way. The main arc of series two revolves around Fleabag falling in love with a priest (scandalous!). The priest (who is also unnamed, but commonly referred to as “hot priest”) is the only character to notice Fleabag talking to the audience, claiming that it looks like she “went somewhere,” when she denies it. This peculiarity made me think a little deeper about what talking to myself really means. Sure, sometimes it’s something I do in a nonchalant, thinking-out-loud situation, but other times I think it’s to keep silence away. In our world of AirPods, Spotify, and YouTube, it has never been easier to maintain a constant stream of sound and mind-numbing entertainment, so much so that I almost feel dependent on it. I think this was evident in my aforementioned choice to go home rather than spend a day or two alone in my dorm room. My revelation on this concept was furthered by the heartbreaking end of Fleabag. I’ll refrain from spoilers, but essentially Fleabag informs her invisible spectators that she won’t be speaking with them anymore. Even through the blurriness of my tears, I knew that this choice was incredibly significant. I think what she was trying to tell me (at least what I heard) was that sometimes you just have to handle shit, no matter how easy it may be to rely on your crutch.
When I was approaching the college stage of my life, I was told all the usual advice like “Go to office hours!” and “Here are the cool study spots!” and “Introduce yourself to the person next to you in lecture!” The one thing I wish someone had told me, however, was that being in college can be incredibly lonely. Sure, I’ve made great new friends and had lots of fun experiences, but a lot of the day-to-day activities like going to class, eating lunch, getting coffee, and doing homework are often a solitary practice. These motions that all college students go through aren’t always overwhelmingly lonely, but it certainly is an adjustment, especially on a large campus where you tend to feel more like another face in the crowd than a human being. Fleabag’s hilariously humane commentary on loneliness helped me to understand that even when you think you’re getting on just fine in life, it’s important to see things for what they are rather than accepting the facade you create for yourself. At the end of it all, what Fleabag wants us to know is that she will be okay, and so will we.