Tainted Love

I hope I haven’t scathed y’all too much with this. (I know the ATROCITY entry was a bit intense.) I spent far too much time thinking about why I penned this array of entries, and could only throw hands. It’s a perfect pop song! I don’t need to justify that!

So, to that: here’s the YouTube playlist I created for it:

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLT6qoaS6fCh97gny-JAQXAsIxUFJhSzBY

One of the very many dumb things about me is: about every few months or so, my body goes into a weird physical overdrive which is kind of a nightmare scenario for me as I’ve always been terribly sensitive. I’ve consulted doctors, I have therapists, I’ve been through a regiment of therapeutics, and those behind them have just thrown hands up and ask: “Are you sure you’re feeling this?”

To which I respond: “Yes, I’m fucking sure. It’s been happening for years, as you can see by my fucking records. My body feels like it’s on fire and wants everyone to put it out, and I mean everyone. How many times do I fucking have to say this?”

When it’s at its peak, I’ll maybe be awake for nine hours a day — to work, thank God — and then I crash, hard. It is physically exhausting and I hate it…

“I’ve got to …get away! You don’t really want anymore from me!”

…but I also love it. I love it way too much. When awake, my face glows in a way that I seem high, as my wife can attest by: “It’s like you’re on Ecstasy.”

“I’ve never done E! You literally talked me out of doing it prior to our courtship!”

(That’s a story for another time.)

What’s worse is that the ascribed drugs I’ve been given happen to exacerbate the feeling, which obviously doesn’t help.

This is a very long-winded reasoning for part the impetus for this deep-dive into “Tainted Love”.

“Some of them want to abuse you.”

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again; I’m stupidly physical, which is a weird thing for a middle-aged man to admit to but I am. I’ve put my body through a lot. Too much. Sometimes I marvel at the fact that I’m still here.

“Some of them want to be abused.”

I can’t help the want but can curb the need, which is good because I’d be absolutely fucked if I couldn’t.

So, to return to matters at hand: I enjoy this cover, but it is rather lifeless and perfunctory and listless. Ta.

UPDATE! Fun fact! This post was prompted because I had a psychiatrist who prescribed SSIrs to me. I am bipolar, and they knew that. I did not know that prescribing SSRis to someone who is bipolar is like oil and water. That shit lit me the fuck up and exactly what prompted this post and they did not listen to my complaints! It killed my hair — it’s finally getting back to its normal, overly greasy and unbridled self — and did more damage to myself than good, despite my complaints. I was told: “Oh, you’re on a small enough dosage that you won’t suffer withdrawl.” No, that was not the fucking case. I’m still dealing with the fallout.

I’m on non-SSRis now and no longer have to deal with those sort of self-destructive shenanigans. If you’re reading this you probably don’t need this advice but, always, be your own advocate. You know your body. If anyone — anyone — suggests otherwise? Find someone else as soon as you feel that twinge, that ‘Really?’, that ‘Oh, this isn’t going the way I’d hoped.’ feeling. Do not fall prey to the sunk cost fallacy. Cut ties and move along because otherwise it’ll do more harm than good.

I know most folks know the covers instead of the original, so I wanted to single out Gloria Jones, as she does not get enough credit for fronting this song. Her vocals come across as percussive whip-snaps, and the orchestration is incredible. Perfectly Motown. It’s her delivery that has made this song a mainstay to cover in the best way.

I’ll note that she revisited it in 1976, serving up a huskier, more disco-esque version that, while fun, lacks the verve of the original.