week 35: time

"and there is not, enough air to breath around here - in every inch, a memory."

"at some point i came to terms with, and accepted the fact that i would probably always be unhappy - but i never thought i would be be this miserable."

another year. time can be funny, i guess. it seems to go by so much more quickly than it did when i was younger. the days seem to drag on but the weeks and months fly by, and suddenly i have to remember a new date for forms and paperwork. 2013 was my first calendar year of sobriety. i mention that only because this is the first year in over a decade that i have had to face my problems rather than running from them hoping and praying that if i could run fast enough they wouldn't catch up. of course they did, and now all of that history, it's settling down on my shoulders and i find that i have a lot of work to do, and even then i might not be able to fix the mess that i have made of myself.

the other night, new year's eve, i was sitting here, staring at a blank page and wondering what i wanted to say for this week's entry.

i was reorganizing/culling my music collection when i came across a song that reminded me of a specific moment, fifteen years ago.

it was new year's eve, 1998. i was living in a trailer on my grandparents property out in the country. it had been cold, freezing actually, and it was a year where it snowed pretty heavily for this part of the world. the trailer i was in had little insulation and i wasn't allowed to run power out to it because it was old and they were concerned with the possibility of a fire.

my life was not going well. i was angry, hurt, depressed, numb, and completely lost. i had begun to cut myself with a razor, to feel. i don't know, it's kinda hard to explain. i was so empty and i just wanted to feel something that wasn't, well, what i was feeling. it was like i had shut off my ability to touch life and forgotten how to turn it back on.

so i was heartbroken, soul sick, and beaten. it all seemed like... so much. too much, too big. i couldn't see an end from where i sat and that was so fucking depressing. it was dark. i had a battery operated lantern that was dying, i didn't want to go inside because i hated everyone in that house at the time, and i know that they didn't like me very much either.

i could see my breath, i couldn't stop shaking but i remember feeling so hot, i was alone in a sea of snow and wind and all i could think about was how easy it would be.

i had music on in the background, i had been trying to get a signal for the countdown but gave up and switched over to the cd's and i was carving lyrics into my arm when i slipped a little and started bleeding more than i had intended.

and then the cd changed and tori came on. it was twelve oh two, i was bleeding everywhere and i was listening to a song that for some reason made things not hurt so badly. i could feel that ache in my chest ease for a minute and i was crying for the first time in i don't even know how long.

it put things in perspective and something in me shifted by a few degrees. i wish i could say that it was the moment that everything turned around but if you've been reading things here, well that wasn't the case.

so as that song finished i was smiling through my tears as i wrapped my arm in a torn t-shirt and then used electrical tape for pressure and went outside to smoke.

the wind had stopped, the snow had stopped. the clouds had moved and the moon was shining down on a field of untouched snow. it was so still. so crisp and clear. i'm pretty sure that i will never forget that night.

"Pretty Good Year" - Tori Amos

Tears on the sleeve of a man
Don't wanna be a boy today
Heard the eternal footman
Bought himself a bike to race
And Greg he writes letters
And burns his CDs
They say you were something in those formative years
Hold onto nothing
As fast as you can
Well still pretty good year

Maybe a bright sandy beach
Is going to bring you back
May not so now you're off
You're gonna see America
Well let me tell you something about america
Pretty good year
Some things are melting now
Well what's it gonna take
Till my baby's alright

And Greg he writes letters with his birthday pen
Sometimes he's aware that they're drawing him in
Lucy was pretty
Your best friend agreed
Still Pretty good year
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