I often feel hesitation writing pieces of my brain in this manner because I fear the focus will too heavily impact the subject. In this regard, the feeling of a cliche and what I knew in a past life as it is far too possible to be too much of a fan of someone is quite overbearing. Though it has no connection otherwise, I liken these situations to once hearing Demi Lovato speak about her struggles in the public eye and her plead for people to understand that she did not choose to have an impact on people. She did not choose to become some sort of adulterated role model to young girls finding promise in her. The fear I'd impose such a potential burden on someone is enough to make me cower back into a corner and wish I hadn't given myself the opportunity to think of someone in such a way, to begin with. Not that I have much control over that, but the knocking at the door is not something I can easily turn away from. In this instance, my ability to refrain from explaining my impact is as close to as impossible as impossible could be. There's a slight beating in my chest that, almost to a promise, would cripple my ability to create to the point I'd not know where to go from here. It visualizes itself similarly to sand running through your fingers. Once it's combined with the remnants of what was, the possibility of distinguishing one lost sentiment from another is just about as possible as separating the star from a role model status.
Although it is not of anyone else's concern how or what I'm feeling, I've had a growing sense of overcompensation in trying to explain my tendency (and as of late, preferred state of being) to be absent. How do you explain that in between medications and trying new types of therapy you can't explain the level of hopelessness you feel? or that even though you're not suicidal you want to completely erase the memory of yourself from those you love in order to spare them the undeniable spiral you're experiencing? How do you explain that while you want to be totally left alone you really want someone to show an ounce of attentiveness to your otherwise independent nature? How do you explain that your cry for help genuinely can't be any louder because you don't have the energy for it to be? I have never in my life felt this destructive integrity. An unannounced violence present beneath the surface of any conversation, a feeling of competitiveness because someone has to have it worse or has to do better and you can't fathom either regardless of how high or low on the bragging scale you are. My newfound short-tempered-ness (that's a word, yep) seldom co-exists with a healthy way to air my own grievances. Until I had this feeling that suddenly they were able to hold hands.
"She wasn't bitter. She was sad, though. But it was a hopeful kind of sad. The kind of sad that just takes time."
This is a quote from everyone's favorite coming of age teen story, Perks of Being A Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky. Although this hits the nail on the head the original quote that came to mind was "I want you to know I am both happy and sad and I'm still trying to figure out how that could be." In some regard, I suppose this is still factual though I'm contemplating the "happy" aspect. This reason because happiness is unable to be detected in my body. Not a genuine happy, but one that is rather distant in nature. Forced, an act, just to make it through the day or through the outing or to keep from being too heavy on someone else. Just enough as to not bring attention to the elephant in the room. Unfortunately, this is a fearful kind of disdain; unhappiness so potent I myself wonder if there is a part of me so deeply removed from the situation at hand, my usually self-aware ability to be is not even seeing what's happening. My ability to recognize myself in any circumstance has always been so unbelievably easy that amongst the chaos I could still find a mirror. It would seem now that they're all either broken or covered in smoke.
I'm not sure if I'm angrier because I can't fix this part of myself or if I can't find the correct wording to reach out and ask for a specific kind of help, a specific kind of need. I have never in my life been one to crave being the center of attention, but I can't help but wonder if this is in part the reason I continue to struggle so badly between wanting to take care of myself and, every so often, be just as cared for by someone else. Without going too far into the "inner child" shit I have yet to figure out, I'm noticing now at 26 just how much trouble my tendency to care for other people has gotten me into. The point at which I fully believe I'm only here to cater to those in need of severe emotional support has come to me quickly and with a terribly daunting gait. I've grown overwhelmed and upset at the thought that I'm to work through my own demons completely on my own, though I do know people in my life that will argue with me on this particular thought. However, just as I don't have all the time in the world for everyone's issues, the silence surrounding my desperate attempts at being able to talk to my friends like they're my friends has grown increasingly louder the quieter I become. There's a question, a concern, I answer, and nothing further is said. In a harrowing way, it reminds me of the first time I ever admitted to a friend I needed a shoulder. She quickly turned to me, disbarring the admission I had just made, and said "you should probably see a doctor about that" and promptly changed the subject to an issue she was having. That seems to be a recurring theme.
It isn't at all that I fear looking weak or too vulnerable to ask someone to listen or ask someone to care. The truth of the matter is I feel like I shouldn't have to. I understand it is wrong for me to expect reciprocity of the same treatment I give those I care about, it is too overzealous. Regardless, I don't want to have to get to a place of aggressive desperation for someone to care. My entire being is made up of keeping quiet, walking on eggshells, and tip-toeing around my own health for the sake of sparing someone else's attention until I completely lose it. I start to laugh. I make a passive-aggressive comment or slam a door, and then the air is thick with wonder of what could possibly be wrong with me. When, in other instances, I need to talk about something that's wrong with me and listening does nothing. "I wish I could help" does nothing. Getting nothing in response does n o t h i n g. And I have yet to comprehend why it's not only so hard for me to admit that but blatantly why it's so hard for me to understand that. Then I feel like I'm asking too much. I feel like I'm being or wanting too much. So I continue to turn to what I have at hand: which is severe isolation, maniacally creating things that bring me little joy, and putting my own proses to use in order to better serve someone else because, at the end of all of that, I'm closer to feeling something than I have been in a while and I'm still not feeling anything worth noting.
The last time I had called upon the effect a song had on me was such a terrifyingly similar circumstance compared to the present. Dangling just above rock bottom, I have been graced once again with the unruly power music can have on your mood, your day, and your outlook. Ironically, this time is only different from last time based on a few minor details: I'm older, I'm medicated, and my rock bottom is now enveloped in water. Here is the SparkNotes version. In 2019 With Confidence released a cover of Drops Of Jupiter by Train on a compilation album called Songs That Saved My Life. This cover, as cliche as it sounds, quite literally saved my life. One night in particular I wrestled with whether or not I could make myself go to their show only an hour and a half away. I couldn't make a decision and cried for hours listening to and thinking about this song. Fell asleep. Woke up and kept crying. This was the day I decided to talk to my therapist more honestly, more thoroughly, and introduce the topic of medication into my life. I considered this to be the new lightbulb in the rusty lamp that is my emotional wellbeing. My ah-ha moment the morning I listened to their new single felt less so like a new lightbulb, but perhaps at least being able to turn the light on to see if I may soon need a new one.
The opening line of With Confidence's newest single Big Cat Judgement Day is "lately I've been wishing that the fire in the kitchen would grow higher" and it knocked the breath from me. The destructive notions I can't shake were, in a weird sense, just validated in the first 10 seconds of this song. As it continued, another lyric called out to me. "I've been building an appetite but the floor underneath me it feels so thin." Speechless. Admittedly these are all lyrics that, heard at face value, are angsty with potentially subliminal meanings but at this time in this space, these were two of the biggest keys to my breaking the lock on the door keeping me in close quarters. My disappointment continued to grow as I realized that the first listen feeling was wearing off and my light at the end of the tunnel began to dim again. This clearly was not like before where I kicked my own ass into gear and was able to turn things around with or without the light of day. Just a few days removed from the release all I can think is that this natural leaning into these particular lyrics feels like a subconscious act of flexing my discomfort muscle and learning how to take the negative, feel it for all it is, and learn how to work through it. In the past, I've been able to get myself to a place of comfort, if not change. Even if the issue didn't get better, it became familiar. Familiarity is the contentment of mental illness. This is not familiar. This is not comfortable. I can't make aggression comfortable. I can't make negative comments, bad thoughts, isolation, or routine comfortable in this state. Unbeknownst to me, there's been a Rolodex of songs I've kept in my head to avoid or only listen to be able to liken to a specific situation and all of these are songs that make me face what part of me is vulnerable, the parts of me that are quiet around other people, the parts of me that (even when I try to explain them) sound like I'm exaggerating the way I'm feeling or acting.
Once upon a time, I couldn't listen to Keeper by With Confidence (are we sensing a theme, here?) without thinking of a tandem burning in my chest. One reminiscent of a warped tour where I screamed the "HEY" adlib at the end of the 2nd verse with every sip of air in my lungs. I almost passed out, my adrenaline skipped through the crowd with my dehydration and activated both my fight and flight. I genuinely don't remember much of that day following that moment. The second feeling is of an overwhelming similarity between Keeper and BCJD that keeps me up at night. While in Keeper the cry for "is someone there? I need your help" is blatant, at the end of the second verse of BCJD there's a frustrated voice echoing "is there anybody else here?" with "any. body. else." through gritted teeth just loud enough for you to hear it through headphones or with your volume all the way up in your car, otherwise it's just another sound in the background. That quiet "anybody else" follows me. It highlights my aforementioned comments about trying to explain the place I am mentally, truly questioning if there's anyone listening to this or if I'm just screaming into a void of open ears. My fear being the latter.
While I don't have the capacity to wrap this up in a positive way, or in any way except being thankful I was actually able to write this out without totally losing the semblance of sanity I have left, all I can say is, in the words of one Taylor Swift, this is me trying. As a matter of fact, that song completely explains the mindset I'm in at the current moment. If you are genuinely curious and concerned, listen to this is me trying and you'll fully understand where I'm at, I'm sure of it. I can't say this is going to be something I'll come back from as it is, hands down, the hardest time I'm having in my short life thus far in terms of mental issues. I'm doing the best I can with what I've got and while I know I'm personally pushing the envelope on what I'm capable of handling, it's my natural people-pleasing ways that continue to help me dig my own grave. Having to lay in the bed I've made, I understand this will be a process. It's a process I am in no way looking forward to, but I know it's a necessary one. 2 weeks prior to the writing of this piece I had an oracle card reading done and a big shift or situation was continuously pushed for me to be aware of. What I carry with me like a worry stone was my reader's sentiment on this. "This will not be something you can't handle." Now I just have to believe it, or else the fire in the kitchen will continue to grow. I'll at least be able to roast marshmallows, right?
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