2003: Apoptosis

20 years ago, I made a decision to destroy my life. I knew I'd have a hard time with this date, as many dates hurt. If I had a crystal ball, of course I would have done things differently in 2003, like saying no to a gorgeous creature. That would have been next to impossible, I do realize. Oddly, I got some good things out of the decision, like two people I will always deeply love. And, in addition, an ancillary cast of family and friends, I love too and wonder about, though I will never see them again. Love and people are everything. I'm sorry, I just can't turn off love like that.

The thing is, sometimes the people who seem the most selfless are actually the most selfish. It can be framed as self-love or self-care, but let's be real. Drawing up a new blueprint for a life, which involves the erasure of an old life, to whom steadfastness, the world, eternity was promised, is straight up pathological.

Sometimes I realize the aforementioned person could describe me. But, I didn't do that. I live and struggle and sometimes thrive through the pain. And yet, I am mostly aimless. Mostly, I'm still trying to figure out what to do with this busted-up life. You see, I'm a survivor. But, I still live with mental health issues every damn day, and that is a part-time to full-time job in and of itself. Ultimately, I know the aforementioned selfish person is the one you least expect. And, that is not me.

Sometimes, mental illness does weird things. Sometimes the person you love the most in the whole world is the one who bears the brunt. It's unfair. But, relationships are complicated.

I remember a friend named Abby told me several months ago that her mother sees the worst of her and Abby treats her worse than most, because, devastatingly, Abby knows that her mother's love is unconditional. Love is so complicated and can be ugly. But, like I've always described New Orleans and like I'd describe true love: it's a beautiful disaster.

Sometimes, we get confused about unconditional love. Sometimes, love is conditional, and sometimes it's for reasons and histories you weren't made privy to, and that's unfair. But, as a person once told me at a critical juncture, life is unfair.

I hadn't thought about the show since I finished it in December, but last night, I was out to eat with my friend Jess and her 10-year-old kid (which is my absolute favorite age for kid. I love it so much). She said she watched Fleischman is in Trouble, and I said I did too and was so excited to talk about it. We talked about a character who does her best to push away everything in her life, kinda having a crisis moment, only to realize that that's the one thing she needs. Sometimes, that needs to happen. The hills and valleys of relationships. "I ran home because I love you so much, I think I'm gonna die from it." He waited for her after her mistakes. He was there. Now that's an effed-up fairy tale of realness.

This is it for this stupid ass blog. I've got to find a new medium for where I want to go. 

I was listening to Radio K and heard a song from my past, and I had shivers. I imagine this sung at me, as I struggled to survive several years ago.

You're a storm, you're so emotional

Moody and controlled, sly and involved

You're alright, you come to me in times

You make me realize, I'm not the kindest guy

But I give, give, give, give

I give what I can give

So just give, give, give, give 

Give me what you have, dear

Slow, you kept me in that storm

You showed me things galore

Made me want much more

And now denied, the things I saw inside

The things I saw inside, is what really caught my eye

And you give, give, give, give

Just give what you can

And I'll live, live, live, live

Live while I can, dear

You're so surprised, you see me put up fights

You hear me realize, you come along for rides

You're just so kind, the evil with red wine

You made me that bright eye between me and time

To just kill, kill, kill, kill

You kill what you can

And you kill, kill, kill, kill

Anything you want

Black Grease by the Black Angels 

So I sit, alone, in the home I made for myself, trying to process a grief that never dies and comes in waves. It is one that is amorphous and inscrutable. And to know that this grief is one-sided, that it's my own, my family's own makes it all the tougher. And usually it's fine and in check. But sometimes, some dates, some places, some smells, some songs break the scaly, never quite the same, healed scar tissue. And, I clean the wound and caringly and lovingly, and with mindfulness, I bandage it up. And alone, I hold myself in my grief and remember that it will come and go for the rest of my life, and I breathe....

The End