Cutting Back Meets Weirdly Therapeutic

First, I am still sort of dealing with this odd sense of having the time to do things- when, in fact, I always had the time to do things. As I mentioned, ditching all social media was something I decided to do both to help me better focus but also, because frankly it was incredibly unhealthy for me. It wasn’t that I would sit and chit chat or troll or whatever for hours on end: no, mostly, I’d just numbly scroll, this look of confusion meets horror on my face. I’ve mused a bit if possibly, this fed some portion of addictive behavior I’d had and I can’t say that the first couple of weeks hasn’t been…oddly like PAWS. It has.

My GPA definitely shows this was an intelligent choice, if not a slightly sad one. I’m still trying to get my head around not having the self control to just…close the damn window. Or whatever. That’s still something I can’t quite figure out how I feel about it. On the one hand, oh for fuck’s sake. On the other…can’t really argue what I’m seeing to hold true, here. Rails, pills or loss of faith in humanity- these things seem to be problematic for me. Go figure.

I have also cut back on the smokes in some kinda stellar ways: and I am actually singing again, without feeling like my throat’s going to eat itself or getting overly pissed because I can’t hit notes like I used to. Alright, that isn’t particularly true, I did attempt that Brightman C again- used to nail that puppy but…Camel, you dirty bitch. I am actually adding l theanine to my nootropic stack and without going into a discussion of chemistry here: I’m kinda hopeful. And hydrated. I am so very hydrated.

Early last week, I had a moment and was like, “Well, fuck, here we go with some more subconscious shit.” when I caught myself bellowing Ludo’s Broken Bride, part 1 in the shower.

 Fifteen years I raged against the constant C
The speed of light
The diagrams and haunted sleep, frozen sheets
In bed, my dreams
Your garden grave, I’d climb inside, hold your bones
And slowly die
The cooling space inside your chest, my broken bride
You never breathed again

Circuits fail, the cosmic strings like rubber bands
I lose control
They snap, I fall through mist to mud against my face
The taste of blood
The world is strange, the stinking earth and giant trees
Through heavy air a demon shrieks
What have I done
What hell is waiting or me?

I crashed before the birth of Christ
Pterodactyls swarming
You died in 1989, want to get back
To that morning in May
Keep you in bed, never escape
Holding you close, oh oh oh oh
Listen to you breathe the evening glow of fading light
And cooling space

Like motor oil down my throat, I couldn’t speak,
I dropped the phone
The burning flares, the steam, your hair, bits of glass,
They sparkled everywhere
Like winter nights, the stars, the ice, all intertwined
To hold and keep
Like petals pressed in sheets making love to moonlight
In our sleep
And now above the pits of tar, in a cave I hide
That massive, screaming thing with wings of reaper’s cloth, It’s standing just outside
I must get to my machine, I will bring you back to life
Fix your ruined lungs, I’ll undo what time has done

I crashed before the birth of Christ
Pterodactyls swarming
You died in 1989, want to get back
To that morning in May
Keep you in bed, never escape
Holding you close, oh oh oh oh
Listen to you breathe the evening glow of fading light
And cooling space

I carve your sweet name into the cave
I’m sure to die
All my strife has been in vain, the glaciers come
And wash my words away

I crashed before the birth of Christ
Pterodactyls swarming
You died in 1989, want to get back
To that morning in May
Keep you in bed, never escape
Holding you close, oh oh oh oh
Listen to you breathe the evening glow of fading light
And cooling space

These are things I don’t ever talk to him about, though he tells me that I should. How do you even begin to explain: I watched you fucking twist between the worlds and didn’t know what the hell would happen. I screamed and cried and prayed and sat in the dirt weeping and didn’t care who saw. Your nurses and your doctors kept looking at me like they might have to put me in a different part of the hospital and I didn’t care. 

I have written about this for pages in my journal and I never write about how I would have fought my way through hell to drag him out- because, no. I did. And when he regained consciousness but couldn’t make the words come out right and couldn’t remember the year- I argued with myself for days on how exactly this was all going to go. It wasn’t a question of would I, but how I was going to.

The odd reverb bubbling up out of me, that’s never really very shocking, like I said, more of an “Oh shit, well, here we go.” I didn’t really mean to snap as sharply as I did but when I was discussing this with a friend and she mentioned something sort of complimentary, all I could do was, “What else could I have done?” I didn’t want a cookie for it, I’m frequently horrified by that notion because honestly: in that space of time there were no more questions. No more doubts. It was just this unblinking, blinding sort of resolve blended with the most chest crushing sorrow I’d ever felt. Toss in some He’s dying and nobody knows what the fuck is wrong, jesus jesus christ I don’t care what god I have to give anything and everything I have to, you ask and I’ll give it just fix this stop this: please, you can’t do this. Don’t go- please jesus don’t go. panic-rage-pleading. I’m pretty sure if my mind hadn’t been spinning nine hundred miles an hour, I would have drafted a time machine, gone back and forced him to call in sick that day or something. Anything.

In the aftermath, man, I don’t even know. I don’t think I’ve ever had a string of longer nights and days in my life.

I can’t watch anything where someone’s partner’s in a hospital bed and they haul them off, “You’ve got to get back.” because though they never quite hit the emotional shit note that carries- it hits enough to turn me into a blubbering mess.

But there is an upshot to that, because I am endlessly grateful. I wouldn’t have the first clue to what or whom I am grateful to beyond those beautiful moments I recognize now that I will never have again. You want to go cliche with it, but I watch him tucking the boy in, I’m just standing there, holding him, I’m goofing around and he’s cracking up- whatever. Maybe there’s a god in all of that, maybe it’s just a string of perfect moments.

Even when he first got out- we got into it, and I was brutal. Something I didn’t know existed in me smashed my chest and jumped out of my throat. It was protective and it was wrong. But it was right. Even as I’m screaming and crying, even as I was standing there telling him- you can’t do this: don’t fucking go, don’t go, please don’t go. You can’t just go back to the way things were, the things that led to that awful time- I could feel it: maybe I didn’t handle it well but I had the chance to say all the things I should have, the things that had I said them before- maybe that would never have happened.

Wound up stomping into another room after a fairly weepy: God dammit I don’t know if I can do that again! even though I knew I would- with this massive, just insane sense of I can say this. I can do this. I almost couldn’t. I am going to do this, because I never, ever want to go there again. Frustrated gratitude is a fucking weird thing to feel yet there it was.

Fortunately, the point was made and I did apologize for some of the things I’d said but, when you’re screaming at someone to stop what they’re doing and live: you don’t so much think about how appropriate it all is.

And, really, whenever those scenes come on tv, whenever I’m wailing something that resonates- I just let myself wail and I can feel the myriad of everything I felt and feel filling my chest, riding my voice and bugging out my eyeballs in some weird catharsis I can’t explain- but it works.

 

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