I woke up to the sound of my co-worker knocking on my door. The sing-song-ring-a-ding of the doorbell shot me out of my bed. I was woozy, as if waking up from a fever dream where everything is right and beautiful and being catapulted into the concrete.
In a manic state of shock I stumbled to the door, still shaking the sleep from my bones. My stunned friend was standing in the doorway, "Uh...."
Her face said it all, "You fuck up. How are you not ready for work."
It was a cool 7:45 and time for me to get my ass out the door and head to my job. I should have been on the train for 15 minutes at this point.
I blabbered to her about how my alarm didn't go off, that I'd need 10 minutes to get ready. Blah blah blah. I told her to leave while I picked myself up, swiped on some makeup and ran out the door like a bat out of hell.
The night prior I was up late talking with my mother, crying on the telephone. I felt like I was hitting a wall as far as my life, my path and who I want to be.
Parents have a beautiful way of reassuring their messed-up prodigal children. I'm not sure how she puts up with all of this, but somehow she calmed me down. Thousands of miles across the world I felt her pretense with me. No matter how alone I was I could connect with her via the airwaves and could feel at home.
She wanted me to recognize all of the hard work I had done, be proud of myself. She encouraged me to live life the way I wanted now that I had sorted myself out. She didn't understand why I was so upset, and neither could I.
I then realized I was having a fit of depression, induced by my new environment and all the work I had been doing. Change often begets pain, the pain of growing, becoming something different.
I went on to cry about feeling sad and worried, left out, insecure, completely detached. Despite the progress I've made, something still isn't right. I'm sure some of you can relate. These are the things that make people want to give up.
I can't though, and so I continued on, pretending to listen to the praise from my family. I kept thinking out loud, "But mom, I shouldn't feel like this. Everything is going so well. I'm actually following a path now. I'm okay now."
Sometimes things don't make sense. That's where depression and the ilk that follows it, comes to take hold. I thought I could kick it, but I just haven't yet. It's like our minds are constantly trying to tackle all of the misfiring neurons. And right now all of the ones in my brain are shorting out.
I get down about completely irrational things, and even when all the signs are pointing to success, I still feel like a failure.
I'm wondering if it's a product of self-doubt or lack of confidence. There is no clear way to figure this out, but still. Recognizing that it's a problem is the first step right?
These words from this song, "You're My Waterloo" were ringing in my ears all night long: "You'll never fumigate the demon / no matter how much you smoke."
I went to sleep around 2:30A.M. with a heavy mind and a brain full of shit. Do you ever have those moments where you feel like your head is heavier thaneverything else? I haven't been eating. It's been a hard time adjusting since the big move overseas, and I'm a bit out in the open like an alien. Exposed.
That feeling is never good. I feel like I've lost an arm, partly because I didn't bring my guitar on my trip, but also because I can't seem to make any sense of my life.
When you think you've gotten out of the woods, something in the branches pulls you back. Maybe not for long, but still, you're entangled.
I wrote about The Libertines yesterday. They're a band from England. Their first album in 10 years came out today, and I'm listening to it on repeat as I type.
I log on to Twitter to look up some reviews and discover some startling news, "Libertines frontman Pete Doherty nowhere to be found before string of album release gigs."
We were doing so well.
The parallel nature of Pete and I never ceases to amaze. The extent is described in the article linked above, but we've taken some similar life turns and that has always shocked me.
The same night I break down crying about my life and work, myself, wake up for work late and start in complete chaos, Pete does the same thing. His gig in London is cancelled, citing a "medical emergency" and then is nowhere to be found.
I can't help but write about this, since it weighs so heavily on my mind. He's out there lost, right before this album drops in the UK. And me, I'm sitting alone at my desk turning over tables in my mind, looking for the solution to a problem that doesn't even exist.
This is extremely personal, a stream of consciousness if you will. But I just wanted to get it out there. My hero is missing. Just as I slide off the rails for a moment, it seems that he has too.
This may come off as a call out into the void, but I feel as if I'll be sitting here waiting for an answer for an eternity.
Just as my fingers lift off the keyboard, a lyric catches my ear,"She was just a young girl in the city, struggling with life, love and money. Weaving through the streets."