(no subject)
I've been meaning to post something for a while. But coming home from tour is emotionally overwhelming. In a good way. I relish in soaking up the love from my family, but I don't have room for anyone, or anything else. Which... I needed. I needed to surround myself by goodness and love... it's madness. But it's madness I can handle. It's madness I want to handle. Focusing on my toddler throwing a fit at bedtime means I'm not focusing on the shite that had dragged me to a very dark place.
See, the tour was fine. Made me feel old as fuck because it was so much fucking harder. I managed to readjust, but damn if it didn't take me a lot longer than I'd expected. But, the tour was over and we were all going our separate ways. I was waiting for my connecting flight at a pub in Laguardia, having a drink, waiting to fly home. Jerome had a flight to Atlanta, Kev had a flight to Sacramento. I was flying back to LA with TR and the rest of the crew. He was in the pub with me, and the fact that he was is entirely why I'm here instead of in a hospital or prison. Two Aussies came in and sat at a table behind us, then started talking loud enough for practically the entire fucking room to hear. Nothing of substance came out of their mouths, and I honestly thought for a while that they had to be plants the airport sent to under-preforming drinking establishments to encourage more alcohol consumption. They ordered some fucking fish and chips and then the fucker right behind me blurts out, "You remember that tsunami a couple decades back? Well Mum only just started eating fish again. She said, all those dead bodies in the water with 'em. No thank you. I missed out on a childhood of fish n chips all because of some fuckin corpses."
Something in me snapped. There was a blackness that swallowed me in an instant and looking back at that is fucking terrifying. I stood up with such force it shoved my chair so hard into 'is that his chair tipped forward. And for once they got really fucking quiet. Somehow TR managed to get up and get himself right next to me before I could get to the bastard. Both of those loud fuckers looked about ready to shit themselves. TR kept telling me you'll be home soon, man because apparently I looked like a fucking mad man. Those two little prats were completely speechless for so long that TR managed to get me back to some sense of functioning. I knew I had to leave, but I also needed to explain myself in a way that made them feel like shite. So I told him "I'm sorry my brother's untimely death deprived you of fish and chips," handed my wallet to TR so he could pay my bill, and left. It was not a good flight home.
I've been home for almost two weeks, and I still start feeling... uncomfortable with myself... while talking about it. My sponsor's called a few times to check on me. But I've had my wife and my kids, and... I'm lucky. I have to keep telling myself that.
See, the tour was fine. Made me feel old as fuck because it was so much fucking harder. I managed to readjust, but damn if it didn't take me a lot longer than I'd expected. But, the tour was over and we were all going our separate ways. I was waiting for my connecting flight at a pub in Laguardia, having a drink, waiting to fly home. Jerome had a flight to Atlanta, Kev had a flight to Sacramento. I was flying back to LA with TR and the rest of the crew. He was in the pub with me, and the fact that he was is entirely why I'm here instead of in a hospital or prison. Two Aussies came in and sat at a table behind us, then started talking loud enough for practically the entire fucking room to hear. Nothing of substance came out of their mouths, and I honestly thought for a while that they had to be plants the airport sent to under-preforming drinking establishments to encourage more alcohol consumption. They ordered some fucking fish and chips and then the fucker right behind me blurts out, "You remember that tsunami a couple decades back? Well Mum only just started eating fish again. She said, all those dead bodies in the water with 'em. No thank you. I missed out on a childhood of fish n chips all because of some fuckin corpses."
Something in me snapped. There was a blackness that swallowed me in an instant and looking back at that is fucking terrifying. I stood up with such force it shoved my chair so hard into 'is that his chair tipped forward. And for once they got really fucking quiet. Somehow TR managed to get up and get himself right next to me before I could get to the bastard. Both of those loud fuckers looked about ready to shit themselves. TR kept telling me you'll be home soon, man because apparently I looked like a fucking mad man. Those two little prats were completely speechless for so long that TR managed to get me back to some sense of functioning. I knew I had to leave, but I also needed to explain myself in a way that made them feel like shite. So I told him "I'm sorry my brother's untimely death deprived you of fish and chips," handed my wallet to TR so he could pay my bill, and left. It was not a good flight home.
I've been home for almost two weeks, and I still start feeling... uncomfortable with myself... while talking about it. My sponsor's called a few times to check on me. But I've had my wife and my kids, and... I'm lucky. I have to keep telling myself that.