Ruins to the north, riches to the south?
"They who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night."
-- Edgar Allan Poe
"Drifting in the hollow heavens
It's always more than we can see
And all the children scream to someone
starving on defeat.."
-- Solitude Aeturnus, "Only This (and Nothing More)"
Ok...those seem apropos. Not that I've ever been one to resist the impact a well-placed quote makes on the reader, but these two seem best to sum up the maelstrom blowing through my head for the past near-half year. Of course, doing that in full would be akin to summing up the complete works of Shakespeare in two paragraphs; amusing, perhaps, but definitely lacking.
Being away from writing here from as long as I tend to be at certain stretches is USUALLY due to to an inability to find anything of note to share here, overly-flowery writing tendencies or no. Here, however, the absence has been due to something else entirely: deliberate concealment of my living conditions for the past several months.
Yes, I'm a solitary sort by nature (often to a fault, as many have pointed out). Yes, I often do clam up about my own personal self-concerns (frequently to a fault, as even more have pointed out). But there comes a time when all lids must be torn off, all masks cast aside. So here goes...
As of January of this year, I found myself living alone at my soon-to-be-former home in York. Though the circumstances which found me there between my soon-to-be-ex and I were handled as amicably as possible, the aftermath only served to bring to light a self-realization that I often have: I am not anywhere near ready to handle certain things which I had heretofore believed (and wished) I could. In this particular case, solitary living and self-sufficiency.
That I found myself stretched out on the couch, half-dozing, bottle of rum at my feet and watching "Secret Window" on that first night alone should have been a dead giveaway that I needed to get my ass out of there and turn to family and friends immediately before such conditions threatened to drive me out of my skull (and, for a time, I did). But, as is so often the case with misguided self-images, I wanted to believe. Believe that I was moving toward what was then, and had long been, an ideal prototype: that of the paradoxical "sociable hermit"; a guy able to hobnob with the world when he wished, comfortable in the knowledge that there would always be a safe, solitary haven of his own to return to when said world got to be a bit too overwhelming.
As the bills piled up and the paychecks dwindled, said wish melted like the snow and ice outside. And so, out of desperation, I did turn to a (now-former) friend who shall go nameless here for "living assistance"; i.e. - I offered to have him temporarily move in as my co-tenant in exchange for assistance in paying the afore-mentioned bills and tutoring me a bit on the finer points of living alone which, I'm embarrassed to say, is an experience that I've never really had.
To put it briefly, the arrangement turned out to be a nightmare. I don't doubt that the sternest, switch-wielding pedagogues of days past would have looked at said arrangement and ultimately called it "abuse". It is one thing to teach through stern reprimands in the hopes that such treatment will lead the student to a perceived goal, quite another to make said goal nigh-unattainable in the mind of the student thanks to the increasing sternness of the lectures. In layman's terms, I wound up scared shitless of someone who was supposed to be helping me.
The nadir came one weekend ago, when I had tentatively arranged to have my ex stop by the house to pick up her remaining stuff from the attic, while my tenant and I would be away at band practice. I tried to arrange things wherein the two would not cross paths; suffice it to say, they hate each other so intensely that I feared another encounter with the two would result in a hospital visit for one or both. Then, as has so often been the case in the past, my car once again decided to completely fail me when I needed it the worst. I unsuccessfully attempted to sleep that evening, fear of said encounter looming in my brain all fucking night.
Thus came morning, and an already-planned meeting with my parents over breakfast. The stress of the evening's ruminations was doubtlessly the cause of what happened next, as was the lack of sleep it brought. But I think the true catalyst came when I found myself eying the belt laying coiled on the floor by my bed that morning and wondering exactly how much pressure it would take, when tightened around my throat, to cause me to lose consciousness and quietly expire.
Tears in my eyes, I looked at them and said "rescue me". Though they repeated, over and over, that it had been their wish to do so for me for several months, what sense of self-pride I may have had previously died in my throat.
But I could no longer go on. The house felt like more of a tomb than ever as we quietly made our way back to break the news to my tenant that I was leaving and he needed to follow suit (in short, going back on the entire arrangement). Needless to say, he wasn't happy, and I haven't heard from him since (and hope I never need to again, although, as most of his stuff still sits in the place, is probably wishful thinking).
And so, here I've been: at my parents' place for the last week, seeking work, solace, and something of an answer as to what will come next.
Bright points? They've largely come in the form of (what else?) my current band. Link is here, for anyone interested:
http://www.facebook.com/mobileprotection#!/pages/Fire-in-Elysium/214387908592975
Unlike the above confessions, I won't get into too much more detail on it so as not to: a.) jinx the entire thing and b.) seem to be shamelessly self-promoting myself. I will, however, say that it was probably what tempted me to come back and post here, as a text message received earlier from the drummer announcing that we now have facebook likes in 4 different countries has me all at once feeling elated, wistful, self-critical, and a bit scared all at once.
But by and large, it wags a finger in my face and reminds me that I can't stay invisible forever, despite all of the warts.
Yes, I need help. Yes, I'm an asshole at times. Yes, I'm a highly depressive fuck who often has great disdain for the world. But I also need it.
There, I said it. Time for a bath and (heaven forbid) sleep.
Perchance to dream?
-- Edgar Allan Poe
"Drifting in the hollow heavens
It's always more than we can see
And all the children scream to someone
starving on defeat.."
-- Solitude Aeturnus, "Only This (and Nothing More)"
Ok...those seem apropos. Not that I've ever been one to resist the impact a well-placed quote makes on the reader, but these two seem best to sum up the maelstrom blowing through my head for the past near-half year. Of course, doing that in full would be akin to summing up the complete works of Shakespeare in two paragraphs; amusing, perhaps, but definitely lacking.
Being away from writing here from as long as I tend to be at certain stretches is USUALLY due to to an inability to find anything of note to share here, overly-flowery writing tendencies or no. Here, however, the absence has been due to something else entirely: deliberate concealment of my living conditions for the past several months.
Yes, I'm a solitary sort by nature (often to a fault, as many have pointed out). Yes, I often do clam up about my own personal self-concerns (frequently to a fault, as even more have pointed out). But there comes a time when all lids must be torn off, all masks cast aside. So here goes...
As of January of this year, I found myself living alone at my soon-to-be-former home in York. Though the circumstances which found me there between my soon-to-be-ex and I were handled as amicably as possible, the aftermath only served to bring to light a self-realization that I often have: I am not anywhere near ready to handle certain things which I had heretofore believed (and wished) I could. In this particular case, solitary living and self-sufficiency.
That I found myself stretched out on the couch, half-dozing, bottle of rum at my feet and watching "Secret Window" on that first night alone should have been a dead giveaway that I needed to get my ass out of there and turn to family and friends immediately before such conditions threatened to drive me out of my skull (and, for a time, I did). But, as is so often the case with misguided self-images, I wanted to believe. Believe that I was moving toward what was then, and had long been, an ideal prototype: that of the paradoxical "sociable hermit"; a guy able to hobnob with the world when he wished, comfortable in the knowledge that there would always be a safe, solitary haven of his own to return to when said world got to be a bit too overwhelming.
As the bills piled up and the paychecks dwindled, said wish melted like the snow and ice outside. And so, out of desperation, I did turn to a (now-former) friend who shall go nameless here for "living assistance"; i.e. - I offered to have him temporarily move in as my co-tenant in exchange for assistance in paying the afore-mentioned bills and tutoring me a bit on the finer points of living alone which, I'm embarrassed to say, is an experience that I've never really had.
To put it briefly, the arrangement turned out to be a nightmare. I don't doubt that the sternest, switch-wielding pedagogues of days past would have looked at said arrangement and ultimately called it "abuse". It is one thing to teach through stern reprimands in the hopes that such treatment will lead the student to a perceived goal, quite another to make said goal nigh-unattainable in the mind of the student thanks to the increasing sternness of the lectures. In layman's terms, I wound up scared shitless of someone who was supposed to be helping me.
The nadir came one weekend ago, when I had tentatively arranged to have my ex stop by the house to pick up her remaining stuff from the attic, while my tenant and I would be away at band practice. I tried to arrange things wherein the two would not cross paths; suffice it to say, they hate each other so intensely that I feared another encounter with the two would result in a hospital visit for one or both. Then, as has so often been the case in the past, my car once again decided to completely fail me when I needed it the worst. I unsuccessfully attempted to sleep that evening, fear of said encounter looming in my brain all fucking night.
Thus came morning, and an already-planned meeting with my parents over breakfast. The stress of the evening's ruminations was doubtlessly the cause of what happened next, as was the lack of sleep it brought. But I think the true catalyst came when I found myself eying the belt laying coiled on the floor by my bed that morning and wondering exactly how much pressure it would take, when tightened around my throat, to cause me to lose consciousness and quietly expire.
Tears in my eyes, I looked at them and said "rescue me". Though they repeated, over and over, that it had been their wish to do so for me for several months, what sense of self-pride I may have had previously died in my throat.
But I could no longer go on. The house felt like more of a tomb than ever as we quietly made our way back to break the news to my tenant that I was leaving and he needed to follow suit (in short, going back on the entire arrangement). Needless to say, he wasn't happy, and I haven't heard from him since (and hope I never need to again, although, as most of his stuff still sits in the place, is probably wishful thinking).
And so, here I've been: at my parents' place for the last week, seeking work, solace, and something of an answer as to what will come next.
Bright points? They've largely come in the form of (what else?) my current band. Link is here, for anyone interested:
http://www.facebook.com/mobileprotection#!/pages/Fire-in-Elysium/214387908592975
Unlike the above confessions, I won't get into too much more detail on it so as not to: a.) jinx the entire thing and b.) seem to be shamelessly self-promoting myself. I will, however, say that it was probably what tempted me to come back and post here, as a text message received earlier from the drummer announcing that we now have facebook likes in 4 different countries has me all at once feeling elated, wistful, self-critical, and a bit scared all at once.
But by and large, it wags a finger in my face and reminds me that I can't stay invisible forever, despite all of the warts.
Yes, I need help. Yes, I'm an asshole at times. Yes, I'm a highly depressive fuck who often has great disdain for the world. But I also need it.
There, I said it. Time for a bath and (heaven forbid) sleep.
Perchance to dream?