a voice in the darkness.

I have loved three times in my life.  Two boys and one man. I have teetered on the edge.  I have looked down.  And I have fallen.  Countless times I have imagined love.  I have fabricated.  I allowed myself to be consumed by something.  So often I called it love, but it was not love.  On the surface this  is a story about a girl who loves.  A snapshot of social interaction, masking something bigger, something a little too complicated.  The journey of a girl who feels this unequivocal desire to feel, constantly.  A girl tormented by her emotions.  No, this is not a love story; this is far from a love story.  This is an exploration of reason, this is a journey into the imagination.  This is the back and forth caused by an inability to shut it off.  This is the longing for something more and the impossibility of letting go.  This is far from a fairytale, but this is one person’s reality.  The story of one girl’s decent into madness.


The more I got to know him, the more I realized how screwed up he really was.  He was completely miserable, helpless.  He was a mess, and it pulled me in.  Finally here was someone who understood everything I felt.  I tried to hide my crap so I could help him through his.  I didn’t want to expose my insanity, for fear that it would cloud what we had.  If we combined our pain, it would be disastrous.  I wasn’t ready for an ending, but I wasn’t ready for him either.  He was sickly, depressed, manic, impulsive, down, down, and deep down, screwed up.  It was magical.  I followed him down into his pits, feeling my pain through him.  He wasn’t afraid to expose himself, it was a part of his art, his music, and I admired his vulnerability.  It just wasn’t for me, I was impressed.  But pretty soon, it pulled at me.  His drama, his depression, his stuff, it just piled up, and everything I was pushing down, it just boiled to the surface.  It was spilling over into everything, his depression was feeding mine, I waned to push the feelings back down but I absolutely could not.  Why did he get to be the one loved and taken care of, why did he get all of my attention, why did he get to be catered to.  I needed him, I needed him to take care of me, but he wouldn’t.  He was incapable of doing anything for anyone else.  He expected people to love him, to care for him, to do whatever he asked. I hated it, I was envious of it, but I still did it, I did it because as miserable as I was with him, at least I wasn’t alone. He was okay when we first met, he was calm, he was captivating, pulled me in.  Now here I was stuck, it was twisted.


There are these things you hold onto, they become who you are.  They become your story. They are first kisses.  First loves. They are the good mixed with the bad, all of these things create you, form you into the person you are, who you will become.  But the inability to see clearly, it consumes you.  It transforms all of those moments and magnifies them.  It intensifies, escalates.  Before we realize it, we are gone.  And I was gone.  I was looking for more than I had.  Needing more than I should have, all these lives I met along the way, all the roads I crossed.  And in the midst of it all, I closed my eyes, fell backward, and allowed myself to fall.  It wasn’t perfect, but it was.  And it wasn’t a write home about it fairytale, but it was a small miracle.  Me with my eyes closed.  Me in some way letting go.  This was a never before, and at the rate I was going it was likely to be a never again. I wasn’t really sure what I was after but I was searching.  I was bent over backwards looking for something to clear my head.  I wasn’t used to putting my racing thoughts aside.  But I had a moment of spontaneity.  Even with all of my impulses.  My behaviors, I still thought, analyzed, and planned these moments.  This quiet insanity this compulsion.  Calculating the degree of risk. Assessing the damage.  I set my inhibitions free and allowed myself to be released for a moment, in the quiet thoughts it was all so clear.  A rush, a gentle breeze, and in a moment it was gone.  Vanished.  Disappeared.  And before I knew it the sounds were back again.  And the silence, the peace, it was all gone.  I dreamt of having it back again, and then I laughed at the impossibility.

back in it.

Leaving was harder than I thought it would be.  It should have been easy.  It should have been get me the hell out of here, but it was quiet.  It was nice.  I sort of missed them, missed my family, everyone, on their best behavior for the holidays.

*excerpts from Silence & Noise (2009)


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