Slings and Arrows
You’ll have to forgive me for the vagaries and ambiguity of this post. I just can’t come clean with the full story yet. My internal attorney does not advise full disclosure at this point. Something about an embarrassment clause. He’s trying to get the case thrown out, but between you, me, and 12 angry men, it’s here to stay. I have been concussed with repercussions comparable to the Soviet bleed out of the Russians. I may yet live, but the former glory, or projected image thereof, will never be remade.
I’m trying and succeeding when it’s not 4 in the morning to be positive. I think of all the other things I’m capapble of, will be free to accomplish, and poised to achieve once I have nothing left to lose. And for real this time, nothing. I try and occupy myself with thoughts on how to polish a turd, a stack of shit overwhelming 3-5 or more years of earnest work and imagination. A micro-era of dedication and promise and dreams that created a stairway to a precipice. It was supposed to be a precipice of success, and instead, because of me, it is a cliff with an abyss that sinks so low that I’m not sure those I drag with me will be able to use my carcass as a safety mat. The disappointment alone that will follow me down will be so crushingly heavy that I’ll be lucky if I’m buried deep enough to never be seen again.
But, like I said, I’m struggling to be positive. I’ll have my freedom torn free, my dignity disengaged, my financial platform ripped out from beneath my feet, and worse. There’s no telling what kind of real emotional baggage I’ll be carrying after this. And, THIS, is me, trying to remain positive. This is the best I can do right now. Grapple with that final stage of grief, Acceptance, that this is as bad as it is, and it can’t get any worse. Life goes on, man. You can’t be worried about that shit. Except, I am worried. I really fucking am.
So, time to focus on what is good. I DO have a loving family, and I know I have to sit there and take their wrath. I’m lucky enough to know that their love is unconditional. And, if by the slim chance, this truly was the final straw, then I must move on. Which means, finally, at almost 29 years old, I will be forced to be independent and in the worst way possible. I’ll have blown every benefit and opportunity that I got: beautiful, enviable things that literally billions of people around the world would murder me for, if not just to have, then just out of general principle for throwing away. In that case, I probably shouldn’t be writing about it on the interent.
I have friends. Amazing friends. And lots of them. I’ve heard it said about times of outrageous fortune like this that this is when you find out who your true friends are. And I think I may be surprised. I’m going to need them. More than ever. Not to pick up my slack, but help provide me the opportunity to pull myself together. To finally grow up. To stop pretending I’m a man and start being one. Even if I am a bum. I will not fail. Though, I might need to start seeing a psychoanalyst to figure out why have this drive toward self-annihilation.
And I can have no more excuses to not be a writer. I love music, I always want to make music, and yes, if possible I’d love to have a career at music. And that will always be the most painful part about this most likely abhorrent, nightmarish, and yet totally avoidable catastrophe of Old Testament proportions. The Seers foretold what the gods would have in store for me if I proceeded through this shadow of death where I should have feared my own evil. But I love living. I was going to do what I was going to do no matter what. I find it unacceptable that the rules, standards, laws, and values propagated by the majority should interfere with how I want to live. But the reality is there are true, horrible, and miserable consequences for our actions. And though mine caused no damage to anyone, no harm to any people, did not offend anyone nor even hurt any person’s feelings, I am forever doomed.
Am I being hyperbolic? I was told when the situation this piece was predicated on was happening that it wasn’t “life or death”. But this certainly feels like, and undeniably is, for now, total death to a very important and irreplaceable chapter in my life. Maybe it’s not life or death; maybe, somehow, it’s both.