It’s an interesting feeling, being ripped in two at the drop of a hat, like the way I shred paper in the midst of writer’s block. Simple melodies exonerate suppressed thoughts, emotions, and reciprocated memories, fueled like gasoline on a fire whether it’s Jonsi, Butcher, or Gilmour holding the lit match. Sometimes, the world just seems like one giant cataclysm, aided by smaller catastrophes along the way. What’s the point?
To me, it’s not really a question of why is life so hard, but more why is it hard on me? It grows increasingly difficult to greet each sunrise with warmth and excitement, and harder to bid farewell to sunshine, since it just represents a cycle of bleak Decembers, like a song on repeat. Why?
There are no small scraps of currency in sight, and the impending arrivals of a new life and a loss of complete sanity loom in the horizon like an executioner, ready to drop the ax. I’ve spent my recent life escaping, but I can’t help but fight the notion that maybe one more Houdini is necessary. Maybe I can move on from and settle with my demons by making one more leap of faith into the black. I don’t know, and not knowing is half the fear.
I hate thinking that maybe I am afraid of something, especially since I think I’ve grown accustomed to it and it’s brothers: pain, anxiety, and self-deprecation. To say that I hate myself and my life is putting it lightly, I think.
Pens no longer write.
Cameras no longer film.
Guitars no longer sound so sweet.
When my eyes greet the noxious new day, I feel much older than I really am. Stress has settled in my eyes and in my mind like a parasite, eating away what little pieces of Robbie there still are… rather, who Robbie used to be. Once upon a time, Robbie could find silver linings within even the most sinister of storm clouds. Robbie used to smile, and not facetiously. Robbie used to laugh, and be merry, exclaiming “Salut!” and toasting the good times.
Now, it all feels like it never existed. I still can’t help but wonder if one more jump into the cosmic unknown is what Robbie needs to do to save what small fragments of himself might be left, but there is the chance that all it could do is complicate me further.