I've always wanted to be a writer and/or musician but something keeps getting in the way...my head. It's not purposeful mind you and for over 30 years I was unaware of the silent infiltrator that was weaving it's way through my gray matter.
Then my mom died.
I got the news after desperately trying to secure transportation from Cleveland, Ohio to Los Angeles for my son and I, eventually resorting to bus. As soon as our feet touched the sidewalk in Dayton I was on a payphone to let my mom know we were on our way. Instead, whoever answered the phone informed me they were just getting her room cleaned up, she had passed away a few hours before.
I couldn't decide if my "burden" had been lightened or had now gotten heavier.
Two years later, after slowly descending into a barely functioning existence I found out because my emotional burden had crushed me. Amidst the debris that had buried "my life", a damaged, broken soul began to dig it's way out, seeking clues along the way as to how I had collapsed.
Finding out the truth felt like my life having been slowly suffocated out of me and then suddenly able to gasp for air. I'm exhilarated at being able to breath but unable to trust that it will last.
I'm always uncertain. I'm uncertain because as a human with some semblance of conscience thought, I believed I had done everything necessary to be a functioning and productive person. The truth was that I had in my capacity to do so. However, I am ever diligent in waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under me. I'm always waiting. I am never disappointed.
I did not know until I began to drag that broken mess of "me" out from under the tons of emotional debris that had accumulated for over 30 years, was that I had been attempting to live a productive life under circumstances I knew little about.
Being told I was mentally ill and that this wasn't just a simple issue with depression had a way of forcing my attention to the one thing I wanted more than ever to be able to make disappear...me.
Fast forward to a few days ago. Heavily burdened by health and financial issues, I was becoming dedicated to the idea that I was nothing more than a burden. My ever compelling desire to no longer exist was becoming more than a feeling, I wanted it to be a reality. I even called my dad to let him know that since my mind was fickle at best, I might disappoint him in his belief that parents should expire before their children. This would be nothing new since I've always believed I was a disappointment.
Then last night as said goodnight to one of my gaming friends, I remembered a U2 concert I was interested in watching that was being streamed on youtube.
I have been a fan since "Under a Blood Red Sky" with Bono's "This is not a rebel song." and The Edge's beautiful opener on that black Strat(between Edge and SRV, Stratogasmic) for "Sunday Bloody Sunday".
Anyway, last night and the live streaming of U2 360° from the Rose Bowl in Pasadena. In one way or another I have missed every concert I was ever near, purposeful or not. Housebound, debilitated by the effects of mental illness and the reality of being at a local concert let alone something as ginormous as a U2 venue would be out of the question. And yet, I was "there"! It was the most amazing visual event I had ever witnessed.
At times I found myself in tears and experiencing something very rare in my life...the feeling of joy. Despite all my accumulated years of despising even the ground I walked upon, for 3 hours I was glad to be alive. If only I could have kept up with Edge's ever changing guitar menagerie. I was again moved to tears when I saw the black Strat come out.
Someday maybe, I will have that black SRV Strat I have always dreamed of. And maybe if I'm really good I might try and learn to play it.
