He thought he was dangerous.
And for a while I believed him, and I was afraid of him. Because he was physically stronger than me, and he was intelligent, and it seemed like there was nothing he couldn't accomplish. And then for a while I scoffed at this belief. Because what could he do? Punch me out? Break a few bones? Which isn't great, but by then I'd learned that some of the worst wounds someone could encounter are self-inflicted. And that unlike broken bones, even if properly treated, they may never go away. And so I believed that he couldn't hurt me, or anyone. Not in ways I hadn't already managed to hurt myself.
But then, we're all dangerous.
It took me a long time to reach that realization. Probably a lot longer than it should have. I'd been so busy digging myself into and out of holes, though, so it's not too surprising. But anyway...
We all have more power to do damage than we give ourselves credit for. We are all thoroughly capable of hurting ourselves, and of hurting others. Just as we are capable of being hurt by others, we are no less capable of hurting them. I think that's something that maybe we don't expect, don't think about terribly often, because we don't see ourselves as horrible evil people who cause others harm.
And maybe if we remembered a little more often that we're dangerous, that our words can cause pain, that our reactions can have horrible consequences for someone, then maybe there'd be just a little bit less pain, a little bit less suffering in this world. Maybe the key isn't to change the world, but just to be there for one person at a time, to not destroy them carelessly as would be so easy.
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
I saw you. Angels came to light your path.
This is a story about how an album changed my life.
Now let me make something absolutely clear. I'm not a music person like some people I know are. I don't know discographies forward and backward, I can't recite the history of a band, and I usually don't even know the names of the members. I don't talk about my musical tastes because 1) I feel like I don't know enough to explain what music I like (what the hell determines which genre something is, anyway?) and 2) I don't want to be judged, sue me. All I know about music is that there are songs that make me feel very deeply. And that's good enough for me.
But then, this wasn't always the case. The first time I really started listening to music is when you said your favorite band was AFI. And because I liked you as a person, and I was probably already starting to fall for you, I went and I started a new Pandora station with AFI as the seed. So I got a mix of AFI, Rise Against, The Offspring, with a smattering of Incubus, Evanescence, and Red Hot Chili Peppers, among other things (like I said, I don't know genres, so I'm not going to try to explain in those terms). And it was weird and different for me, because I grew up with very traditional music in another language. But I warmed up to it, eventually. I grew to like it.
I woke up one morning with a song burning holes in my brain. It was chilling and it was beautiful and I knew I'd heard it but I couldn't remember the name. All that stuck with me was the beginning "Pull the top down, use your knees to drive." And just like that, I was hooked. I spent weeks listening to End Transmission on repeat. Something about it made me latch on. It appealed so fundamentally to a part of me I'm not sure I even knew existed at the time.
"If there's discretion that you've not abandoned, now's the time" became a motto of sorts, though ironically if anything, I did the opposite. I waited. I spent months waiting and I tried to make sure you didn't figure it out, because that wouldn't have been fair to you. And I spent as long as I could not saying anything to anyone, though it was like a shot to the chest when she asked if we were dating and left it at "no." But I waited, and I started listening all the way through Crash Love, and I waited some more, and every time you made it clear you weren't interested (intentionally or not), it hurt a little more.
Then I turned to Okay, I Feel Better Now. And I let the music wash over me like waves. It was my therapy, my escape. It was better than trying to explain how I felt. And even a year later, even though everything was different, I still turned to music every time it hurt. I had a lot of coping strategies back then. I tried many different things to get the aching to stop. And sometimes it did, and sometimes it didn't, and some habits were better and some habits were worse. I found some demons in those years that I still bump into sometimes. But I also found music. I don't know where I would have wound up if I hadn't found a way to deal with it. I don't think it would have been good.
The thing about music is that it didn't make me pretend, it didn't make me ignore it. It let me accept the pain as a part of me without letting it destroy me. There are still mornings when I wake up and don't know how to deal with a day normally, functionally. But it's not as bad anymore. My demons don't have the same power to hurt me anymore. It doesn't really matter, but that's alright.
They won't leave until I'm gone. I'm gone.
Now let me make something absolutely clear. I'm not a music person like some people I know are. I don't know discographies forward and backward, I can't recite the history of a band, and I usually don't even know the names of the members. I don't talk about my musical tastes because 1) I feel like I don't know enough to explain what music I like (what the hell determines which genre something is, anyway?) and 2) I don't want to be judged, sue me. All I know about music is that there are songs that make me feel very deeply. And that's good enough for me.
But then, this wasn't always the case. The first time I really started listening to music is when you said your favorite band was AFI. And because I liked you as a person, and I was probably already starting to fall for you, I went and I started a new Pandora station with AFI as the seed. So I got a mix of AFI, Rise Against, The Offspring, with a smattering of Incubus, Evanescence, and Red Hot Chili Peppers, among other things (like I said, I don't know genres, so I'm not going to try to explain in those terms). And it was weird and different for me, because I grew up with very traditional music in another language. But I warmed up to it, eventually. I grew to like it.
I woke up one morning with a song burning holes in my brain. It was chilling and it was beautiful and I knew I'd heard it but I couldn't remember the name. All that stuck with me was the beginning "Pull the top down, use your knees to drive." And just like that, I was hooked. I spent weeks listening to End Transmission on repeat. Something about it made me latch on. It appealed so fundamentally to a part of me I'm not sure I even knew existed at the time.
"If there's discretion that you've not abandoned, now's the time" became a motto of sorts, though ironically if anything, I did the opposite. I waited. I spent months waiting and I tried to make sure you didn't figure it out, because that wouldn't have been fair to you. And I spent as long as I could not saying anything to anyone, though it was like a shot to the chest when she asked if we were dating and left it at "no." But I waited, and I started listening all the way through Crash Love, and I waited some more, and every time you made it clear you weren't interested (intentionally or not), it hurt a little more.
Then I turned to Okay, I Feel Better Now. And I let the music wash over me like waves. It was my therapy, my escape. It was better than trying to explain how I felt. And even a year later, even though everything was different, I still turned to music every time it hurt. I had a lot of coping strategies back then. I tried many different things to get the aching to stop. And sometimes it did, and sometimes it didn't, and some habits were better and some habits were worse. I found some demons in those years that I still bump into sometimes. But I also found music. I don't know where I would have wound up if I hadn't found a way to deal with it. I don't think it would have been good.
The thing about music is that it didn't make me pretend, it didn't make me ignore it. It let me accept the pain as a part of me without letting it destroy me. There are still mornings when I wake up and don't know how to deal with a day normally, functionally. But it's not as bad anymore. My demons don't have the same power to hurt me anymore. It doesn't really matter, but that's alright.
They won't leave until I'm gone. I'm gone.
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