I’m too screwed up, and nervous, and lost, and alone right now. I’m so lost, so alone. I can’t think straight or write straight, or DO ANYTHING. I knew it’s all my fault, I accept that, no other way to see it. I’m a worthless waste. I ruin everything.
I won’t be writing.No comments
So, I’m flying to Cincinnati in a few hours, like, seven hours from right now. Their going to re-measure my trach because it’s still not right, but that’s not even the main reason I’m going. They asked me to come back because the doctors at Cincinnati Children’s Hospital had never seen anyone with SMA Type 1 at the age of thirty, they didn’t even believe the diagnosis. I couldn’t have SMA Type 1, it had to be Type 2, or 3, or maybe something else altogether. People with SMA Type 1, they don’t go twenty-seven years without being trached, if they see twenty-seven at all. Well, even though I don’t fit the diagnosis, at all, fancy genetic tests proved that I definitely have SMA Type 1. Maybe I’m some sort of SMA Missing Link, I don’t know. They’re going to run a bunch of tests and study me.
I just feel really weird, for lots of reasons I’m more uneasy than the last time I went to Cincinnati. I’m thirty, I shouldn’t be, but I am. I don’t know, I can’t articulate it just now, but I feel like such a failure.7 comments
So, my 600th post is about my 45th, and most recent, tattoo.
These lyrics are from what’s quite possibly my favorite Elliott Smith song, the not-so-known, Some Song. It’s part of a little three track collection, the Needle in the Hay – EP. The first thing that draws me to the song is that it’s written almost entirely in the second-person. If done right, second-person writing is so powerful, it pulls people into the narrative with such intensity. To me, it’s so underrated and under-used, in music and literature. It’s really difficult to pull off, but I think the pay-off is worth trying. The song itself sounds like it’s straight autobiography, Elliott laying out how he saw himself. It’s a very odd mix, he knew he had talent, that he could be who he wanted to be, yet he hated the songs he wrote, hated himself, and he knew he was broken and couldn’t get it together. I understand that odd juxtaposition of feelings toward oneself.
I know I write well, I have skill and my stuff resonates with some people. I know I have a lot of potential to write and do great things, the potential to be the fellow I see in my head. I also hate almost everything I create. I feel like a fuck up, piece of shit failure. I’m just about thirty and I haven’t really accomplished anything important, I’ve screwed stuff up. I’ve wasted chances, ruined things. I’ve made so many bad choices lately. I can’t seem to hold it together enough to be who I want to be. Maybe I’m stuck the way Elliott was stuck. I don’t know.2 comments
So, right now, I’m at a La Quinta in Lexington, Kentucky, but only for another hour or two. It’s only about one hundred miles to Cincinnati, then I’m off the road. It’ll be good to get off the road, too much time for quiet reflection in a vehicle speeding toward somewhere I’m already nervous about going hasn’t been good for me. I’ve convinced myself into some pretty awful things, like, “You’ll never be anything more than you are right now, and you’re going to die a lonely failure.” I don’t always do so well alone with myself, I’m not particularly good company.
Last week was really weird, the morning I took to the road was exceptionally bad, and I’ve had too much time alone to think about all of it. I suppose I could write about the weird, but the bad I’ll just keep to myself. It’s weird when someone explains that they can no longer be your friend because you’re just too dark, they just can’t stand you anymore. That’s weird, and pretty unsettling. Maybe they’re right, that’s what I keep thinking. Maybe I just need to quit people, because I’m just too damaged. I mean, I could just pretend to be someone else, but that’s the same as being alone, except with a lot of work, constantly writing and being some character who isn’t you. I’m only genuinely close to one person, but maybe I shouldn’t be. I know she deserves way better than me. Maybe I just don’t have a home, anywhere with anyone. I hope not, but I’m almost thirty and that’s what scares me just now, that’s what’s scared me every day since I left Tampa.
I’ll write again from Cincinnati, but I doubt I’ll have figured anything out by then.3 comments
So, there’s this Elliott Smith song, Placeholder, off his second posthumously released album, New Moon. To me, the song is basically Elliott saying that his work, all the stuff he writes, it’s all just temporary. He’s just a placeholder until something else comes along. Though, he’s talking about himself as a person too, he’s just a placeholder for the people in his life.
I’ve thought about myself the same way many times, the song can remind me so much of me. So, when I was really very dark a few months ago, this tattoo felt very appropriate.
I don’t get the sad tattoos and regret them later. They’re not constant reminders of darkness, but rather, they show me the entire road I had to take to feel something good again. It’s odd, but it’s really kind of spectacular to look back on this lonely place and that empty place from someplace beautiful, seeing times that I could have broken, but didn’t. Then again, they could all add up to failure at the end of everything, but I won’t really know until I got there.6 comments