A Haunting in Baltimore

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You know why you run?

You run because you need to get away.  You run because you need to escape the place you’ve found yourself in.  You run because you’re afraid.  You run because it’s what you know to do, what you have always done, and what you will continue to do.  You run in hopes to leave behind the things that will always, always catch up to you.

That’s why you ran away to Baltimore, right?  The city, with its bright lights and roadways outstretched like arms, was waiting to take you in and embrace you, so you could feel its rumble of a heartbeat as it held you close.   But the sense of security that the city gave you was accompanied by an understanding that the things you have run away from will always find their way back.

Consider The Hurricane, for example.

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Trigger.

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I realized after writing my last post that I needed a break from the emotional purge series. Constant focus on my negative traits brought my mood down greatly.  This exercise, identifying my “sins,” was meant to make me feel better.  The blog became a confessional.  But after the last entry, I only felt worse.

This next installment, the part 2 of my last post, is especially difficult for me to write because this is mostly about how badly May hurt me, and how I reacted in response.  It was the first time that someone had ever told me “I don’t love you,” and even now, it’s still difficult to think about.  It hurt to the core at the time, but the pain has since dulled.  I still remember what it felt like, though.  Like having a tooth pulled and feeling the cavity where the tooth once stood once it’s healed.

I don’t feel very renewed or restored after the last few days.  These things, the shitty acts I’ve committed against people, I need to talk about them in order to get them out of my system in hopes that I won’t be haunted by them again, or realistically, not haunted by them as much or as frequently.

The project started after I stopped daily consumption of drugs and alcohol and started taking my medications as prescribed.  After three weeks of not taking anything recreational, I ultimately feel better.  But when I write about some of this stuff, I feel nervous and ill at ease with myself and all I want to do is smoke a joint and make this feeling go away.  I need to learn how to not feel that way.

Let’s hope I learn soon.

Songs To Stay Awake To, A Playlist

5. “How Can You Mend a Broken Heart?” by Al Green

You play it for the 47th time since last Tuesday; Al Green’s voice blares in your ear while his words resonate in your heart. You’re driving home after seeing The Ex-boyfriend.  I-95 at night does little to hold your interest and you’re alone with your thoughts.  For the 47th time since last Tuesday, you think about what you could have said or done to change the course of the history between you and he.  Not you and The Ex.  That history is one you’ve resigned yourself to.  You’re thinking of “the one that got in the way.” The catalyst for change.  The Hurricane.  For the 47th time since last Tuesday, you think about the fine lines in his lips that you’re never going to trace again.  You think about all of the things that you haven’t said, the things that you’ll probably never get an opportunity to say.  You think of, for a moment, this silly alternate reality in which you and he can be happy, consisting of walks in the park and matinee horror flicks.  You sigh.  You change the song.

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TBT: Teenage Antics and the Mass Pike // “I Love NYC”

[A quick aside: I’m having a difficult time with today’s blog post simply because my stress level is pretty high and I’m goddamn irritated.  I’d love to vent my frustrations, but venting has only made me angrier today, oddly enough, and I’d like to retain the last sliver of emotive control that I have.  Coming to a personal resolution is seeming less and less possible.

There.  I’ve acknowledged my mental roadblock.  On with today’s post!]

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As a teenager, I was very, err, passionate about things.  My high school on-again-off-again sweetheart (because he “didn’t believe in titles”) resumed contact with me towards the end of my senior year after nearly an entire school year of silence.  There had been a falling out, but that’s another story for another time.

Instead of going through all of the sweet nothings exchanged and declarations of love made, I’ll cut to the chase: I drove to Boston and back in 25 hours in the name of love, only to have my heart broken 4 hours after my arrival.

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Understanding the Impossible// “Lose You”

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When I was five, my Titi Mary (my grandmother’s eldest sister) passed away.  It was sudden and she was quite young.  If I remember correctly, she had a heart attack.  I had met her only once, though, so my ability to mourn was slim at best.  This was the first death in my family that I was aware of.  My grandmother and grandfather went to the funeral in Puerto Rico.  I can’t say with certainty that mother went as well, but I assume she did.  They were close.

With age, my understanding of death (or lack thereof) grew as those around me, friends and family, passed.

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Only in Dreams // “Shake It Off”

sweet dreams

My dreams lately have inspired nothing but anxiety and panic, not because of the content, but because of the realization that nothing is at all like how I dreamed it upon waking up.  My life isn’t exactly nightmarish.  Nothing is particularly bad.  I’m alive for now. I don’t have cancer for now. School is going well for now. My relationship is great for now.

The understanding that change is the only constant in life allows me to float through knowing that everything can change tomorrow, or tonight, or in an hour, or even 10 minutes from now. It’s both comforting and unsettling at the same time.

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Mr. Holmes // “I Thank You”

Mr Holmes

I didn’t know I enjoyed writing until Mr. Holmes told me to write.

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