An Unfortunate Year

I turned 25 this past August. It has been more than 6 months since I moved out on my own. Assuming the responsibility of my independence has been a costly burden to carry both financially and emotionally. It has been the most emotionally taxing time of this entire quarter-century.

El Sobrante is living up to my expectations of sucking any and all ambition like a supermassive black hole, fueling my propensity for melancholia. The sight of the hot, dry wind conjuring up dust devils and carrying them from the crisp, brown hillsides to the barely-paved or non-existent sidewalks is enough to make me feel like I live in a ghost town, but the sight of the ghosts that walk these dilapidated thoroughfares is what depresses me the most; The strung-out tweakers muttering nonsensical gibberish as they shamble from one random location to the next. I live amongst the dead.

I have been in financial dire straits since I've been on my own. I have barely been able to pay my bills and gone without a decent meal for over 2 months now.

We---Brian and I share food---rarely have more than spoiled meat, a few tortillas, and top ramen to keep us nourished. It's a miracle that I haven't gotten sick or lost any considerable amount of weight. Some of my bills have gone delinquent for the sake of me just being able to get a meal. In fact, because of bank overdraft fees, my paycheck's sole purpose is to bring my bank account out of a negative balance; I am paying to work.

The pain of my failed relationship makes itself known on a regular basis and it is an ongoing battle to fight it. There are countless things, seemingly random things, that will constantly spill out at me and remind me of her and evoke anger, misery, hope, regret, fear, anxiety, suicidal thoughts or occasionally, small bursts of elation; Certain songs (Don't Look Back In Anger by Oasis, Am 180 by Grandaddy, The Blue Wrath by I Monster, Willie Nelson performing Always On My Mind, Surrounded (or Spiraling) by Silversun Pickups, Sufjan Stevens, even my favorite band, Coheed and Cambria), bluegrass music (especially songs that emphasize the banjo and the mandolin), big red Chevy pick-up trucks, El Caminos, guns, pompadour hairstyles, red plaid jackets, spiral earrings, my own button up collared shirts and skinny jeans that she helped me pick out, the Albatross pub, watching Indiana Jones movies, cedar plank salmon, macaroni and cheese, Izze fruit sodas, pistachios, tuna salad sandwiches, white russians, clove cigarettes, the Walking with Dinosaurs live show, Native American artwork, found object artwork, Raley's grocery stores, the Albany bulb, San Francisco, the Golden Gate Bridge, the Cliff House, Stinson Beach, Ocean Beach, Pinole Shoreline, Sedona Arizona, Hawaii, random animal bones in the sand, Rhodesian ridgebacks, wild turkeys, donkeys, happy couples, weddings, phone numbers starting with "691" or "236", the rain, the cold, even just hearing the name, Kate. My mind turns against me and reminds me in real life or in dreams---or rather, nightmares---why these things mean something to me and even worse, remind me that they probably no longer mean anything to her if they ever truly did.

I have tried to ease the pain with many things both good and bad. Unfortunately, more of the bad and destructive ones have eased my mental suffering than the good and constructive ones. A song comes to mind.

If the sea was whiskey

And I was a diving duck

I'd swim to the bottom

And I don't know if I'd come up

~Chris Thile~

However, lately I have been able to find refuge from the plagues of my mind in people, something which has lately been incredibly difficult for me. I find it hard to trust people and be vulnerable around them. Trust. In the cold, cruel wilderness, trust is hard to relinquish but may be the most crucial element for survival.

Brian has proven a reliable source of inspiration and comfort. He gives me advice whenever a red Chevy Silverado puts me in to a panic or when by pure happenstance I stumble across a photograph that makes me want to hurl myself from the balcony. 

I have also been spending more and more time taking walks through Tilden park, sometimes with friends, sometimes alone. Learning how to be comfortable with myself more than anyone else is a lesson that has cost me a great deal of emotional stress. Solitude is where my mind ambushes me.

With nothing to distract it, my mind will begin feeling cooped up and will badger me ceaselessly to be let out. When it doesn't get what it wants, it will hold my ears shut as it curses me and dangles painful memories at the back of my eyes so closing them only makes them more vivid. With this filter, my vision is dark and narrow. I can only see things that directly relate to those distressing recollections. I can only hear short clips of sound from my past echoing on top of one another, the pummeling thump of my heart resonating like a pile driver with every agonizing beat, and the sound of the rushing torrent of blood coursing through the veins in my temples like gallons of water navigating the rusty pipes of some thin-walled tenement.

Underneath this bizarre veil, motivation comes in quick, blinding flashes and the only way to catch them is to keep my eyes open to everything. A good song (one that doesn't coax reminiscence), a good movie, a good meal, a good book,occasionally, pleasant weather, and spending time with new friends are the only few things that act as lightning rods, encouraging those divine flashes to emerge and strengthen the reflexes necessary for grasping them.

It is a nice day outside today.