A fast track to some kind of nervous exhaustion. Don’t call it depression. Or maybe it is. I don’t know, I’m on a go-slow and in no fit state to advise.
I was eavesdropping on the police radio chatter last week – heard a voice I knew. Some kid is dead. That voice, it stuck in my head and I was never quite sure how to repeat the words – with an accent, or without. I never had a doubt as to the origin of the voice. I knew the speaker well, way back when we were younger, desperate, mad eyes and going through hell. We loved every minute, in retrospect, although I don’t think we knew what we’d get from one minute to the next. At the time it felt like nails to the skull, every day another shade of dull, longing to break out of the shells and Get Something Done. But in retrospect, I don’t think that I’ll ever feel that good again. It was a better place, man.
So yes, heard this voice.
I often wonder what he’s doing, we were brutal when we were young but we had a lot of fun. I found the memory a little soothing, but panicked nonetheless at knowing that I would never get those times back. Is it really better to look forward? I have been running with my eyes closed for so, so long. But having said that, the past does not feel that great, either. It’s funny how it can deceive you.
Everything that I say is wrong. Disregard, don’t remember, think again, and step off the ledge and close your eyes and smile.
I’m panicking myself. Every bloody day.