"Far (Away)

I don't care where, just far"

The streets were contemplatively quiet, save for the occasional buzzing of a transformer or car speeding by, each driver with their own head full of thoughts, ignorant to the person gliding by on the sidewalk with a tempest brewing in the back of his mind. Dark yet familiar trees and other obscured lush foliage that lined the sidewalk held a comforting aura, drawing me further into the darkness and trees ahead. 

I entered my space of tranquility and solitude where I could bring the tempest forward and have a closer look at its whirlwind of clouds and the occasional lightning that threatened to latch onto me. I walked through the near pitch-black darkness of the forest that enveloped both my surroundings and mind, leaves serving as a soothing blanket for my restless thoughts, reminding me that I could find solace in what was natural. I approached my lonely bench that was partially obscured by a half-wall, a piece of a memorial meant to be quietly reflected upon and respected. The bench was the perfect place for solitude and introspection, quietly tucked away next to the silent drifting water of the river. 

I sat heavily onto the bench and finally let my body rest, if just for a short time. My subconscious bubbled up and a stream of thoughts naturally flowed from the depths of my mind, matching the slow but constant pace of the river beside me. Anxieties, coming interactions, and conversations of old began to flow free out of the storm from which they had been brewing and swirling for varying amounts of time. Finally alone and at home, I could release all that I had protected others from - even if the thoughts were safe and reasonable. Finally, I could rest. 

"My arms, my legs are wood

Unconscious trees

With roots deep in the ground"

At some point I realized in a melancholic haze of thoughts and feelings that I needed to return to normal life. I went through the cycle of my daily life; working out, going to work, seeing friends, writing music, listening to music. It wasn't that these things were monotonous or boring, I just felt out of place in them sometimes. Some of the only solitude I had was in the music I made and listened to that ranged from busy and aggressive to slow and minimal. Heavy music matched the tempo in the back of my mind and helped to quell some of the storm with grinding guitars, pounding drums that gave the average person whiplash, and guttural, anguished vocals that screamed for my unspoken innermost voice. Conversely, reverb-washed and ambient-centric music echoed throughout the deepest, most melancholic cavities of my brain with each guitar strum or crooned vocal melody channeling forgotten sorrows. 

My other method of soothing and keeping the storm at bay was going to the gym. Picking up heavy metal, moving it, and putting it down in various ways helped me release my most visceral and primal emotions. There was no need for deep reflection or pondering, just good old fashioned exertion until failure. Channeling my frustrations and pent up energy through my body whisked the hurricane away from the shoreline and back off to sea, some of its outer clouds dissipating. I could guide the currents to a more controlled state, ebbing and flowing with my breath.

“Heavy is the head that falls with the weight of a thousand thoughts

Lethargic in motion

A sensation like no other strikes the body

Over and over

It begins to tear away what used to believe”

While my routine of listening or writing music and working out usually worked in temporarily conquering the storm, there came what seemed to be breaks in time, rifts in the flow of things where I felt as if I had been pulled outside of my own body by a riptide, causing me to lose control of the currents and spitting me back out. It was almost as if the forest, the place I had visited for guidance and protection so many times, was pulling me back to its deep melancholy, sending a pulse throughout my body, signaling for me to come back home. There were still things to deal with, still thoughts to think, still scenarios to imagine, and I had to return to the one place that can truly calm the storm. My head flashed with images of slow water and swaying trees, a quiet home for a restless head. Suddenly the bustling of the people around me and the cold metal of the gym equipment felt foreign and neglectful. My mind only a moment ago had been racing and cycling through unending thoughts and frustrations, but now I felt still and alone, longing to return to my place. 

“Where the hell have I been?

Sleeping lost and numb, I'm

So glad that I have found you

I am wide awake and heading home”

The next time I found myself at my old, storied bench of contemplation, I felt an additional sense of longing, a motivation to reach out. I had a good sense of how to maintain mental health and was always able to help others very well, and I was aware of the principle that there was nothing wrong with asking for help. Yet I had this predisposition for holding this in established in early childhood that led me to believe subconsciously that there needed to be a specific reason for reaching out, a reason that I couldn't handle something myself. I knew that there didn't need to be a reason for simply talking to others about your problems and that reaching out for help was always beneficial, but there was just this mental block where I thought I had to handle it all on my own. I knew I had the strong ability to return to the surface after being pulled under the current of my own thoughts, but for some reason I subconsciously rejected the persistent set of hands that had been reaching below the surface to help pull me out. I had been that set of hands for her many times before, guiding and assisting her through the turbulent and crushing waters. I understood the importance of communication and was at least vocal about my own feelings and inner storm, but never took the extra step to actually ask for help. I looked out over the river and watched as two ducks worked in tandem to gather bunches of grass floating by, one using its bill to assist the other in grabbing it. In that moment by the water, I didn't want to be alone to deal with my thoughts, even though I probably could. For once, I felt motivated to simply ask for help. I got up from my bench of old and walked up the steep path back home.

“Crushed by silent snow 

Not the first I know
Caught in ebb and flow

I’m bleeding out, oh you know

Is It Really You?”

We traversed back down the weathered path I knew so well toward the bench I finally decided to share, and my mind wound through all the times I had visited alone; nights spent walking through the tall trees shrouding me in a protective blanket of darkness, afternoons spent feverishly running toward the spot, sunsets spent alone on that bench, keeping the cyclone forever brewing in my mind at bay. As we made our way through the trees that I was used to barely seeing through pitch black darkness, I decided that we should instead visit a new place. I brought you through a different path, one that stretched further behind the memorial where my storied bench resided. The gravel crunched beneath our feet as I guided you past scenic bushes full of blooming flowers and small alcoves of tall grass and various plant life. I wanted this spot to be shared; a place for both of us to guide and sway our storms wherever we pleased. Wildlife scuttled curiously through the underbrush and birds chirped welcomingly, and I knew in that liberating spring breeze that I could let you in. 

"Reading my mind back to me

It's clear, you are here

Whilst sharing the same air

I can disappear"