How many times had it been by now?
How many times have you been looking at the remnants of the past, with them little things reappearing?
You know what I’m on about.

The dial up phone in the living room or the hall, the cigarette smell from the open window as grandpa smokes another one of those “prima” non-filter cigarettes with his tube-like adapter to cigs, cleaning tar out with needle every so often.
Or that moment when Linkin Park was blasting in your headphones, or out your flip phone. During the moments of the ‘you alone at home’, as you shout from the top of the lungs “I’VE BECOME SO NUMB!” and have none of the grown ups there to tell you to shut it.
That depressive state that made you cower away in the corner of the room, or escape to the outside to walk miles on end, with just some music there, in headphones blasting the shit of anxiety and pain away…
Or them moments when your parents finally get to understand the music trends and call you into the living room, raising the volume to TV, so you can enjoy that song you like… Anything from Bon Jovi to that Rammstein… Or the going along to ‘Californication’ when it plays on TV during those music programmes and you just HAD to do the air guitar!

Although you still don’t get how the MTV began being so odd. The ‘Pimp my ride’ was the thing or the Osbourne TV show, that kept you with the latest drama and fun.
First bought Cassette of the Linkin Park that got you all so greatly hyped, that the music playing stereo was out and blasting the music to your neighbours to spread that rock appreciation to others. It were the old wars of street music, where the genres would collide. Although you did appreciate the oldie gang outside the houses in the evening with their instruments playing their old tunes…
That combo of guitar, accordion someone on the spoon drums and passers by that sing along. Epic.

But then again, there were moments of solitude in the hide. That park, or walkway, or the near river/lake place that was frequented, so you could just think…
Why there? Coz at home it was a mess. Anything would go from ‘all alright’ to ‘totally dysfunctional’ in matter of the mood of people at home. Yeah, that’s Exactly why there’s so much psychological damage there. But surviving as we could was what could be done.

Somewhere absolutely away from people and singing. Singing loud and bursting them emotions out, just releasing it all somewhere out there, just to feel something. Something that does not make you cry in the pillow in the night, silently, so you don’t wake up the others. Cutting self to see that red drip down to sort of have the feeling like that can help with all the inside pain. And how many times were it running down? Too many to count, yet always there to make one feel lighter. When the head becomes lighter from that red loss. But hey, managed as we could.

But hey, remember that moment when you find that new something that makes you all happy for a speck of a time? Like that sweet pastry from a shop which you’d get daily after school just to have some ‘happy moment’? Yeah, that. Or like the candy from that corner place?

Although nothing could beat them all moments as you walk by and there’s the street cat or dog you call over to pet and maybe feed some snack you had with you. Yeah, that was the shit. To have some free loving that puts a smile on your face. Yep. That was nice. But like, for real.

Ah, there was also the ‘try and be quiet to not wake up drunk asleep parent’ when you got home, coz you know – the dreaded shit storm that would come up once they’re up. What storm? Ah, the typical ‘go get me booze’ or the fight mode where you’re beat up for no reason. And nah, not always fighting back was the right answer. Coz them old fucks always had some magical backup of friends that would come over to help whoop your ass, like out of bloody nowhere.

The many times that you planned setting house on fire? Oh yeah, that arson feel inside that you wanted to let out and just see it all burn, as you enjoy that cigarette, with some good metal blasting in headphones (along the lines of ‘Disturbed – Indestructible’), as you sip on a beer. Yeah, exactly.

Yep, going back to reminiscence about those times is not only the good old music and the days of just numbing it out to try and feel happy, or pressured to feel happy… There was happy, sure, but not so much to remember, really. The bits that re-appear is what we made during that heavy maladaptive daydreaming. Kid you not.

Otherwise, aren’t you glad that all that shit is now all the way back in the past, m? How does it feel after all that therapy and treatments? All those destructive coping mechanisms you tried out to eventually let them go as you got out of it, hm? Aren’t you being the one who is a softie, with such a battered and deadly beast that none can perceive, but god forbid they poke there.
Healed after many-many years… And guess what? You’re that epic badass that made it all the way here. And that in itself, babe – that’s just a fucking epic shit there. It’s the book we made, the chapters that built the Hero, the Villain and the Superhero that you are.

So, don’t worry, you’re not alone, standing there, after all this while. You were never alone.

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