The Soundtrack of My Life

January 22, 2022

The Soundtrack of My Life – 3 – All Too Well

I will do my best to limit the amount of Taylor Swift songs that end up in this year long project, but I can’t make any promises. I love the bitch and her songs resonate with me on so many levels. My husband likes to joke that I am a 14 year old girl. (Although she’s in her 30’s now, so that no longer applies.) However incorrect the statement, it’s true. Gay men are notoriously immature and tend to romanticize any interaction with a person they find attractive. It’s just how it is.

I chose this song because of my visceral reaction to one particular part of the song. Ever since I first heard it, when I got to/get to this portion I immediately began/begin to cry. Every time. Without fail. It didn’t really occur to me until the re-release of Red (Taylor’s Version) that I react this way because of one specific memory. One in which still is very vivid in my mind no matter how much time passes.

Well, maybe we got lost in translation
Maybe I asked for too much
But maybe this thing was a masterpiece
‘Til you tore it all up
Running scared, I was there
I remember it all too well
And you call me up again just to break me like a promise
So casually cruel in the name of being honest
I’m a crumpled up piece of paper lying here
‘Cause I remember it all, all, all

They say all’s well that ends well, but I’m in a new Hell
Every time you double-cross my mind
You said if we had been closer in age maybe it would have been fine
And that made me want to die
The idea you had of me, who was she?
A never-needy, ever-lovely jewel whose shine reflects on you

There is no doubt that when I got into a relationship with my husband I was not emotionally, mentally, or mature enough for one. I had just got out of a bad break-up and I was so young. I had just come out… I wasn’t looking for anything serious. He was. That’s where we got lost in translation.

Instead of verbalizing any of this, I was unwilling to let go of a person I knew loved me, who (at the time) I was not emotionally vulnerable enough to return his affection. I kept him for selfish reasons. The thought of losing another boyfriend was too much for me, so I became secretive. I was a liar and a cheat. I snuck around on him and justified it in my mind by saying I needed it or somehow deserved it. No one deserves that.

Everything began to unravel when he went through my cell phone and started reading my texts. He saw messages with this dude who I said was my friend Mike but was in fact an entirely different one. These explicit messages began to sow seeds of doubt. I explained it all away that we were just flirting but it was nothing more. He accepted that because he said he would sometimes do that with guys on AOL.

That’s when he read my e-mails.

Rookie mistake when cheating is not clearing out your trash can. That’s where he found the messages proving my infidelity.

He was enraged. But the kind tied to emotional pain. He kept asking me how I could do this and I had no answers. At this point I was caught. I owned up to it and he told me to get out of his house. He never wanted to see me again.

I was dumbstruck the entire drive home. I didn’t know what to say or think.

What should have happened was he should never have spoken to me again. It is the only way I would have learned my lesson. And I’m sure in some alternate reality he never did call me up, however this is not that timeline. When I answered his call he said simply, “Get back here,” and hung up.

I sat there wondering whether I should. What was going to happen?

I couldn’t imagine a life without him and so I went.

When I got there, he had devised “the plan.” I either agreed to these rules or we just were going to separate. Before he even told me what they were I had accepted. I knew I had fucked up and there was nothing more I wanted to do than to fix it.

Even though we got to a better place, the night was far from over. He banished me to our bedroom while he drank. He couldn’t look at me that night, and I don’t blame him. I had betrayed him. The hurt I caused… I have never seen anything like it. I truly destroyed him and I hated/hate myself for it.

There is one moment that haunts me. I was in our bedroom, the lights on, staring at the ceiling and I begin to hear his footsteps thundering through the house as he storms down the hallway. The heel of his palm hits the bedroom door and it flies open. He was drunk, tears streaming down his cheeks, and has a flurry of new questions. I sit up and try to defuse the situation that had quickly escalated. Fear courses through my veins like ice. I’m almost certain he’s going to make me leave again. I just knew it.

But he didn’t ask me to leave. And we worked through this event.

I wish I could say that I learned my lesson and didn’t cheat again. But that would be a lie. I was genuinely the worst person to him. I regret every horrible moment to this very day and wish I could take it all back, but what’s done is done.

These moments you must not forget. You must keep them fresh and learn from them. Study them. At least, I do. I pick each moment apart, trying to decipher why did all of this occur. What was the purpose of all of this? Why?

Am I just a horrible selfish person? Yes, I am. I have been. But knowing this I can be more conscious of the choices I make, the things I am willing to accept. It comes with experience. I was much too young. I knew nothing of myself or what I wanted. I didn’t deal with the grief that lived inside of me. I instead chose sex and liquor to try and heal the wounds.

This isn’t a good memory, but it’s one I can’t let myself forget. It humbles me because I know that I am the wrong in all of this. I was the problem.

The verse above is an abbreviated conversation between me and my husband. The bold words are his and the others are mine.

January 14, 2022

The Soundtrack of My Life – 2 – Plans

I couldn’t begin this year long musical journey without starting first with this album. I am someone who has too many favorites, which defeats the purpose of the title “favorite,” but in this specific case it is true. Of all the albums in my collection this is the one I can listen to on repeat for hours and no matter where I’m at with my thoughts and feelings, this is always appropriate.

The first time I heard of Death Cab for Cutie was from my husband. He had heard their name on a Sirius radio show one night while working. He immediately thought to himself that they sounded like someone I would love. This was during my “emo” phase, when I deliberately did obscure things to seem “cool” and “niche.”

At first, I was hesitant because I wasn’t big on discovering new music. I had my then favorites, and there wasn’t any room for anything more at the time.

My husband bought this album and I reluctantly listened to it but from the first song I was in love.

This album, much like it’s collection of songs, represents a time of transition for me. It was that unstable time where my husband and I were still working on our relationship, after he had discovered I had been cheating. We were trying to make it work. We would have good moments but sometimes they were just sad. It’s just the natural ebb and flow of trust-building.

I was also moving from my “punk rock” wannabe phase into my more contemporary mellow, coffee house vibe.

The one thing it does bring to my mind is my time working at Border’s bookstore. It felt like I worked there for years but in reality, it was only a few months. I did not gel well with the store manager. She was the worst version of a businesswoman. The kind who thinks you have to act like the worst part of men to get ahead. She was genuinely horrible and was the main catalyst for me seeking employment at an office job. If it were not for her being such a tyrant, I wouldn’t have gotten the job that put me on the road to where I am now.

Apart from her, Border’s was such a chill experience. I unboxed product and got to shelve books. My favorite section was always metaphysical. I would peruse the pages held there more than any other.

At the time I worked in inventory, I would play “Plans” in the warehouse and on my breaks. One of my shift managers was this total hipster, who was rail thin and had hair akin to a young Justin Bieber. He was in a band, and without him telling you about it every second, could tell immediately. This dude loved Death Cab too and we would talk about them whenever we were in the other’s orbit. It was our only common thread of communication. One time, he made this off-hand comment that has stuck with me since. He said that the album was like a novel, and you couldn’t skip over a song or risk losing a part of the story. It was so “profound” to me at the time, but even to this day I couldn’t agree more. I think of that line each time I listen to it.

One of my more vivid memories from that time was when I was returning from my break. The audiobooks were next to the CD section on the way to the back warehouse. As I made my way there, I saw a married couple perusing the selection. She was this frail blonde woman, standing next to and caring for her husband in a wheelchair. The sight of them sent a twinge of sadness in my heart, and when I got to the back I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. She was giving up her life to basically care for her wheelchair bound husband. “What kind of life is that?” I thought to myself. I knew I couldn’t do that.

It’s amazing what experience provides for perspective. I know now she did it because she loved him. Love is the most powerful force. It drives you to do things you never thought you could. Like, caring exclusively for another person. In hindsight, I find this whole miniscule moment strange. How could I remember that so vividly? It was almost as if I was foreshadowing my life.

If you have no interest in listening to the album, may I suggest three songs. For whatever reason, they mean the most to me. The first being “I Will Follow You Into the Dark” (my husband’s ringtone btw), “What Sarah Said,” and “Brothers on a Hotel Bed.”

There is a single line in “What Sarah Said” that makes me breakdown every time I hear it. And try as I may, I cannot stop the flood of tears. So, if even those three are too much, listen to that one. You’ll know what line it is when you hear it. Trust me.

January 5, 2022

The Soundtrack of My Life – 1 – Announcing a Goal

Music is truly magical for me. It can unlock my deepest emotions and bring to mind memories I had long forgotten. It’s incredible. I don’t know if many have that ability, but I do. Which is why sometimes I go through phases where I cannot bear to even listen to any music. I’m so overwhelmed with my current reality that all I am willing to listen to is spoken word (ie comedy albums, podcasts, audiobooks.) But sometimes even those can come accompanied with a euphoric recall. (Except for the book on tape “Rock your Revisions,” that just brings out agonizing anxiety.)

Like any writer worth their digital ink, I wanted to write throughout 2022. Specifically so I can hone my craft but also because I need to do things that are just for me. I need a hobby. I have to have something to alleviate the pressure inside my head. (The space in which I reside the most, by the way.)

Wanting this, I began to run through the parameters for myself. I considered writing everyday… But that is an unrealistic expectation. Life inevitably gets in the way. Especially mine. Which is why I have scaled it back to a more manageable and achievable goal, and in the end that’s how you want to do something. Therefore I thought once a week is good. In the end I will write 52 blog posts and have succeeded in completing my task.

While weekly is a more than manageable goal, the next obstacle is: what do I write about? The only thing I know more than my own imagined fantasies is my own life. I am also SUPER obsessed with myself. I mean… how could I not be? (P.S. I am kidding… Sort of.) There is nothing I love to talk about more than myself. And the topic I enjoy even more is sifting through memories.

The one thing that trauma and emotional distress has shown me is that it loves to take away my memory. My brain used to be sharp as an obsidian arrowhead but since the death of my father, my mother’s Alzheimer’s diagnosis, my husbands terminal diagnosis, and fucking covid, what super brain-power I use to have has fallen by the wayside. Instead I am lucky if I can hold onto short-term tasks. It sucks. Therefore… music.

Trauma may have taken my active memory recall, as in if I try to specifically remember something specific I cannot, however music remains powerful. So, I am going to pick a song, an album, or even a mundane tune, I’ve heard over the course of my life that has attached itself to my memory and write about it. Hopefully these posts won’t be as longwinded as these last two sentences. (Good lawd.) And even on an off-day, when I can barely hold onto my sanity, I’ll use a new diddy to write about something equally undiscovered. The best part of all this: I get to share some music with you. And more than the love I have for talking about myself, and even more than reminiscing about the past, I am excited/elated/ecstatic to share a song with someone. It’s one of my weird love languages. If I send a song to you, it means it unlocked apart of me that thought of you and that will live with me forever. It can and never will be replaced/erased. It belongs to you.