your static voice beside mine

nothing lasts and we both know it

Hey everyone! The next two chapters deal with some pretty heavy topics (anxiety, depression, and suicide). Please stay safe!

"So how do you even write? Like, how do you come up with the right words to say?" Josh asks as he sits on the couch in the living room of his apartment, which has become one of the more popular spots that he shares his conversations with Johnny.

Johnny sits on a chair in the basement, trying to put on a brave face, as he's trying to calm down from the emotional state of writing he was in. He hated his brain with passion. Why did it have to convince him that Josh doesn't care? Why does it have to tear apart every one of his relationships from the seams? Why did it make him feel like he could drift and drift and no one would care?

"Well, it just sort of comes to me. I mean, I sit on ideas and lyrics for a while, but sometimes they just spill out of me," Johnny says as he pulls the sleeves of his black sweatshirt down, giving himself sweater paws. "Although it seems I get the better songs out of me being upset. I hate that."

"Do you wish you could write happier things?"

"Yeah. But then I think that maybe one day someone will hear one of my songs and realize that they aren't alone in how they feel. It's a slim chance, and it might not even happen. It's stupid I know."

"It's not stupid," Josh counters. "It's not stupid at all. I just think that- nevermind."

"What? What were you going to say?" Johnny asks.

"It's just that...well, if you want to be happy, why don't you listen to your therapist?"

Johnny pauses, debating and mulling over his response. He takes a sharp inhale.

"You don't think I've tried?" he says quietly, almost filled with remorse.

"I never said that-" Josh starts.

"But you were thinking it. I know you were."

Suddenly, Josh feels guilty. He doesn't know everything that Johnny has been through, or what he sees and thinks everyday.

"I'm sorry," Josh says softly with comfort. "I don't know what your life is like and what you feel. I didn't mean to assume."

His anxiety sets in again. All he does is mess things up. He should just stop talking.

Just shut up. Just shut up. All you do is screw everything over. Shut up. Shut up! SHUT UP-

"It's ok. Really, it's my fault. You were just trying to help."

Johnny's apology snaps him out of his trance, and his breathing returns back to normal. Johnny notices but doesn't mention it.

"I want to listen to my therapist. I really do. But when you see no point in life, it's hard to want to get better. When pain is all you've known, it becomes your new normal. It becomes comfortable. And when you despise change, leaving your comfort is almost impossible no matter how much you want to leave." Johnny shakes his head, back and forth, violently jerking it from side to side in order to prevent himself from crying. Why does he always have to cry?

"I understand completely," Josh replies with a heavy sigh.

And it was true. Josh knew the feeling of wanting to run away from all his anxieties and worries and things that were holding him back. He desperately wanted to break free from his chains. But Johnny was right. All you've known is what's comfortable, and leaving is terrifying.

"So music is a coping mechanism for you?" Josh asks even though he already knows the answer.

"Yeah. But it doesn't seem to be working," Johnny replies. The way he says it leaves Josh with an odd feeling.

"How'd you get into music anyways?"

"I found an old keyboard in my closet. Started to sound things out. It just went from there. You?"

"You're gonna have to know some backstory first," Josh takes a pause before continuing, something suddenly off about the air between them. "Well, my parents never put me in therapy. Growing up I felt like they never cared."

"There's a start," Johnny tells him, trying so hard to hold on to the sound of Josh's voice. "So your homelife sucked then?"

"It didn't have to. But I made it that way. I always argued with them all the time. They even wanted to ship me off to military school at one point."

"That sounds rough."

"Yeah. I was just angry all the time. I don't even know why," Josh says with an exasperated sigh. "It's probably because I never thought my parents liked me, or were proud of me. All I wanted was my dad's approval."

"You should call him," Johnny says.

"Are you kidding? I can't do that!"

"Just tell him how you feel. I promise you. You'll feel better."

"Ok I guess," Josh begrudgingly agrees. "I wish I had a better childhood, you know? I always wonder if I wouldn't be so messed up if I had it better. But it's my fault that it sucked. I can realize that now."

"So what got you through it?" Johnny asks. He's calmed down a bit now, his twitching and shaking diminishing.

Josh takes a moment to think back to all the bouts of teenage rebellion. All the times he cursed his parents as he skateboarded down to the music store. That feeling of festering regret, like he could've said so many more things to get back at his family. And all the times that those feelings washed away as soon as he played the drums. The steady pulse of the beat and the energizing feel of the music pushed him to do better. It made him feel something other than angry. It made him feel alive.

"The drums. All those days I'd ride down to the music store just to play their kit, and all the times I'd hide my music from my parents; those are what helped me pushed through."

Thinking and feeling the memories of his childhood again brought him to a standstill. This is what he wanted. He's doubted himself for what's felt like forever, and he's terrified of the thousands of unknowns. But now, he's realized what he wanted the whole time. He knows where he needs to get it.

And in that instant of clarity, Josh hyperfocuses, tunnel vision clouding his thoughts. Everything fades away.

Even his best friend.

"I think I need to go to Nashville."