A/N: Hurt Like Hell - Fleurie, Habits (Stay High) - Tove Lo
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I knew I couldn't walk away. There is no doubt I wanted to, several times actually, but even then, deep down, I knew I couldn't. It wasn't an option for me, not when I wanted to move on. Were my reasons selfish? Perhaps, but it really wasn't just for my benefit.
After the talk I had with the Kim couple, I felt like though I wasn't there to witness it; I knew how much pain Lisa was enduring. I suddenly understood those cold, distant, detached glances. It all made sense now that I have opened my eyes with the help of the two women who seemed to be determined to fix this mess I got into.
She was strong, stronger than I could ever hope to be. No matter how hard I tried to pretend I was okay, I could never fool myself, her, or my friends. At the end of the day, I wasn't able to deceive anyone who paid attention and really looked at me. I didn't have to say it for them to know how I felt. And no matter how many times I told my reflection it was over, I couldn't believe it. Not when my heart wrenched in my chest at the mere thought of her.
There wasn't a guarantee the couple was right though. I mean, they themselves have admitted they lost touch with the Thai and were nowhere near as close as they once used to be. But in a world where hope was the only thing you could hold on to, I grabbed onto anything I could. Even if the chances of me being completely heartbroken after finding out it was nothing more but wishful thinking were high.
But there was one thing I was certain of that was true; I loved her. I never stopped, not even for a second, and no matter what the outcome would be, I had to keep fighting. Even at the stake that I would end up being alone in the ring, I had to hope that she'd see how determined I was and that she would step in with me. I had to hope that at some point, no matter how long it would take, she would open her heart to me once more and listen.
And though I had a renewed vigor from the conversation I shared with Jennie and Jisoo, I was still sullen. Though I knew, and the two made sure to remind me, that I had no right to be jealous or mad at Lisa, I was. I couldn't shake the feeling of utter jealousy whenever I imagined Lisa with another woman. I felt possessive as if something that was mine was stolen from me. Even though I was well aware, she was no longer mine, and she hasn't been for years. It was only natural she would find someone else, yet it was eating away at me.
I had no right to be heartbroken, to feel abandoned and hurt, but God, I did. No matter how many times I've told myself I shouldn't have. Maybe it was the hormones making me this way, at least that's what I kept on telling myself after the pain in my chest hasn't stopped even though it's been a few weeks. That, and the salty droplets escaping my puffy eyes, accompanying the heartache.
If anyone were to see me, they would call me pathetic. Heck, I would call myself pathetic. I mean, look at me. A grown woman hugging her own body just because of some sweatshirt that only had value to me and no one else. I was holding onto it for my dear life as if it would hold her in place, whereas she was probably just fucking another woman. That thought alone made the pain anything but dissipate.
What was I really searching for, anyway? I should've thrown it out months ago. Or better yet, I shouldn't have taken it with me when I left the dormitories that night. Her scent that the hoodie used to linger in was long gone. So much so, that I forgot how she smelled. And though it could still keep me warm during chilly nights, it lacked the warmth of love I felt whenever I wore it during the simple days when I awaited her arrival from a class.
Really, all the connection between the stretched out and washed out material, and the girl it originally belonged to, was gone. This way I only risked Chanyeol finding it and asking questions I wouldn't have answers to. And yet, knowing all this, I never even tried to get rid of it. I couldn't. Just as the memories; I couldn't let go. A part of me just couldn't let go, no matter how much I wanted it to. I wondered if I would ever get the chance to tell her that or if she'd discard me each time.
At times like these, I couldn't help but think of the coping mechanism I adopted when I was a kid. The one that got me through the toughest times, and the one that has never left me. One, that I grew to love so much, I used to wish nothing more but to pursue it as a profession and share it with the world. My music.
I've given up the sound of pens and pencils grazing the blank pages of a notebook a long time ago. I no longer recalled the way it felt to hold a pick and run it through the chords of a guitar, producing sounds that would magically soothe my broken soul. My fingers could no longer feel the cold but polished wood of the ivory keys on the piano, that with one simple press, filled an entire hall with silence as everyone would stop and listen.
Lies were never my strong suit. Withholding information maybe, but saying things I didn't mean never was. I was easy to read, everyone saw right through me. It might have been a tick or just a telltale sign, but everyone always seemed to know when I was being dishonest. Not even a white lie could escape under the stares of my friends, no matter how much I tried to.
However, it was not just because I was so bad at it, that I hated it. The thought of having a smile on my face while saying things I didn't mean just seemed awful to me. That's why I didn't even attempt to lie to myself and pretend like I didn't miss it.
That I didn't miss holding an instrument, letting the music flow and bounce off the walls. That I didn't miss the way I could so easily express my emotions through the words I wrote and sang them to the rhythm of the music. I wasn't good with words. To be frank, I sucked at putting my feelings into terms. But whenever I sat down behind my piano or just with a guitar in my lap, it couldn't be stopped. They flowed out of me like a river does during a flood. It just kept coming, and it didn't stop until I let it all out and the paper absorbed all my tears.
I might have told Jennie and Jisoo that it was no longer what I wanted. That I no longer sought comfort in the arms of a melody. And though they haven't seen me in a while, they seemed to know. Without me having to tell them, they must've sensed it has become hard for me to be truthful with my feelings, even if just before myself.
Jennie didn't push me. She understood and accepted it. But she knew I missed it, I guess they could see the longing in my eyes as she spoke about achieving the thing I've dreamt of having for so long. So even if I said no, she still gave me the opportunity if I changed my mind. And in her eyes, I could see she believed in me. That somewhere beneath the weak surface, she saw a source of strength that I failed to.
So even if even after more than a month, I haven't taken a single glimpse at the music sheets; I appreciated it deeply. I was grateful for the opportunity that surely producers would jump after. Yet, she bet on me. She took a risk, as if there was no rush at all, and told me to take my time. That maybe I would find inspiration and that I would be brave enough to fulfill what she thought to be my destiny.
And as I sat on the bed, hugging my knees to my chest, I couldn't help myself but peek out and break the ball I've made myself into and look at the top shelf in the closet. In the back, behind all the hats and accessories I never wore, sat a pile of papers held together by binder clips.
They tempted me. I wanted to reach for Chanyeol's guitar and take the papers out. Just like every time something like this happened, I was enticed to grab the guitar by its neck and pour my heart out until I had to gasp for air. But just like every other time, I looked away and put my head back into its original position, creating a ball with my body that I wished could work as a shield, hiding me away from the world and protecting me from the things I feared.
However, this time, the desire didn't pass just like that. My fingers were itching to run through the strings and my throat was constricting with the need to let out any other sound but a sob. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe I would regret it. Yet, not a minute later, I stood in front of the guitar propped up on a stand in the corner of Chanyeol's office.
He couldn't play. He always thought he'd teach himself, and it would become one of his "many" charms. Little did he know it wasn't as easy as musicians with years of practice made it seem. And so like every time something got hard, and he wasn't a natural at, he gave up and flaunted it as a trophy instead. That or a decoration to make him seem sophisticated.
I reached forward, but just before my fingertips could graze the wooden body of the marvelous instrument, I halted. Am I sure about this? I asked myself as I stared at the guitar just within my reach. I was scared, terrified of facing my feelings. Because though I wouldn't be singing the words I felt, the music my fingers would subconsciously produce would tell my story. It couldn't be stopped. And I feared whether I was ready to face the raw truth, not the lie I forced upon myself so much that I started to believe it.
But then I figured, what have I got to lose, anyway? I already felt like I had nothing. And while literally, that might not be true, figuratively, I knew it was. Because no amount of possessions could make up for the freedom I have lost. No amount of jewelry around my neck could hide a broken heart, no matter how many carats the diamonds had. If anything, it was like a collar.
So for once, I could give something to myself. And though it really was the least I could do, I felt like maybe, after all, I went through; I deserved it. I deserved to be honest with myself, and I deserved to feel everything. Just because I hurt others didn't mean I couldn't be hurting myself, did it? One did not exclude the other, right?
With that little epiphany, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, and let my arm stretch forward completely, and finally, my skin felt the polished wood. Call me dramatic, but this was my escape route for years. Get it cut off during the hardest years of your life only to find it again, was so freeing. It was like I finally got back to my nature and an enormous weight was lifted off my shoulders. And all that with just a simple feel.
It terrified me slightly, how much power just touching it had over me, and what would come once I actually got to play it, but for once, I decided to be brave. I wouldn't overthink it and enjoy it for what it was. Because God knows, I needed it. I needed it for so long, yet I deprived myself of it.
For the first time in weeks, a smile graced my lips as I lifted the guitar off the stand and walked out into the open living room and back into the bedroom where I've isolated myself. Gently laying it on the bed, I walked into the closet and picked up a little wooden stool, so I could reach towards the back where the sheets were carefully hidden.
I must've craved this more than I thought I did because the second I stuck my hand into the back, I felt the papers. I didn't even have to search for them, it's like they had a mind of their own and remembered the exact spot I placed them at. Already, I felt overwhelmed, but this time around, I wouldn't give up. I would stay strong, just how the Chaeyoung I once used to know, would.
With shaky hands, I pulled the stack of papers out and stepped down. I still had a few hours left before Chanyeol would get home, so I wasn't worried he would find me like this. He had texted me earlier not to wait with dinner for him because he had some late-night meeting. And of course, I was grateful for more time alone with my thoughts; and now the guitar. I needed this, and I really didn't want to worry about him. For once, I wanted to focus on myself.
Sitting cross-legged on the large bed, I put the papers next to me and picked up the guitar. It fit my body so well like it was made for me to play. It felt light in my hold and I felt a surge of warmth run through me as I rested it against my body.
My right hand was cradling the neck gently, barely touching it. It was as if I was weighing it in my hand rather than grasping it. While my left was sling over the body, my upper arm resting comfortably on its side as my fingers dangled in front of the strings. This feels right, I thought as I caressed the strings, feeling them and familiarizing myself with them before I'd let myself play.
The feeling was indescribable. It wasn't necessarily new and fresh like a start - maybe because it wasn't. It was more like a continuation, a reunion with an old friend you haven't seen in a while. That's when it hit me. Even though others might consider it nothing more but an instrument, a mere piece of wood producing sounds, it meant so much more to me. It was my friend. One that listened and didn't judge. One that would hold me even if the entire world turned against me. The one I could always count on, even on my worst days.
This was the last obstacle I had to face. It did not differ from Jennie, Jisoo, or Lisa. I loved them all, and I've feared all of them. And yet, one by one, I faced them. Things might have been rocky and nowhere near patched, but I was trying. And a guitar, though not mine, was just like the three of them. Something I banished to protect myself because I thought I was doing what was best.
Just like the most important people in my life, I've given it up because I couldn't face it, couldn't face myself. I was guilty, still am, but I was petrified to do anything about it. And now we finally met again. Not as strangers, but as old friends. Because it wasn't a thing, it was an extension of myself. My music is who I am, it always has been, and finally, I felt complete.
It might seem strange to others. They might ask why I loved music so much. But to me, the answer was now clearer than ever; because it's the only thing that stays when everything and everyone is gone. It is the closest means we have to time travel - one piece of melody can get you reminiscing your past or dreaming up your future. To me, it was a diary, a therapy. It is a way of communication far more powerful than words. Far more immediate and far more efficient. It was my way of expressing the feelings I could never put into words.
So now that I finally held the key to that diary again, I felt free. I felt overwhelmed. And most of all, I felt happy.
Finally, I could speak again.
With teary eyes, I brought my left hand back, before I let it slide against the strings, letting out the most atrocious sound I have ever heard. I was pretty sure I have never heard a guitar more out of tune than this one. So though my ears hurt as I imagined the pain the poor instrument must've gone through every time Chanyeol attempted to play it, I slid it down until I had my hands on the keys.
It took a while of twisting and turning, but finally, the sound that came out didn't remind me of a dying cry. And as I played a few notes, I couldn't stop one or two tears from escaping my eyes. Because just like that, with a new and unknown melody, I felt complete again. I finally got in touch with the person I wished to come back to; myself.
I wasn't sure how much time has passed of me just sitting there, strumming a few chords and re-familiarizing myself with the guitar. It could've been an hour or just a couple of minutes, I always lost track of time as I got entranced in the sound of music. But once I caught up with my old friend, I was ready to look at what Jennie had trusted me with. All the notes and the lyrics to a few of her songs that I knew she must've cared deeply about, despite not being the one to write them.
And just after reading the first few lines, I knew I fell in love with the words. They were so raw, so real, and so full of emotion. There was beauty in the way they were written. Beauty, and so much pain.
The lyrics weren't hard to understand. They weren't the type where you'd have to think about their meaning deeply to understand its full depth. It was straightforward, just out there, as if the author didn't want to bother hiding how they truly felt. Like they were done pretending and just wanted to get out of their suffocating mind. I understood the feeling all too well.
No matter how beautiful I considered the song to be though, I couldn't help but feel for the composer. Even without knowing the context of what made them feel this way, I knew just how much it must've been. How hard to express without their heart breaking. I understood that entirely, though. I didn't have to know the pain they felt to understand it. Because though our problems may have been different, the pain was the same.
Some people write when they get inspired by the outside world. Some when they see a movie and it moves them so much they can't help themselves. Others write about what they see. And some write about what they feel. And from the way the piece sitting in my hands was written, there was no doubt in my mind; this came straight from the heart. I knew because I felt it too. And unless you went through pain this severe, you wouldn't be able to write about it. Not like this.
Because when you just tried to adapt something, you ended up trying too hard. You did your research on things you've never felt. But when they were true and honest, there wasn't much you could do with your words but to let them spill. And you knew just how hard it was to let them out. That's why the lines, "How can I put it down into words? When it's almost too much for my soul alone," rang through my body like a church bell. It felt familiar. It was something I knew all too well because just like a bell, it rang through me every day just the same.
There were a few notes scattered across the sheet about what Jennie had in mind for the tempo and the rhythm. Really, the song was finished. The notes were there, but just like Jennie said; it missed something. And though I wasn't sure what that was yet, I decided to give it a try.
So after reading the lyrics a few times, familiarizing myself with the words that felt intimate, like I was reading a diary, yet close, as if the diary was my own, I strummed the guitar. And though there were lines to stick to, it didn't feel right to sing right away. Instead, I let the sound reverberate through the room, hitting a new note every time the last faded away like a distant memory.
And each time the sound filled the room, I felt my heart ache with it, as if to the rhythm my fingers created. It was overwhelming, but I held myself proudly, not letting it affect me. Not the fact I was doing what I loved most again, neither the fact that I was already spilling my heart out and I haven't even sung the first note. Already, without knowing, I was making it my own.
When I finished the intro and deemed it appropriate to be the voice of a broken heart, I sang the words written across the page in black ink.
How can I say this without breaking?
How can I say this without taking over?
How can I put it down into words
When it's almost too much for my soul alone?
I sang the first verse, a slight tremor audible in my voice already. But I pushed back all the emotions attempting to swim back up to the surface. I pushed back the feeling of nostalgia as unwanted memories started swarming my mind like camera flashes. And I ignored the feeling of my heart clenching as I began realizing why the feelings made a reappearance in the first place.
I loved and I loved and I lost you
I loved and I loved and I lost you
I loved and I loved and I lost you
And it hurts like hell
Yeah it hurts like hell
There wasn't a more simple way to put it. Losing the one you love hurt like hell. It was heartbreaking, and it made you stray from the path you were so adamant about taking. You love someone with your whole heart, give them your everything, and yet, so easily all that can be lost in one simple night.
I don't want them to know the secrets
I don't want them to know the way I loved you
I don't think they'd understand it, no
I don't think they would accept me, no
I sympathized. I felt the words escape my mouth before I could even realize it. They slid right off my tongue so naturally, have I not began losing myself in the words, it would frighten me.
It was hard opening yourself up to others with things you didn't even trust yourself with. It was hard admitting just how affected you were, especially if it was your fault. Because they wouldn't understand, they wouldn't accept the fact that you were hurting when you had no right to. It was scary because those were your secrets to keep, for only your heart and mind to know. And you didn't want them to know just how hard it hit you when the best thing you had got taken away.
I loved and I loved and I lost you
I loved and I loved and I lost you
I loved and I loved and I lost you
And it hurts like hell
Yeah it hurts like hell
Though the song got more upbeat with the second verse, it didn't take away from the pain. If anything, it became even more heartbreaking, and I felt as if someone shot me. Like a bullet pierced straight through my heart, tearing it apart. And it hurt like hell. The pain was unbearable as I found you in words that weren't even mine. As I found you in the melody. As I cried out in pain because though I loved you, I ended up losing you. Even if that was the last thing I ever wanted.
The guitar strings felt stiff against my fingers and I was losing strength to keep going, the words spilling from my lips weakening not only my heart but also my soul. Suddenly, it became all too much and I no longer wanted to share the emotion. Not with her eyes looking straight at me from memory. Not when instead of her cold glare, I saw softness and love. The one that I lost and so willingly gave away. And it really fucking hurt. It hurt like hell.
Dreams fight with machines
Inside my head like adversaries
Come wrestle me free
Clean from the war
Your heart fits like a key
Into the lock on the wall
Yet I found it in me to push through the strings more forcefully as warm drops landed on my fingers.
I turn it
I turn it
But I can't escape
I turn it over
I turn it over
There was a never-ending war. Reality setting in each day while my dreams that I knew would never come true were omnipresent, fighting for their place in my head and my heart. The only thing that could stop it was her, pulling me away from the battlefield and setting things right. Yet that wouldn't happen. I was trapped within the memories, but I no longer had your heart to get me out. No matter how many times I tried, it wasn't the same and I couldn't escape the feeling of emptiness. I needed you, and you weren't here. Not anymore.
I loved and I loved and I lost you
I loved and I loved and I lost you
I loved and I loved and I lost you
And it hurts like hell
Yeah it hurts like hell
With a choked voice breaking with each syllable, I finished the song, tears now streaming down my cheeks freely, grazing my lips and dripping on the polished wood of the guitar. No matter how much I love you, you're gone. And I'm never getting you back again.
I knew that doing this, singing my heart out, and getting immersed in the music would trigger a reaction. But I didn't know that singing words that weren't even my own would throw me off this much. They left me gasping for air as sobs pushed their way through my constricting throat. My heart was hammering in my chest so fast it was almost painful.
Everything was too much and without gentleness, I threw the guitar to the side and clutched at the fabric of Lisa's old hoodie. I felt out of breath and the gasps I tried so desperately to take in were shallow like I physically could not breathe normally. I felt my body start to shake and though it was just warm enough just minutes ago, suddenly I was freezing.
My head was spinning, and my ears began to ring. I couldn't focus on anything as sobs continued wrecking my body, tearing me apart. I felt lost, scared, threatened by the things that were long gone, buried deep in my memories. I wanted to reach up and pull my hair out. I wanted to scream into the distance and let the sound of my pain die out in the faraway land. But I couldn't.
And so instead, I let my body fall back as I curled up in a ball, pulling my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms around them. Not even the hoodie could bring me a sense of peace as I continued shaking in both sobs and the cold. I was hyperventilating, and I didn't know how to stop this intense but unexplainable feeling.
The last time I felt like this was in the plane on the way to South Korea the night my parents died. It hasn't happened since, and I forgot how I got over this feeling. All that was left was hoping it would pass soon and try not to go insane. Because that exactly how it felt - like I was losing my mind.
Was this it? Was this the moment where I would break completely? Was this the beginning of an end I've had coming my way since the day I met Park Chanyeol? Was this what I have come to? A delirious, sobbing mess? Really, all I could do was hope it would pass, and that it would pass fast. I hated feeling like this. I wanted to claw at my skin because my body felt uncomfortable. I felt like there was something or someone inside of me and I wanted to get it out. Someone pretending to be me and controlling my body like it was their own.
I knew that dealing with my emotions wouldn't be easier, but I didn't imagine feeling like this would be what it would come down to.
"Make it stop," I sobbed out for no one to hear, "Please make it stop,"
But no one would hear my pleads. I was all alone as this intense panic continued taking over my body. Nothing could calm me as I continued shaking. No amount of air I could take in would be enough. And nothing could slow down my heart rate as the organ continued thumping in my chest abnormally.
I felt like her eyes were following me, looking down at me as I was writhing in my own embrace. I wished she were here. That somehow she would sit beside me on the bed, helping me ease the pain.
But she wasn't, and for all I knew, she never would be. That thought was with me always. It never left, but remembering it now, did nothing to help me feel better. If anything, it made my chest constrict even further and made the attempts to breathe even harder.
This is what I wanted, wasn't it? To die? To have it all over with. And though I knew I wasn't dying just yet, it was when I realized; I was no longer ready to either.
There were still things I had to do. I still had to make things right and set Lisa free. I couldn't go without completing the task. So though before I came back to New York I was ready to end it all and was really just looking for the right opportunity, I no longer felt the same. I had to stay alive, for her and the human life growing inside me.
So though I was still shaking uncontrollably, struggling to breathe, I willed myself to hold on. I tried to focus on something steady and to my luck, there was an alarm on the nightstand next to me. The second hand ticking at an even pace, and I did my hardest to match my breathing to its pace. I might have given up years prior, but now I wanted to stand back up. I wanted to continue fighting. If not for me, then for the people I cared about.
It took a while for me to calm down. When I looked at the clock, I saw an hour has passed, but it felt longer. It was hard getting out of the state of mind I found myself in, but I got through the worst of it. For I knew that the last thirty minutes I was just suffering the aftershocks and tried to will my body to function normally.
What took place after I finished the song was the furthest from enjoyable. It was like I was suddenly living out one of my many nightmares. So it came as a surprise when my mind crossed a certain thought. A thought that didn't regret doing what I've done. That I didn't regret the moments leading up to the reaction.
Even I was bewildered at the thought, but I guess the more I thought about it, the more sense it made. Because as painful as it was for me, it was about time I've done this.
That little outburst was nothing more than pent up frustration, buried memories, and long-forgotten feelings, and if I were to suppress them for any longer, the damage would be much more severe. I was already becoming a person I've always dreaded becoming, and I knew that if I didn't face the problems I was so clearly having, I would become this person irreversibly.
Three years was more than enough of pretending I didn't have feelings. That the things that happened no longer affected me. Pretending like I didn't dream of her every night and see her in every shadow across the empty mansion. The two Kims were right, I couldn't keep hiding and pretending like my feelings didn't matter. Though I've led myself to believe that to be true (whether to help me ease the pain or to torture myself further, I did not know); they helped me realize it wasn't.
Because despite all that I've done and all that was done to me, I had a right to feel. Just because I hurt another didn't mean I couldn't be hurting too, though I had a hard time understanding that in my head and I still didn't fully comprehend the concept. Either way, whether or not it was easy, what I've done now was long overdue.
I've repressed my emotions, battled with them until I've stomped them down to the ground, and believed they vanished. And for a while, I foolishly believed they did. That all the turmoil and sadness taking place in my heart just went poof and took off, as if they got tired of residing in the same body for too long.
Facing my fears and darkest secrets was just another step in the right direction. In becoming better. If not for me, then for her. There wasn't much salvaging I could do, but if there was at least a little something to redeem myself in her eyes, I wouldn't waste a second to take that chance. Even if she never knew the challenges her presence brought, I would. And maybe the thought of how much I've done and continued doing would bring a sense of peace, even if things didn't work out the way I wanted them to.
That was something I've learned the hard way. Either it was just me and my luck, or things just didn't work out the way we wanted them to. Really, the only thing that ever worked in my favor was my college years. I spent most of my years before that in pain, trying to get past the fact my parents no longer wanted me. At least until I understood their pain. Yet, I could never fully forgive them for the way they treated me. And then of course everything that happened after the one wonderful year that I've met Lisa. One good thing in years and even that got taken away from me. It didn't seem fair. Not to her and not to me.
After I rid my mind of all the thoughts and doubts that started swarming my mind the second it started to function normally, I sat back up, my back resting against the headboard, and looked around. It was funny to me how in a split second everything can change. How you can go from one mood to another, or even crumble to bits and pieces, yet the world goes on.
Nothing changes. No one stops and listens. Just because you're caught in a fire, hanging for your deal life by a thread as you will your lungs to work, doesn't mean the outside world is swallowed up in flames. The apartment still looked and felt the same, but I no longer did. Nothing changed but me. And to some extent that scared me.
Each time something like this happened, whether it was my sister's death, my parent's, leaving Lisa, or even concurring my demons, it all seemed so insignificant to the rest of the world. I forgot every time how these things felt, and it baffled me each time. It made sense no one would stop and listen just because somewhere out there you cried, but I guess a part of me still felt like someone would. It made me feel so small and negligible.
But life goes on and I should follow in its footsteps, no matter how hard things got. So with a sigh, I crawled back to the end of the bed. However, this time I didn't pick the guitar up, I didn't even cast a look in its direction. One jamming session was enough for today, overdoing things and rushing into it all at once would do me no favors.
The stack of papers on the left side, however, was still calling out to me and my fingers were itching to trace the notes. And though I just calmed down, I thought, maybe just reading a few lyrics wouldn't do me any harm. I had to admit; I was curious.
Despite what the first song evoked, I wanted to see and hear more. I wanted to understand the composer, to tap into their mind, and explore. Maybe it was the fact that someone else was fighting their demons that made me feel lighter, or it was simply because I could relate. Either way, it was like a story I didn't want to stop reading.
Knowing it wouldn't be good for me though, and lacking the courage, I didn't attempt to reach for the guitar or talking myself into giving it another shot. I would later, just not today. So instead, to satiate my interest, I reached for the stack and flipped onto the next page.
Right off the bat, I could tell by the music notes that this song was much more upbeat than the first one and that piqued my interest. I guess I expected another slow song to break the listeners' hearts.
Oh-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh
I eat my dinner in my bathtub, then I go to sexclubs
Watching freaky people gettin' it on
It doesn't make me nervous If anything, I'm restless
Yeah, I've been around and I've seen it all
I get home, I got the munchies, binge on all my Twinkies
Throw up in the tub, then I go to sleep
And I drank up all my money, dazed and kinda lonely
This song was drastically different from the previous one, but I felt like that opinion was about to change as my eyes glimpsed the chorus.
You're gone and I gotta stay high
All the time, to keep you off my mind
Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh
High all the time, to keep you off my mind
Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh
Spend my days locked in a haze, tryna forget you babe
I fall back down
Gotta stay high, all my life, to forget I'm missing you
Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh
The more I read, the more I felt like I read another entry of the person's diary. First came the unbearable pain you didn't know how to get past, and then the attempts to numb it. I didn't have the resources to do the things the author has, so I couldn't relate, but I knew that if I could I would have.
When the pain becomes so much that just the mere thought of the person tears you apart, you don't want to deal with it and it's easier to pretend like everything is okay when in reality everything is falling down. And as I've read further down, I realized that in a sense, this song was far more heartbreaking than the first one.
This one showed pain so severe you became a person you normally wouldn't have. You begin to engage in unhealthy behavior and while you're thinking this is what's going to get you through this, that you're helping yourself, you're only inflicting more damage. At this point, you've lost all sense of right and wrong, and do whatever makes you feel good, even if for just a few fleeting moments. Because the things you used to love, no longer make you happy.
Pick up daddies at the playground, how I spend my daytime
Loosen up the frown, make 'em feel alive
I'll make it fast and greasy, I'm numb and way too easy
You're gone and I gotta stay high
All the time, to keep you off my mind
Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh
High all the time, to keep you off my mind
Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh
Spend my days locked in a haze, tryna forget you babe
I fall back down
Gotta stay high, all my life, to forget I'm missing you
Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh
Feeling numb to everything wasn't a feeling not known to me, and just like with the first song, I sympathized with the pain. I couldn't help but wonder who they lost and to what conditions. Clearly, they were struggling a lot. Was it really that irrevocable, was there nothing to be done to ease the pain but make yourself forget in the worst ways possible?
Though I never resolved to drugs, I wasn't unfamiliar with alcohol, which I was sure had similar effects. I could no longer resolve to it, but I have before and I knew what that felt like. I wondered if they too realized just how temporary of a fix these things were. Just how destructive they could become.
And when I thought it couldn't get sadder, I read the bridge and my heart shattered. It was just two lines, but it spoke volumes. Because though I wasn't experiencing the same things, I knew this far too well, the pretending, acting like everything is fine. Letting yourself believe that none of these things concern you.
Not letting yourself feel because you're scared that once you do, you won't be able to stand again. And you would do anything to prolong the awakening. You'd rather stay in this delirious dream than face the reality that's far too painful.
Staying in my play pretend, where the fun ain't got no end
Oh, can't go home alone again, need someone to numb the pain
Oh, staying in my play pretend, where the fun ain't got no end
Oh, can't go home alone again, need someone to numb the pain
You're gone and I gotta stay high
All the time, to keep you off my mind
Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh
High all the time, to keep you off my mind
Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh
Spend my days locked in a haze, tryna forget you babe
I fall back down
Gotta stay high, all my life, to forget I'm missing you
Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh
Oh-oh
So when I reached the end, I couldn't help but ask, "Who hurt you?" but not get an answer.