life / music

2013 soundtrack: part one – resonate.

• by kerri

well, i started this story in the middle of the page . . .

sugarbuzz, marvelous 3

The day before my birthday, I shared the first four months of the 2013 soundtrack—an undertaking you can read more about the origins of in the original post. On the eve of twenty-two, little did I know how much differently I would perceive not only the year, but the soundtrack that had been already created as 2013 closed off. The dawn of a new year is the subject of an upcoming post, so while you can read the original responses in the post linked above, I am starting the journey again from scratch—same songs, new songs, fresh slate as the story continued taking on life.

The Resolution, Jack’s Mannequin.

This song has woken me up nearly every day for the past year. Originally a call to self-change, intentionality and hope, as the year progressed it became more of an anthem as Andrew McMahon from Jack’s Mannequin had perhaps intended it—an anthem of survival; and an ironic foreshadowing.

there’s a lot that i don’t know, there’s a lot that i’m still learning / when i think i’m letting go i find my body it’s still burning / and you hold me down, and you got me living in the past / somebody pick me up: somebody clear the wreckage from the blast.

Line two: “when i think i’m letting go, i find my body it’s still burning”. These were among the last words moving through my head as I was medicinally lulled to “sleep” with two IVs in my arm and a mask suffocating me, mere hours after being pulled off the ER bathroom floor and into resuscitation. These thoughts are the ones that reverberate in my mind: the survival is what has me preoccupied with rewinding these moments.

i’m alive, but i don’t need a witness to know that i survive / i’m not looking for forgiveness—i just need light, i need light in the dark as i search for the resolution.

There are very few songs that the next piece hits me as hard as the first: The Resolution is among that rarity. I’m not looking for forgiveness. As I’ve written about, guilt is not uncommon being sick. It’s not just recovering and getting back to life physically. It’s realizing that despite having no control, the things that happen to us as individuals affect many people around us. Figuring out how to shed that guilt—or decrease it—is huge.

I still need that light: I’ve found the physical resolution, but the emotional one is a harder obstacle to climb over.

and the bars are finally closed so i try living in the moment / till the moment it just froze and i felt sick and so alone: / i can hear the sound of your voice still ringing in my ears / i’m going underground, but you’ll find me anywhere i fear.

This—this is the aftermath. No longer being able to find distraction encompassing enough to escape the reality constantly following me—unlike most situations, I simply can’t take a step back from my own body. Every quirk, oddity, and even normalcy after having this fairly sudden resolution to months of medical turbulence can be extremely confusing.

it’s a long way back from hell / some stories i will never tell / and i’m almost home.

This resolution: it’s not a goal, a wish, a hope. It is a process. I am living the resolution.

Even If It Kills Me – Motion City Soundtrack

Simply the title of this track is really reminiscent of the medical aspects of my year, but it made it to the soundtrack sometime in late January at about four AM being the only sober person at a party. It was also sometime in the span of time I was having the psychoeducational assessment done. There’s a lot of aspects I can’t really speak to, but so many pieces were just very, very relevant.

i’ve got a lot of things to do tonight / i’m so sick of making lists of things i’ll never finish […] / since early 1995 all my shit has been in boxes / but if i had a little more time to kill / i’d settle every little stupid thing, yeah you’d think that i would. / but i’m too tired to go to sleep tonight, and i’m too weak to follow dreams tonight: for the first time in a long time i can say that i wanna try to get better and overcome each moment in my own way.

That last line was a big one: overcoming moments in my own way. Which once again became a really important thing to underscore after my ADHD/LD diagnosis.

winter is a killer when the sun goes down / i’m really not as stubborn as i seem, said the knuckle to the concrete.

i’m not saying that i’m giving up, I’m just trying not to think as much as i used to: ‘cause never is a lonely little messed up word—maybe i’ll get it right some day. 

i so wanna get back on track, and i’ll do whatever it takes: even if it kills me. 

 Feeling Good – Muse (cover)

I can’t paint the original picture of this song choice any better than May’s post: “There was a span of time that I allowed certain people to control my thought process, and I expended far too much energy on this–I struggled to let go of something that I had created that had become not what I had visioned and out of my control, trying to help people change who did not want to change. As soon as I was forced to let go of it . . . my life, my thought process, improved further in so many ways. And for that, I am grateful. Each day is new–and that makes me feel good.”

The new moment that unfolded, however, was when I had my final meeting with my former gynaecologist, the man who “oversaw” my care through three blood transfusions. I truly believe tried his best, but thank God somebody else’s best was better. 

it’s a new dawn, its a new day, it’s a new life for me: and i’m feeling good.

Because there’s something really kickass about running down three flights of stairs and barely being able to get your earphones in quick enough to make the moment complete with the right song about moving forward.

when the day is done: and this old world is a new world and a bold world for me. stars when you shine, you know how i feel.

yeah, freedom is mine, and you know how i feel.

Typical – MUTEMATH

Even now, as soon as this song comes on, I am quickly transported back to March as I wrapped the learning assessment process and got ‘the verdict’. Rather than deviating from the social typical, it was really about moving out of my own variety of typical—and, as I said to the accessibility services assistant Monday, “working with [circumstance] instead of against [it].” If anything, I just wish I had the process completed sooner, because I think it would have changed a lot of outcomes—but, maybe then it wouldn’t have changed me in the right ways either.

come on can i dream for one day, there’s nothing that can’t be done / but how long should it take somebody before they can be someone? / ‘cause i know there’s got to be another level / somewhere closer to the other side / and i’m feeling like it’s now or never: can i break the spell of the typical?

because it’s dragging me down / i’d like to know about when—when does it all turn around?

Workin’ It Out – Hilary Duff

This one, the cause for a deviation from a five-year Hilary Duff hiatus, was really about persistence and finding answers to questions, and how much that process, which really was defining of my year, sucks—while the implied theme is relevant, the lyrical mediocrity is quite unfortunate.

some days it all makes sense to me / some days i just don’t wanna know why. / i’m not giving up, no. / gonna stand up and shout it: no way / i’m not slacking off, or backing out, or cracking up with doubt: i’m working it out. / sometimes, i’m just surrounded by friends—sometimes we’ve never met.

That last bit about friends I’ve never met? Those are among the most important people in my story this year. I am blessed by so many amazing people who I only know through this crazy thing called the internet—who were among the biggest sources of support through the craziness I have made my through this year.

The Year of Discovery – Tess Dunn

A very fun, poppy tune, this is extremely reminiscent of my year: figuring things out, working with little new but more being uncovered, and taking time to trust the process.

so we’re calling it the year of discovery / but i haven’t found a thing / but don’t you worry, ‘cause i’m not far behind. / i’m not trying to keep up with the times, i don’t really see the point / the new year’s ringing loud and clear…

i searched the whole world to find all the missing pieces of me / but they were already there, not put together properly / i gave my all up and i hoped for something more / and even though everything’s missing, i’ve never been happier before.

there’s always something missing, can’t seem to put the pieces where they belong / but now for once, i don’t feel incomplete / this is my year of discovery.

I can’t say much more to it: it’s about finding answers to unasked questions and ending up more complete because of it—“she had answers to all the wrong questions / it’s funny, these answers are all that i need.” (caldecott tunnel, something corporate).

Caves – Jack’s Mannequin

This song, seven months later, can still actually be really tough to listen to. Eight minutes of piano, melody, and words that fit the feelings of those moments almost perfectly. I spent an inordinate amount of consecutive hours listening to this track on repeat in the darkness of the back corner of the emergency room, achieving little sleep between the atmosphere, my nurses taking vitals and changing my IV bags between blood and fluids, and the constant need to go to the bathroom induced by the Lasix and dragging my IV pump alongside me. Once again: my circumstances and Andrew McMahon’s were very different—but they both came down to anemia leading to treatment, being reborn by donors and doctors. And, the music being what pulled us through…

i’m lost somewhere in between alive and living a dream / no peace, just clicking machines […] the walls caved in on me.

 and she stings my arm in the night, i lay still—still i’m ready to fight / have my lungs, but you can’t take my sight. / the walls caved in tonight. / and out here i watch the sun circle the earth: marrows collide in rebirth […] / the walls fell and there i lay saved.

the walls are caving in as far as i can see / doors got locked for sure / there’s no one here but me / beat my body like a rag doll […]

 The words are deeply resonant: the piano solo is what was most explanatory this chaos at the time. In finding the resolution, however?

 i fought a war to walk a gangplank into a life i left behind / windows leading to the past, think it’s time i broke some glass, get this history off my mind.

 More didn’t hit me until September:

everything’s a piece of everyone. as far as i can see—walls are caving in, doors got locked for sure, but i see these doors have keys.

The blood of the donors that saved my life on multiple occasions? The cells may die out in four months, but my body’s physiological response to it lasts far beyond: I doubt I’d be alive right now without the beautiful people that chose to donate blood, and I cannot convey my thankfulness enough. This song, unlocking those doors, and connection—they persist beyond the hell I spent more than eight months climbing out of: I’m still on that journey.

———- 

Removed track: Stronger – Kelly Clarkson.

———-

i’m alive, but i don’t need a witness, to know that i survive, i’m not looking for forgiveness—yeah, i just need light, i need light in the dark as i search for the resolution . . . 

To be continued.

advocacy / health + fitness / wellness

“i’m moving forward now: the thought of a ghost brought me to life”

• by kerri

–i swear this place is haunted, a skylit drive.

It’s been four and a half weeks since I last blogged. Apparently losing a week of your life/near death experiences suck a lot more time out of life than just that one week.  For the record, I am staying more-or-less in-tact academically which is [very] surprising. I only needed to get one deadline pushed back, which was a deferral on my Sport in the Ancient World midterm. Six extra days to work through the things I missed meant I got a 78% on that test, which was much better than I’d anticipated even had I not gotten sick. I’m sitting at 100% in my Developmental Studies class (SERIOUSLY.) and got 63% on my Disability Studies paper (I am fully intending to argue that one).  As soon as I got back on my feet, I had to start drowning in school again. I had a full three days of all day work and nights till 3 AM on the two aforementioned papers that were the same week as the Sport in the Ancient World midterm was SUPPOSED to be (had my amazing instructor not granted my test deferral I’d have been screwed).

Other than academics, it’s been a hell of a few weeks. Two of the chaos producing things are so worth it: getting my Special Olympics season off the ground (six confirmed athletes, two unknowns, two coaches and five program volunteers: I need more athletes!) and planning a Team Asthma event for Sports Day in Canada. Things are fortunately falling into place but I now have five weeks to promote this event and get things off the ground. It never stops (thank God).  One of the two other chaotic things, however, was not anticipated and not a welcome situation, and I still have yet to figure it out.

I saw my primary care doctor two weeks after surgery. To say it sucked would be an understatement, and I am looking for a new doctor. To start, we discussed nothing much relevant to my post-surgical state–had I not been as angry as I was, I’m sure we wouldn’t have discussed it —at all. I went in and tried to stay civil, and asked about flu shots. Flu shots are civil topics of discussion. I then asked if she would refer me to Alaa, the doctor I saw at the hospital who did my surgery. Through the whole multitude of gynaecologic related shit, my gynaecologist had been very available and more than happy to see me any time I needed–what he wasn’t, was action driven. He also had the ability that is probably very helpful in dealing with pregnant ladies to make a person very calm (and perhaps he should reconsider a career in something like criminal negotiation because it’s near impossible to get mad at the man), which makes it a bit hard to get mad at a person. However, he also dismissed my questions regarding the fibroid, saying that it was small and shouldn’t be causing my problems. Considering under his care I received multiple blood transfusions, that in itself should be enough to warrant a referral elsewhere. It wasn’t, apparently. My primary care doctor refused to make the referral until she “receive[d] the pathology report indicating [I] need ongoing care,” but apparently I didn’t have to see my old gyn again if I “didn’t want to”.

This is where I lost it on her. “I don’t CARE what some report says, I WANT ongoing care. He was apathetic towards finding the root of the problem from the beginning, and even once it was evident refused to deal with it and book surgery until my mom called him. That’s not okay. This time I almost fucking died. I shouldn’t have to spend ten hours in the ER prior to going into hypovolemic shock less than two days after a blood transfusion, and require resuscitation before I get proper care. How is that acceptable? That’s absolute bullshit.”

That about ended the appointment. I can’t say she really responded to any of it, but it certainly didn’t get me a referral anyways. I briefly discussed the weird inspiratory pain I’d developed following surgery (I was betting and she agreed that it was just a muscle strain from coughing) and requested to go for a chest x-ray to rule out anything bizarre–honestly, she refused, and asked about pain killers at which point I lied and said I’d tried the go-tos (I’d really only tried Naproxen which did nothing), telling me “Take two extra strength tylenol every four hours for three or four days–if it still hurts, come back in and I’ll send you.” Seriously? Not going to happen. Why on earth would I OD on OTC pain meds for really minor pain?

I got a requisition for blood work, but I left without booking a follow-up appointment and hoping I never had to go back in there. I got a call the next day saying my hemoglobin was 93.  The downfall of chronic disease is I need asthma medicine to live–and I kind of need a dealer.

—–

Given the inability to secure a referral from my doctor, I called Alaa’s office myself the next day. I left a message not anticipating anything, explaining who I was, that I’d seen Alaa in the hospital and he did emergency surgery on me, that my primary doctor refused to make me a referral, and that I would really like to see him for ongoing care.

Two hours later I was shocked to see “DC OB/GYN” pop up on my caller ID, saying “Dr. Awadalla would be happy to see you for follow-up and ongoing gynae care.” I have an appointment on Tuesday.

I began the quest to find a new primary care doctor, which has been quite futile. I have a bit of a deadline of December 5th [when I apparently long ago booked a follow-up appointment] unless Alaa or my psychiatrist will refill my asthma meds for me (ADHD meds appointment with a side of bronchodilators?).

—–

Last week, after the appointment being pushed off for nearly a week, I saw my old gynaecologist. Ready to give the man shit except, damn, he’s too nice.

“So, they removed a fibroid, eh?” I told him he had certainly been informed of it.

However, he gets huge props for the fact that the second question of the appointment, which certainly made me soften a bit: “Is Dr. Awadalla taking over your care?” When I said yes, he replied “He’s a very good doctor.”

“Yeah, I really like him.”

At this point I had to start answering him in more than a few words. He, I swear to God, asked “Have I seen this ultrasound? Who ordered it?” I reiterated that he had seen the ultrasound as both myself AND my mom brought it to his attention. “A submucosal fibroid–in over thirty years of practice, I have never seen that type of fibroid in a young person–they’re rare.”

Then, he apologized.  He apologized more than once. If you are going to majorly fuck up despite being a kind and skilled person, there is no way you can fix that: a sincere apology, however? It’s as close as you can get sometimes. He told me once again “I’m sorry we put you through all of that”, and I could genuinely tell he did feel really bad about what had happened–what he had missed, what he had overlooked.

“I accept that. But the only reason I came in today was so that I know that you know exactly what happened: so that you realize a week after you told me I didn’t have to come back for six months I was in resuscitation for hypovolemic shock. It’s not okay: it may not be the typical, but it happened–I’m proof of that. So next time you have a young person in here, presenting like I did, please consider it. Because I don’t want anybody else going through the hell that I had to go through.”

With that, we left the room.  And I even said “thank you” on my way out.
I booked it down two flights of stairs, finally feeling free.
I dug my iPod out of my backpack, and scrolled through.
freedom is mine, and you know how i feel: it’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new life for me . . . and i’m feelin’ good.
feeling good, nina simone [muse cover]
Shuffle, ever appropriate, interjected:

but i am the reason that i will stay alive […] every now and then, i think about you: it’s bringing me closer to closure–every now and then i know it’s over. […] take everything you need and move on. we are the answer to the broken breaking through–take everything from me: ’cause i’m not dying, no i’m not dying today.

the energy, audiovent

Because never again do I want to be where I was.

the thought of a ghost brought me to life.

I was that ghost.

I’m moving forward now.

i swear this place is haunted, a skylit drive

Here’s to moving forward.

Again.

Always.

advocacy / asthma / health + fitness

making the invisible visible: 30 things. #iiwk13

• by kerri

I haven’t filled out the 30 Things About My Invisible Illness meme for a few years. [To be perfectly honest, and not to start any debates, but I actually am a bigger fan of the word disease than illness. But that’s another story–I feel like disease and illness are both states but illness often carries the connotation of “temporaryism”].

1. The illness I live with is: Asthma, anemia, uterine fibroids [and though not an illness, borderline ADHD]

2. I was diagnosed with it in the year: 2008 / 2012 / 2013 [/ 2013]

3. But I had symptoms since: 2008 / 2012 / 2012 [/ forever]

4. The biggest adjustment I’ve had to make is: Remembering to carry my meds with me.

5. Most people assume: That because the things I live with are common that they aren’t a big deal to live with.

6. The hardest part about mornings are: Making sure I have all the medical crap I need for the day organized [read: thrown haphazardly in my backpack]

7. My favorite medical TV show is: I don’t watch TV. But if I did, I still wouldn’t waste my time watching medical shit, I spend too much of my life dealing with it :].

8. A gadget I couldn’t live without is: Probably my iPod, not that it has anything to do with my asthma. [Though, it keeps the ADHD aspect of me organized :)]

9. The hardest part about nights are: Honestly? Remembering to actually go to bed at a proper time.

10. Each day I take __ pills & vitamins. (No comments, please) 7 pills–however, since my treatment doesn’t revolve around pills, I also take 3-4 inhalers and neb treatments as needed.

11. Regarding alternative treatments I: Am skeptical, outside of adjunctive exercise and balanced nutrition [something I need to practice more :)].

12. If I had to choose between an invisible illness or visible I would choose: Invisible.

13. Regarding working and career: I know that my asthma may change how I do things, but not limit what I choose to do! I’m very blessed to presently work in an amazing place with people who genuinely care about me–through a pretty bad asthma exacerbation last September, to like 3+ weeks (combined) off work through the spring and summer because of the anemia/blood transfusions/un-diagnosed fibroids causing me to bleed to death, my boss has never required me to submit a doctors’ note. How much my coworkers care is beyond amazing–we’re far more than coworkers :].

14. People would be surprised to know: I think there are a lot of things that people would be surprised to know about living with chronic disease, especially when you’re pretty young. I think it would surprise people that I very much work to hide my asthma symptoms in real life; I think it would surprise people to know how many [thousands of] times I’ve hidden in a bathroom to take my inhalers; I think it would surprise people to know how educated you have to be in this country to receive proper medical care.

15. The hardest thing to accept about my new reality has been: I’m not really sure this is a “new reality”. The reality is, I live my life with what’s thrown at me–and I think that’s what I’ve always done.

16. Something I never thought I could do with my illness that I did was: Really, I think I started tackling things after my asthma diagnosis that I never would have bothered with before. Simple things, but simple things that made me a better person. I think if anything, asthma made me more ambitious than ever feeling limited.

17. The commercials about my illness: Could not piss me off more. Take this drug and you’ll have perfect asthma control and frolic through the field of daisies with all of us in the Elusive Land of Perfect Control! I take three inhalers, 2-4 times per day, plus a rescue inhaler and nebs anywhere from zero to twelve times a day (on a bad day) and I still can’t run anywhere for very long.

18. Something I really miss doing since I was diagnosed is: Like I said, I live a much fuller life post-diagnosis. I can’t say that I miss living less ambitiously than I do now! So, I’ll go with breathing effortlessly.

19. It was really hard to have to give up: Once again, I say it all the time–“asthma may be a speed-bump but it’s never a road-block”. The only thing I really gave up was not having ridiculous lungs–and, I didn’t really have a choice in that, did I?

20. A new hobby I have taken up since my diagnosis is: Blogging, meeting people from the internet [ooh, dangerous! :)], exercise, and visiting my dear, dear friends at the pharmacy [kidding, dear God].

21. If I could have one day of feeling normal again I would: Feeling normal? I’m not sure I ever felt normal before I had all this weird stuff happening in my body–let’s be honest here, I’m rather strange :].

22. My illness has taught me: That I can choose how I define my own world.

23. Want to know a secret? One thing people say that gets under my skin is: “Oh, it’s ‘just’ asthma.” Yes, because BREATHING is not important AT ALL. “It’s all in your head.” Actually, it’s not–and I’ve got a copy of my methacholine challenge that proves that.

24. But I love it when people: Are aware of the realities of living with asthma, the variations of what “asthma” can mean and make an effort to be conscious of people with this disease.  Or… if they’re interested in discovering the above!

25. My favorite motto, scripture, quote that gets me through tough times is: I think there are a lot of them, but mostly they come in song form.

Watch the Sky – Something Corporate (“and i’ve been up for days / I finally lost my mind and then I lost my way / I’m blistered but I’m better–and I’m home. // i will crawl–there’s things that aren’t worth giving up, I know. / but i won’t let this get me / i will fight–you live the life you’re given with the storms outside / some days all i do is watch the sky // […] i think i could use a little break [but today was a good day]”), has been a big one through long nights of asthma and ER visits for the anemia. From my ER visits this year, the picks were

Caves – Jack’s Mannequin (“no peace / just clicking machines / […] / i lay still, still i’m ready to fight […] / the walls are caving in / as far as i can see […] there’s no one here but me / beat my body like a rag doll […] windows leading to the past / think it’s time i broke some glass–get this history off my mind / […] everything’s a piece of everyone.“),

Diane the Skyscraper – Jack’s Mannequin (“but I don’t have the energy / so she plugs my machines back in […] / i’d be lying if i said this was my plan / but we are all in this together / see i’m trying but i just don’t understand / why i can’t predict the weather past the storm.”) and

I Swear This Place is Haunted – A Skylit Drive (“Is there something beyond science going on here? / in the dead of fear, fear / […] this is the last winter–part of a change for better / I’m moving forward now–turn all of this white, the creature at night / you said it would never find out where I rest my head at night.”.)

26. When someone is diagnosed I’d like to tell them: Do what you have to do, stay–or become–active, make good choices, ask a billion questions, and own this thing.

27. Something that has surprised me about living with an illness is: How much my perspective on just about everything has changed. For the better.

28. The nicest thing someone did for me when I wasn’t feeling well was: Hands down, Medicine-X last year was full of these things. People there, my fellow ePatients, understood my prednisone induced crazy. They asked the right questions and made me feel like I was supported and cared about. My friend Steve checked in a few times a day to make sure I was okay and kept offering to drive down the couple hours to Palo Alto if I needed anything. It was overwhelming, and I felt like shit, and I really could not have gotten sick in a better place as unfortunate as the situation was, because people there got it. People at home have a harder time comprehending it.

29. I’m involved with Invisible Illness Week because: Just because you can’t see it–doesn’t mean it’s not there. I usually look–or can look–totally healthy, even if I’m not.

30. The fact that you read this list makes me feel: Thankful. That one person at a time, you and I can change our own perspectives . . . to change somebody else’s.

health + fitness / music

“this guilt feels so familiar” / “i need light in the dark”

• by kerri

My body has spent the last five months throwing curve balls at me.

Curve balls that are only really caught after they’ve already hit me hard, and the time of impact involves yet more to actually catch it.

A week and a half ago, I got to take my first break from the hormone pills, then start up again on the lower, normal dose. After three days off, and three days back on, I knew things weren’t stellar, but I was like look, your body has been through a lot in the last few months–let it adjust. So I called the doctors’ office on Monday just to be sure things were okay. His assistant agreed that it was probably a normal response, but she scheduled me a same-day appointment anyways.

I am thankful I went with my instinct and went in. I’m pretty sure I said about three sentences and my doctor immediately increased my pills back to twice a day for another two months, confirming my thoughts that we lowered my dose too early. Gave me the real lowdown–you might bleed through this whole pack of pills. We might need to do another D&C. Sent me to the lab for a CBC.

Gave me yet more reasons to trust him.

Trust is something I realized two weeks ago that I’ve been having a hard time with lately–trusting my own body, primarily, and trusting the people taking care of me. Every time I think something is getting better, things crash out around me–every time I think we are making a good treatment choice, things fall apart.  Because as much as this whole thing can mess up my body, it can totally mess up my mind, too.

I am ready to stop feeling like a grenade waiting for the next explosion. I am ready to not only feel like I can trust things, but like people can trust me. Because this last one? That curve ball hit me hard.  Even if totally irrational, there’s an overwhelming guilt that can go along with a variety of medical problems–and when my problems mess up somebody else’s plans–like it has done this time–this guilt feels so familiar.

I’ve discussed the 2013 soundtrack. Invariably, I put a song in there, and I let the playlist cycle through, washing me through all of the moments of this year. And this time, the guilt kicked in and I could barely get a new track in there fast enough.

The guilt, even over what I cannot control? I feel it..

i’m lost at sea / the radio is jammin’ / but they won’t find me / i swear it’s for the best / and then your frequency / is pulling me in closer till i’m home. / and i’ve been up for days / i finally lost my mind and then i lost my way / i’m blistered, but i’m better / and i’m home.

i will crawl / there’s things that aren’t worth giving up i know / but i won’t let this get me / i will fight. / you live the life you’re given with the storms outside / some days all i do is watch the sky.

this room’s too small / it’s only getting smaller, i’m against the wall / and slowly getting taller here in wonderland / this guilt feels so familiar and i’m home.

i think i, i could use a little break / but today was a good day. / and it’s a deep sea in which i’m floating–still i seem to think that i must crawl

there’s things that aren’t worth giving up i know / when you can’t bear to carry me i’ll fight / you live the life you’re given with the storms outside / some days all i do is watch the sky.

[today was a good day]

watch the sky, something corporate

I have yet to reach that good day in this round.

The thing is though, without trying I found hope three minutes later when the first song on the soundtrack cycled up. Light in all the darkness.

But this? This makes me know it is coming–cycling back to fresh beginnings . . . someday.

there’s a lot that i don’t know / there’s a lot that i’m still learning / when i think i’m letting go i find my body it’s still burning / and you hold me down / and you got me living in the past / come on and pick me up / somebody clear the wreckage from the blast

i’m alive / but i don’t need a witness to know that i survive / i’m not looking for forgiveness / yeah i just need light / i need light in the dark as i search for the resolution

and the bars are finally closed so i’ll try living in the moment / till the moment it just froze, and i felt sick and so alone / i can hear the sound / of your voice still ringing in my ear / i’m going underground / but you’ll find me anywhere i fear.

[some stories i will never tell… and i’m almost home]

and you hold me down.

the resolution, jack’s mannequin

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life / mirror mantra / music

“i don’t wanna waste another minute here”

• by kerri

I want things to be looking up.

All Time Low . . . is helping me do that.

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I found Weightless on my iPod this weekend. I can’t say I hadn’t previously listened to it, but I hadn’t previously focused on it. Essentially, I then put it on repeat, because oh my God this is so much my life right now.

manage me / i’m a mess. / turn a page / i’m a book / half unread / i wanna be laughed at, laughed with, just because / i wanna feel weightless, and that should be enough.

but i’m stuck in this fucking rut / waiting on a second hand pick me up / and i’m over getting older / if i could just find the time / then i would never let another day go by / i’m over getting old . . .

maybe it’s not my weekend / but it’s gonna be my year / and i’m so sick of watching while the minutes pass as i go nowhere. / and this is my reaction / to everything i fear / ’cause i’ve been going crazy / i don’t wanna waste another minute here.

make believe / that i am pressed / that every word, by design, turns a head / i wanna feel reckless / wanna live it up just because / i wanna feel weightless, ’cause that would be enough . . .

if i could just find the time / then i would never let another day go by / i’m over getting old . . .

this could be all i’ve waited for. / and this could be everything, i don’t wanna dream anymore. . .

maybe it’s not my weekend / but it’s gonna be my year / and i’ve been going crazy / i’m stuck in here . . .

weightless, all time low