Almost A Year Ago

Almost a year ago and I'm fine.  Tonight, Toney and I are shooting pool while my favorite songs are blasting away on the stereo set up on the fairly large table against the wall.  Toney's ridiculous radio was a bit much for his bedroom, but it makes for a perfect party stereo in the game room.  And listen to that... game room.  It sounds so wonderful to say out loud.

We shoot pool on this newly felted 8ft Brunswick pool table given to me.  It fits perfectly in the game room, right in the center with nothing but space for any angle shot.  The new washer and soon-to-be replaced dryer sits behind, while on the side is a hand-me-down couch from my uncle.  The black cabinet holds up the 40 inch flat screen for football games, Jersey Shore, or marathons of whatever Kardashian show is on.  And, let us not forget about the man-fridge.  

Almost a year ago, things were so much different.  It's hard to imagine, yet so familiar and recent in memory and emotion.  I still hear songs and smell scents that bring me back to last October.  Now that was surreal.  3 and a half years of being with someone and one night, she leaves to live with some guy who was on the other side of a pros/cons list with my name on it... just like that.  Then I slept alone, in a bed made of hearts.

It was like the movies.  You know, the part where the gun shot kills all sounds but a high pitched ringing noise...the movie goes into a bit of a slow motion and all chaotic commotion can only be seen and felt, but not heard.  It was like that for a while.  I woke up, showered, brushed my teeth, put on my work clothes, looked at my reflection in the mirror and the marks from the CPAP Mask that temporarily remained on my face, and floated to work.  Days passed, and my appetite was nowhere to be found.  I played the role of Steven Brolin in the movie of every day, but when I was alone, I left my character and sat there, watching myself in the third person.  

I began to critique myself.  I took notes and studied myself.  I saw things I liked, and of course, I saw things I didn't.  It became a class of sorts, where I was both the teacher and student.  I read the chapters and understood the history, the science, and the logic.  I could relate to it all, but what I learned I cannot teach anyone else. But, I did teach myself and from that moment on, I started to hear noise again. 

The dramatic chaotic scene with the high pitched noise, well it subsided to the sounds of foot steps hitting the asphalt at Audubon Park's 1.8 mile track.  I began to hear myself breathe too, at a fast, drastic pace.  Then, a fast heart-rate came into the audio... beat, breath, stomp stomp...  it was a beautiful song of progress and a return to normalcy. But, there was nothing normal about where I was headed, because the man that was running was no longer playing the part of Steven Brolin.  He was Steven Brolin, but the role changed.  

Almost a year ago, I left my former self behind at that asphalt track.  He was miserable and alone, floating in life where everyone pulled the strings.  His family steered his direction, and his short-term desires provided the momentum. Yet, he had no destination.  He never planned for the future because he lived for now.  Let me rephrase that.  He didn't live for now, he lived for them.  When she left him, she cut the biggest string that pulled him, and when that string was cut, the tension it had on him released at such an intense rate, he shot forward faster than he could realize he was moving.  That broke the rest of the strings in itself.  It was amazing to watch, and unbelievable to live. 

It hurt, but it was the pain of progress.  It hurt at the threshold of pleasure.  I ran until I couldn't and I timed myself each run.  I saw myself get faster and faster and I started to get less and less tired. So, I pushed myself  further.  The pain in my heart healed relatively quickly.  The holidays did break the wounds over and over again, as memories of the past Thanksgivings and Christmases were mixed in with the present sight of her fighting to bring other guys into her family who missed me and wanted me back.  

I cannot allow myself to forget the pain I felt.  It was so intense and chaotic.  It halted all sound and jolted my soul into a new direction, one where I controlled my direction and momentum.  It was such a painful feeling, I had no other choice but to break free.  Much like a stick of dynamite moves rock, I was moved.  I saw things I had never seen, and suddenly was able to live my role, and not just play the part of a man in a role.  The movie ended and life began.  

Almost a year ago I didn't value my life.  I was ready to buy a ring for a girl that I was fine with giving my life to.  I didn't care about her cheating on me or being with me for sheer convenience.  It didn't bother me that she felt that she was too good for my "uncooth" family.  I didn't care about me.  That string was pulling hard and I needed the dynamite she provided when she left me for a guy with 2 kids, another guy with tattoos on his face who lived with his grandfather and had no job, and a life of utter uncertainty and wreckless endangerment to her mental and physical health.  A bipolar person should not be left in that state, but she didn't want me to father her any longer.  She wanted freedom from me and a life behind chaos and danger.  

But, oh how refreshing the air smells and the water tastes today.  The sun has never been brighter and the food never tasted so delicious.  Almost a year ago, I didn't drive a beautiful car.  I weighed 275lbs and relied on pills and machines for every day health and wellness.  I had no long-term goals and desires.  And, I was stuck in the quicksand.  Almost a year ago, I didn't sit outside to enjoy the moonlight in the back yard of my beautiful house in a beautiful neighborhood where I don't have to lock my door at night.  I would have never sat down on a late Friday night, motivated to write a blog on my iPad about how I'm living my life as if I meant it, and I'm loving every breath that I am given.  

Almost a year ago never felt so far away until tonight...