By October, I’d started at Nashville State Community College. I picked a lot of general classes, and enjoyed going to a class where I could focus on the work instead of being depressed or thinking about Nell. I hadn’t seen her for over a year, and it gave me some room to put those feelings aside, at least for the moment. My focus was in psychology so that I could help others with selective mutism, but I was also thinking about becoming a dentist (for the money).
After the fight I had with my roommate, I wanted to prepare myself for the next time I would need to defend myself. I got a book by Bruce Lee from the library to learn out of. It was called Bruce Lee: The Tao of Gung Fu. This book affected me a lot. It was written by Bruce himself on his views on Chinese martial arts. He said too much focus on tradition and rigid rules were ultimately very limiting. For example, many martial arts have dance-like exercises to show off forms of punching or kicking, but in a real fight these aren’t very useful because your opponent is not there to dance with you.
I searched for a martial arts school in my area, and I found one called Practical Black Belt Academy. They looked up to Bruce Lee as much as I did. I was able to put the things I learned in the book to practice. It was an engaging and happier time for me. I loved the dojo, which was a small gym with mirrors around the walls and foam rubber mats on the floor. The punching, the kicking, the weapons training, the grappling… I loved all of it and especially enjoyed the people. There were around four guys who were all very easy going and were eager to train and learn as much as I did.
Karate was offered as a class at the college. I enrolled in the class, but it just wasn’t the same as the nights at the dojo.
After the Austin debacle, I’d lost my confidence in my music. I decided to put it on hold until I got the rest of my life sorted out. In the meantime, I joined a community choir as a tenor. There was an eclectic mix of people from all walks of life, and I adored everyone. There was a calmness about my life now that I appreciated, but ultimately I knew that I’d eventually have to deal with my issues, which were bubbling beneath the surface.
Oct 22, 2009
Remember the good times. At least that’s what they say. What if there were no good times? I’ve never been very comfortable with that elusive feeling happiness. Lately I’ve been wondering what happened to all my good memories. Has it just been so long that I can’t recall any, or are they being blocked out? Every time I try to salvage my childhood memories, I end up remembering a horrifying moment of my life — some depressing detail that I wish I hadn’t conjured up. Spankings, blowouts, anxiety attacks, spirit-crushing events… more importantly the feelings embedded within the memories: fear, anger, hatred, sadness, confusion.
But every kid has emotional imbalances sometimes. What I didn’t get were the good feelings to balance them out. Pride, joy, love and friendship… these are things that are foreign to me even now, so that I’m left with nothing but bad memories.
There’s no need to travel so far back in time. A flip through the last few pages is a painful reminder of how crappy I must have felt. I don’t want to even think about it. It’s all in the past.
The past. We are who we are because of our pasts. And unless we face it and deal with it first, it’s always going to catch up to the present. So what am I supposed to do?
Ashley went into surgery two weeks ago. I didn’t get her email until a week later. I probably would have driven to see her. If only I’d gotten it sooner! If only I’d known. I only knew her through the internet, but the tears I cried were real. She was my friend. And now she’s gone, though I still check my email every day hoping she was just too sick to reply sooner. But I know better. Hope is for the weak-minded people who can’t come to grips with the reality.
Why do people have to leave? Am I going to be alone forever? Ashley was my glimmer of hope — the light in the darkness. Amused was happiness. Happiness is dead. Hope is dead.
I got an email from Ashley one day. She was going into surgery, but she had some other complications and didn’t think she’d make it. I read her email too late and never got a chance to say goodbye to her, which is often the case with death. It doesn’t care if you’re ready. Neither does life. But knowing that didn’t make it hurt any less to know that she was gone.
At the same time, I was blessed to have known her. Initially I was deeply upset over losing a dear friend. However, I soon realized that the best way to honor her wasn’t with grief, but rather by remembering the strength she symbolized to me — the choice to keep your faith in love and happiness in the face of despair.