Writing Through the Pain: Rage, Sorrow, and the Spaces in Between

Follow the tunes for the Exit sign

They were drinking coffee, eating ice cream, walking dogs, eating sandwiches, drinking Guinness, and listening to music. They seemed so…normal, almost careless. And I wanted to be them. I wanted an exit through the pain.

When I’m really down, I can’t force myself to turn on the music. That’s when I know it’s really bad. At the same time, I cannot take the silence either, but no tune seems to be hitting the spot. The problem is not the music, of course. It’s me, and the feeling of being completely out of balance. And the tunes are always so perfectly aligned, so in order, that they just remind me how out of order my own mind is.

Usually, when I finally feel the impulse to turn something on again, that’s the moment when I know the pain is ready to leave me alone eventually. It will do the final kick and take time for its graciously dramatic, slow-mo exit.

And this time, it came after the first beat, together with the wave of intense rage. I took my headphones and typed “Sleep Now In the Fire”. The first few beats felt like the warmest kiss on the forehead. So sweet and comforting that it made me tear up, which was a clear sign it was working. The beast was ready to release me from its suffocating hug. I was ready to start breathing again. The exiting has begun.

Were you dancing salsa that day?

“Crawl with me into tomorrow

Or I’ll drag you to your grave”

Oh, I really wanted you to crawl with me into tomorrow, and I really wanted to drag you to your grave if you don’t.

You didn’t.

So the rage soundtrack kept going–Slipknot, Deftones, Korn, more RATM… Anything that screamed with me. I wanted to scream to the world, yes. But more, I wanted to scream in your face and make you look me straight in the eyes while I do it. Just like you did when you fucked me.

The river kept flowing, the trains kept departing, the clouds kept rising and dissolving, the tap kept dripping, the washing machine kept spinning, the tennis balls kept bouncing, the neighbours kept chatting...

They seemed so…ordinary. And I wanted to be them.

The second beat was harder to handle than the first one. It came with the feeling of deep sorrow that slowly pushed the rage out. I was tired. Tired of pain, tired of being strong and composed and understanding, and just tired of all the shit that forced me to be that way.

I felt fragile. And I wanted to be held and soothed.

“Bleeding, I’m bleeding!

My cold little heart

Oh I, I can’t stand myself”

That was when the mellow voice of Michael Kiwanuka with his Cold Little Heart sneaked in, seeing off the rage soundtrack.

And then the waiting. More waiting. Not sure for what anymore. The relief?

Yeah, it never came.

Were you playing your guitar that day?

“…In my heart, in this cold heart

I can live or I can die

I believe if I just try…”

The third beat launched me into a limbo space. It felt like I was floating in space. I could hear a very high-pitched beep sound in the far distance. I knew that was not where I wanted to stay. I wanted to go back where the music was playing. I wanted to go back to where people were dancing and singing, where trains were departing, where the rivers were flowing, but I didn’t know how to get there. The limbo didn’t have exit signs.

“I would definitely do it if I only knew I wouldn’t be stuck in limbo. But the fear of limbo prevents me… It feels too scary. Scarier than this.”

I heard words spoken years ago on a balcony by one of my friends, whom I lost contact with. He made it sound like a joke, but I knew he was dead serious.

He was right. Limbos are pretty damn scary.

Were you playing video games that day?

I don’t know how long I was there, but I know I saw the stars.

When was the last time you saw the stars? I remember. It was in Guatemala.

The soft light of the stars collapsed into a flashing crimson glare. The high-pitched sound dissolved into rhythmic beeping. A bloody red streak bled over limbo’s edge, directing me towards the exit sign.

Finally, my friend’s voice snapped me out, and it sounded better than any tune I would have chosen for the moment of my comeback. The pumpkin soup she made tasted like something from heaven.

Did you order Jamaican food that day?

The days were passing, people were pretending everything was ok again, cats were mewing, dogs barking, roses kept blooming…

They seemed so lighthearted. And I wanted to be them.

The thing about a place like Dublin is, you feel life around you all the time. Even when you are numb. The stubbornness of people with a deeply troubled past always prevails. Even when you are hiding from the world in a dark room, you feel the impulses of life.

You hear buses stopping, friends chatting, bike brakes squealing, cars honking, garbage trucks emptying, rain falling...

So I knew the river was there, a few steps away, and I knew its shore was filled with people having fun and laughing. I knew that life outside my room still existed. And it felt wrong, unnatural.

One cloudy day, I decided to go out just to check. To check if it was really there. To check if I could feel something, anything, when the sun touches my face, when I see reflections of trees in the water, when I look at the sky and see birds flying.

Did you stand on your balcony staring at the sky that day?

I put my headphones back on and typed “House of Mirrors”. Maybe they, All Them Witches, will summon something from deep inside. Something that will make me see colors again. They should. I knew they had the power. But I didn’t know if I had the ability to accept it, like my receiver was broken.

The world looked exactly as I left it. The river and its flow were strangely seductive, its reflections provoking. I kept walking and walking by the shore of the Liffey River and with the push of bluesy grooves, soon entered a blissful meditative state.

That’s when I started to see colors. That’s when the shattered fragments of my soul started falling into place again.

The album cover is bloody red, just like your profile picture. Just like the picture I took the night of our first date, just like the sweet pain that started to exit my body.

It will take time, I know.

Did you look at your step count that day? How many?

…

I also knew the train ride would have a soothing effect. Soon after we took off, ‘I Am the Beyonder’ transported me somewhere beyond my reality.

“I’ve got the right to see the black and purple stars out of the sky, tonight.

And I’ve got second sight to learn to know what’s hiding deep inside, to die.”

The little town we arrived in had a gloomy aura that perfectly suited my mood.

We strolled, ate, I bought a book, we strolled some more, we skipped stones at the beach... I smiled when one of my stones made four splashes.

My friend gave me a high five.

“Keep that one, you’re gonna be grand,” the nice lady in the uniform said a few days earlier, referring to my friend. As she saw tears in my eyes, she handed me a roll of toilet paper.

It was perfect, because I felt like shit.

Did you ride your bike that day?

We barely knew each other, my friend and I, when, some fifteen years ago, we ended up traveling together to Dublin with a couple of other friends.

“If back then we went to the tarot lady, and she told us we’d be here again fifteen years later, bonded by extraordinary circumstances, would you believe her?”

“No way.”

The train slipped into the lush green scenery once again, the couple next to us was eating Pringles and giggling, the rain started drizzling…

I let the rhythmic clatter of the train on the rails be the soundtrack for the way back, as I disappear into the seat. A few moments in, and my mind drifts away again.

What if none of this is actually happening? What if I’m still stuck in that limbo, looking for the exit sign?

I guess I’ll just keep following the sound of music…

What was on your playlist that day? Did it echo my pain? Did you feel it, and look away?

“I did all I can do

To make my peace with you”