Ache

Ache.

And I know it’s a worldly ache.

Ache. I know it’s wrong.

In the sense that I could calm the ache with your words and yet I am here on the internet, yet again – this addiction is boring, honestly. It is so old. It’s gotta be old to read about.

Hey you! Who do you think you are? Do you think you can just come in and thrash around again, making me wonder about you again? I am a tender human being. You must know this by now. All my upper internal organs, you know, the heart, veins around my heart, and whatever else is in there, are burning because of you. When this feeling reaches my stomach I’m gonna have to call off work because I will be too sick to move. You have the water to save me but you just stand there, letting me burn. And you know I’m burning. You know that I am! But you just let me here, killing myself!

Do you think you’re allowed to do that? To destroy me, to let me destroy myself? That is some painful stuff. You don’t know how powerful you are.

And I don’t know how powerful I am. I know I do this same thing. I could make a list of 20 people I have burned and are still burning because of me; maybe in some small way, some in bigger ways, and yet, I leave them, and they cross my mind, and I put them out, because I am guilty, and I am scared, and I don’t want to go there, because I don’t have it in me. And that’s probably you too and I know that, you are probably guilty, scared, nervous, and put off because I am so clearly needy and broken. I know I am too demanding with you. You have that effect on people. Do I have that effect on people? Or is it the other way around… Are the chased just the catalysts for the needy’s neediness, and they are in fact the ones in the wrong? Ay, what a mess.

When I step back and look at this mess we’ve created, I understand why you run. I would run, too. Righting these wrongs would take a brave warrior and we are both scared little puppets with too much power for our own good. And we are so insecure. I may scare you away if you ever try to put me out, and that’s why you are afraid.

And the thing is…

You’re probably right. And if you’re not right, the best we’re gonna get is a false-pseudo relationship where I am left not getting what I want: you, your approval; and you are free to move on and forget all the guilt associated with

me.

Well, you person I will not name, that’s what it comes down to. I will give you my approval even though you have stepped on me with your silence. My forgiveness will be whole even though I will still be sitting here patching up the bruises on my heart for a long while, and even though you could stay and help, and you won’t, I won’t hold it against you. Because if I truly loved you, that’s what I would do.

If what you want is freedom, I will gift it; it will make my life no less messy, but you will be free.

Sometimes you just gotta do the right thing through gritted teeth. Hopefully I will get to patching up the wounds of all the people I have pulled in and pushed out, but that is a trash heap of miles high. And it is for another day.

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When You Were Young

I was strumming the few chords I know on my guitar and it made me want to write. Zoning out guitaring turned into getting all nostalgic turned into wanting to write. That’s all I want out of life really.

C-D-G, C-D-C… C. D… probably C again… I know how to make my guitar make sounds that make me feel happy (as happy as I’m able anyway) and sad. This is a breakthrough in my life. Slow happy and sad switches are nostalgia noises. Really some quality contemplating music.

A scene at a bar, about 15 people. Old friends who sat at the same lunch table in high school but barely talk anymore. Beer. So many old faces with slightly new lines, slightly older faces and different hair; some with tattoos and jewelry. Everyone looked the same but different. Older.

It made me want to step into a time machine and revel in the glorious carefree oasis that is High School. I kind of wanted them to all look the same so I could really sink into that history. But it was good enough.

There was lots of catching up and one of my old and quite familiar classmates perfectly responded to my informing him that I was learning the guitar:

“That one’s a long time comin!”

“I know!”

“You just gotta learn those chords.”

“Right, the chords.”

Short, sweet, so simple. But for a quick, confusing second, I was really happy that he responded that way. I wasn’t quite sure why his statement took me back a moment. But now I understand: this guy knew that I had wanted to learn the guitar since I was 14. Because he knew me when I was 14. A little piece of the history of Samantha Anne Blount Panicacci remembered randomly in a bar. I felt special and somehow more real.

It is really very precious to have someone know who you were when you were young. It makes my heart ache. To have the little old quirks about you remembered. It’s like you get to see a forgotten piece of yourself when you’re around them.

How precious to keep friends around that you had when you were young. But how seldom it happens. How vacant a feeling. Maybe not everyone feels this way. But how could you not?

And I just keep strumming. Happy and sad chords.

And I know this is not something people usually admit, but I’m just wishing I still knew my old friends from high school. I wish we could all get together and hang out and get along and have 12 year old pool parties again. But I’ve cut so many ties and have broken so many things. And I wish so many things. I didn’t know what I was doing in High School as I ruthlessly thrashed around through drama and other petty things. I wish I wouldn’t have done what I did. I wish I could still know those that I have “moved on” from. How can you move on, when you’ve spent K-12 with someone? Replace them? No one can replace the memories created when I was young!

These people hold a special place in my heart, and I miss them. I love all the people in my life now, but they will never know the 11 year old Sam who beat up boys, 12 year old tomboy Sam, 13 year old Sam who sat on her Gamecube all day, 14 year old sexually confused perfectionist Sam, the 15 year old just-getting-into-boys Sam, 16 year old rebellious Sam, 17 year old track star Sam who really loved pot, the 18 year old Sam who had just started cutting. Among other Sams.

I don’t like the idea that “you’ll lose your friends you had in high school.” It might be true, but I don’t like it. I don’t think the mentality is very good. Because if you can keep those people around, it’s so valuable, and I don’t think we were designed to be okay with so many broken relationships. And my heart feels like it’s missing a place where some of those people should be. And I’m so thankful for those people that I do still keep in contact with.

As Baz Luhrmann says in one of my favorite “songs?” of all time, Everybody’s Free (To Wear Sunscreen), “Understand that friends come and go, but for the precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle because the older you get, the more you need the people you knew when you were young.”

C-D-G, C-D-C… blah. Sad.