Category Archives: Loss

The Scars that Bind Us.

Posted by MaskedSanity on

Since I’ve started (somewhat) regularly writing entries here, I’ve often talked about how music has gotten me through so much of my troubles. I’ve spoken about the friendships that I’ve forged through concerts and message boards related to bands. This entry is going to be another one of those, and while it may repeat things that I’ve said before, it may also go a little deeper.

I’ve had a concept for this entry in my head for a long time. I pretty much knew that I would be writing it for this month’s entry. But, between the time the concept originally popped into my mind and now, a pandemic hit. I thought about putting this concept on hold and writing something else, but then I realized that what I’m going to say may be even more important now. So, please bear with me as I attempt to flesh out this idea.

Of all of the bands that I listen to that have lyrics that have impacted me the most, Katatonia and Life of Agony are at the top of the list. Their lyrics generally deal with depression, anxiety, despair, desperation, and other topics in the misery range. I’ve been listening them both since the 1990s. Their shows aren’t just concerts for me, they’re experiences.

What is the difference between just a concert and an “experience?” Well, the best way that I can sum it up is this. In 2016, I attended various days of a local music festival. Clutch played there on Friday, Life of Agony played there on Sunday. I ended up going to Radio City Music Hall on the Saturday in between to see Opeth, it was a long weekend. But anyway…
The person I was with at that festival on Friday and Sunday made a comment to me after Life of Agony’s performance. She asked me “What was that?” I didn’t quite understand her question, so I asked her to clarify. She said “I saw you watch Clutch on Friday and I saw you just now with Life of Agony, and you were totally different.” I told her that I go to see Clutch to have a good time. I go to see Life of Agony to “let it all out.” I don’t know if she understood the difference that much, but once I said that, a lot more things made sense to me about those experiences. Clutch shows have more of a “good times” and “party” vibe to them. Life of Agony, Katatonia, Paradise Lost, and other other bands’ shows are emotional experiences for me.

Going back a few years earlier, at another Life of Agony show, I had a moment that I can only really describe as an epiphany for me. This particular show took just a little more than a month after the death of Robin Williams. The reason that’s significant and sticks out in my mind is because of two people that were with me at the show. The day after his death, I wrote a blog entry. At the time, it may have been the most emotional entry that I had ever done. It was raw and unlike most of my entries, published without much editing.
Just minutes after hitting “post” on that entry, I received a text from a friend. She told me that she had just read the entry and started telling me about some of her own issues with depression and self harm. She asked me if she could reach out to me when things got bad. Minutes after that, someone else sent me a message letting me know about her own issues with depression and also asked if she could reach out to me. Of course, I told both of them yes.
How do these two people and Robin Williams tie in to a random Life of Agony show? Well, it’s simple. There was a moment when I was watching the concert when I was standing between the two of them at a bar in the venue. I was the only person that realized how strange that was, because up until a few minutes before that, those two had never met. I did not tell them about how they both texted me within minutes of each other, but I did enjoy hearing them both praise me for being a good friend.

During that show, Life of Agony played one of the songs that is usually in their set list, “Weeds.” For some reason, that song never really did much for me, until that day and that moment. The first line of the song is “If tomorrow never shows, I want you all to know that I loved you all, you’re beautiful and I had myself a ball.” Because of where I was mentally and emotionally at that point, as I sang along with that line, I got choked up.
The band ended the show with what was their (and still should be) traditional closing song, “Underground.” That song is about members of society being cast out, and coming together to positively express their emotions. I remember looking at the crowd during that song and realizing that the people in the crowd are MY people. There’s a good chance that I didn’t personally know 98% of the people in the crowd, but it didn’t matter. We were all there for the same thing.

The people at that show, the fans of the band, we come from different backgrounds. We’ve had different life experiences. We have differing views on life. But for the 90 or so minutes that Life of Agony was on stage, NONE OF THAT mattered. And at that particular show, at that particular moment, it started to sink in.

As the Coronavirus pandemic spread through the world, concerts and other events started to get postponed or canceled one by one. There were two Life of Agony shows that I was planning to attend that have been postponed. Of course, that bothered me, since it’s an outlet for me and because I’ve made some great friends from their shows, and at this point, those friends include band members and their families as well as the crew members of the band. But, as the virus spread, I was glad to see the shows not happen. I would rather not see the shows now and have everybody be healthy than have them happen and not ever be able to see some of those people again.

Katatonia, who I once drove from New Jersey to Cleveland to see, and then from Cleveland to Montreal to see, did an online concert a few weeks ago. I knew I would enjoy that show, but I had no idea how much I would enjoy it. I watched it from the comfort of my bedroom. I had the lights out in the room and the concert was being streamed on my TV. From the very first note, I got chills and tears were flowing as I was happily singing along to some of the most depressing songs that I’ve ever heard. I was also texting a few people that were also watching the show and having similar experiences. And the friends that I was talking to during that time live in various parts of the country. But, that wonderfully miserable band brought us together. Some of us even joked that it was “our first Katatonia show together” since we’ve never actually attended any of their shows together.

Now, how does all of this tie together? That’s simple. Sometimes, none of our differences matter. When we’re at those shows, we’re with friends. Some of those friends are more like family to us than our actual relatives. We’re all hurting. We’re all there with our own demons and issues. We’re there to forget that for a little while. We’re there to let our aggression out. We’re there to hear every voice scream. We’re there for the words and music. We’re there to see beyond our darkness. We’re there for the message in the music. We’re there because the scars that bind us brought us there.

It’s very possible that we won’t see any shows in person for a while. But, as I said before, I’m okay with that if it means we’re all healthy. If I go to a show and someone that I expect to be there is missing, I want to know that they’re not there just because they couldn’t get to the show. I don’t want their absence to be because they’re not with us anymore.

At some point, concerts will resume. I will see you again. This will all end, we will overcome and we will be able to scream those words, together. And for that brief time, just like the words of the Allman Brothers Band, we can “leave our blues at home.”

Still My Guitar Gently Weeps

Posted by MaskedSanity on

I lost my mother 10 years ago today. That sentence is even harder for me to believe than it is to type. We’re all currently going through a time in which days and weeks blend together. Yet, I remember almost everything about that day 10 years ago. And as I’m sitting here right now, a lot of it is coming back to me. I know what was said in the morning before I went to work. I remember where I stopped for breakfast and what I had to eat. I remember where I was when phone calls started happening. I remember the exact look of the local highway as I was driving back to my house. I know that I can keep going, but I think the point was made. I remember that day very clearly.

I knew that I was going to write an entry today. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, probably months. I kept going back and forth in my head about what I should say, what I could say, and I would say. It’s a very complex topic. Not just my mom’s final days, but her life, and my relationship with her. There’s things that I’ve never publicly spoken about. Was this finally the time that I was going to do that? Well, the answer is no. It’s not just that I don’t want to say some things, but I really can’t. My anxiety is through the roof as I’m typing this.

My typical blog writing process starts with me coming up with the concept, when I have one. It’s usually two or three days later that I’ll finally publish the entry. But, that’s after a lot of edits and possibly entire re-writes. I purposely didn’t do any of that with this one. I’ve always wanted it to be raw and emotional. But, as I’ve already said, my anxiety levels are shooting up. They rose any time I thought about what I would write.

Yesterday, I logged in to my site and I re-read my entry from five years ago. I realized that entry said almost every thing that I wanted to say today. And, it included something that I wrote 10 years ago. And honestly, it’s really all that I need to say.

My mother was very complex. She did what she thought was the best things for her kids. Whether they were or not is open to interpretation. But, we are who we are because of her. Not just because of her, but partially in spite of her and despite her.

So much has changed over the last 10 years. There’s been more loss. There’s been some wonderful additions too, in particular my nephew and my niece. The world is different than it was 10 years ago. I’m different than I was 10 years ago. I would like to think that I’m in a better place than I was then, and I would like to think that my mother would approve of where I am now, but would I be where I am if she was still here? I’m going to do myself a favor and not think too much about that question right now.

What is posted below is my blog post from July 8, 2010. It was originally posted on MySpace. At the time it was published, it was the most personal and “real” blog entry I had ever written. Also, at the time it was written, I was not very comfortable talking about me. I had not ever seen a therapist about myself and kept most of the my emotions to myself. And I certainly did not talk about my mother. The entry is a bit vague in detail, but it did what it needed to. As I’ve said, one day I may touch on certain subjects, but until I feel that I can (at least publicly), I believe this is the best way for me to handle it today.

Thanks for reading…

My Guitar Gently Weeps
July 8, 2010

Being that my birthday falls in the beginning of July, I see my year split into equal halves. I’ve discussed this in previous blogs. I’ve also discussed how I usually get very reflective during this time of year. I look back on the year and try to figure out where it’ss gone and then figure out where I need to go. For the past two months, I’ve been more reflective than ever. I’ve not just looked back on the last six months, but I’ve looked back on 34 years that I had with my mother.

I lost her at the end of April and it’s been a rough few months ever since. I’m not going to get into details about the circumstances, as I don’t feel the need to do so. As a generally private person, I feel there are certain things that should remain private, so that’s what I’m going to do here.

For almost 34 years, she was here with me. For almost 34 years, I had a meal waiting for me every day. For almost 34 years I knew what I was coming home to. And since the end of April, I don’t have any of that.

One of the things I’ve noticed about my memories of my mother is how perspective on them has changed. Many of the things that had negative thoughts associated with them have been pushed aside and positive thoughts are prevalent now.

My mom and I were both die-hard New York Yankees fans, but didn’t go to games. She spent a great deal of her childhood in the Bronx and went to countless games at the Old Yankee Stadium when it was in its original form. It tore her heart out when they renovated it in the 1970s. She often told me of the tears she shed while going past it on a train and seeing the walls being torn down. She was pregnant with me on April 15, 1976 when they had the grand opening of the new Yankee Stadium. The changes were so severe that she never wanted to go back. While I was always a bit upset that she didn’t want to take me to games, her stance on the ballpark helped to create my old school baseball purist mentality. For those of you asking why my dad didn’t take me to games, well, he grew up in a National League/Yankee-hating household, so it wasn’t an option.

When old enough to go to games on my own, I finally did. I managed to see some good ones too, including David Cone’s Perfect Game in 1999. Ironically, my mom was originally going to go to that game with my sister, but the heat was too much for her that day and she backed out. Her not going allowed me to go.

2008 was the last year the Yankees played in that particular building and I told her she HAD TO go to a game with me at that place. There were no options. On April 6, 2008 we finally attended a game together. It was a chilly Sunday afternoon game. We saw the Yankees beat the Tampa Bay Rays, 2-0. The score of the game was not important to me, all that mattered to me was that I finally got to a game with my mother.

And a little side note, the Yankees have since moved to their new stadium, and I haven’t gone to it. I wonder where I get that from.

While we didn’t agree on many things musically, there was one artist that we always agreed on, Dion. She grew up in his neighborhood, and kind of knew him from the town. While she was more of a fan of his early doo-wop stuff, I liked his late 80s stuff and the blues albums he did over the last few years. We got to see Dion perform in 2009. I knew it was going to be a special time, but I had no idea how special it was going to be. The smile I saw on my mother’s face that night was amazing. She had been brought back to her childhood and the more simple things that go along with it. He played all of his classic songs and told stories of the neighborhood, and my mom was hooked on every word. It was seriously one of the best things I had ever seen, she was overwhelmed with joy.

Ironically, my mom often said I go to too many concerts and didn’t think I needed to see the same band over and over again. Dion was playing in our area again a day or so after the show we saw and she had thought about getting us tickets to that show as well, but unfortunately for us, it was sold out.

Obviously, there was a lot more to my mother’s life than the Yankees and Dion, but they played a huge part of her life. It’s all about her time in the Bronx, and one those two particular days I was able to bring her back to things from her childhood, and what I saw in her face those days was just magic to me.

I’ve had to learn a lot of things very quickly over the last few months. Things that I probably should have known earlier, but didn’t need to know, since she took care of them. Things like cooking and how to properly take care of our birds. I think I’m doing a decent job adjusting to that. The cooking part will take some work, but what I’ve done so far has been good.

Another thing I learned, and again, I probably should have realized this before is just how incredible my friends are.The support they’ve given me during this time has been downright amazing. They’ve greatly helped me get through my days and provided me with a great outlet when I need it. But should it surprise me? That’s what friends do. I just hope that I can be as good to them when it’s needed as they’ve been to me.