03/29/2021 09:57 PM  it started with a pepsi truck. CW: overdose, suicidal ideation, suicide attempt It starts off small. The fleeting image of me jumping from my spot on the curb, into an oncoming Pepsi truck speeding down the 160. I might not feel anything; if by some miracle I live, I’d at least get away from the world for awhile, but I don’t even think I’ll have to worry about that. The 160 doesn’t stop for anything, and even though the speed caps at fifty-five, everyone goes closer to seventy unless you want the guy behind you the bird and swearing at you through his window while he speeds around. “You good?” Sydney asks beside me. I finally realize I’ve been stuck daydreaming. The Pepsi truck passes without incident and I find myself mourning the lost opportunity. It only comes by every two weeks. I furrow my eyebrows at the question, then shrug it away. Am I good? “I was just thinking about the test tomorrow.” He doesn’t believe me. I can tell by the way he squints his eyes, but he lets it slide. “You, with test anxiety?” He takes a drag off the cigarette we’ve been sharing, then passes it to me. He’s prodding. We both know it has nothing to do with the test considering I’ve proudly admitted to not turning in a single assignment in the past. I take a drag off the cigarette, buying myself some time. “Weird, right?” Is all I can come up with. It comes up again two weeks later. Me, Sydney and all our friends sit on top of the water tower in the dead of night, sharing a bottle of whiskey Tom stole from his dad. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s everything. While they’re all talking and playing and laughing, I’m watching myself jump over the ledge - over and over, head first. I’d never have to feel outside myself again, sitting in limbo while everyone else was laughing and having fun. I’d never have to wonder whose couch I’d ask to sleep on because my mom locked me out of our hotel room again. “Casey! Dude.” I must not have heard my name the first time, or maybe even the second. They’re all staring at me. I take one last look to the bottom of the water tower, my safe space, and then back to my friends waiting for a response. Why do they scare me more than the cluster of boulders below us? “What’s up?” “You drunk already?” Tom teases me. I’m not, but he is. “I think he needs to be drunker,” Sydney remarks. The way he smiles at me weirds me out. He keeps eye contact way too long - so long I have to look away, but I can’t run. I’m cornered, so I take the only option I can think of. I mourn another lost opportunity and reach my hand out to Tom. “Sydney’s right, stop hogging it all.” Later while we’re all sprawled out across Tom’s living room, Sydney asks if I’m okay. I’m too busy watching the ceiling spin around to answer at first, but when I finally realize he actually asked, I just shake my head. “I’m really screwed up.” What started out small and fleeting eventually becomes a getaway, a safety net, the mattress at the bottom of my window ready to catch me every time I fall. Pretty soon, it’s hovering behind me, ready even if I stumble a little - even the tiniest trip. When I get called in the middle of class for a question I don’t have the answer to. When two guys on the football team shove me down the steps in front of everyone. When I spill something on my shirt or stumble on my words in front of the wrong people. It’s always there waiting for me, yet when I finally make the plunge - when I finally dive into the mattress, I don’t know how to feel. Scared. In disbelief. These pills are taking their time and all I really feel is nauseous. I can’t stop crying, but I don’t know if it’s because I’m uncomfortable, if I’m scared it’s not working or if I’m scared of dying. I didn’t think it’d hurt so bad. The Pepsi truck would have been been instant. My chest hurts so bad I can’t breathe. I’m nauseous, but my body is too heavy to move even the few feet to the toilet. I’m stuck in limbo waiting. Crying still. I’m so tired. Everything hurts. The door flies open. I thought I locked it. There’s a dark blob right in front of my face. I can’t understand what it’s yelling, but I know it’s yelling at me. I know it’s yelling at me, but all I can do is stare. Someone’s crying in the background. I’m crying too. I’m so tired. I feel my body lifted off the ground, but I know it couldn’t be me. It’s so heavy? Something keeps tapping at my face, left cheek, then right. I can’t raise my voice to object. The black figure gets replaced by a really bright light. Then nothing. The nothingness doesn’t last. I don’t know how to feel. Scared. Betrayed; I jumped into the mattress, yet I’m still here. My safety net changed its mind. I missed my chance. My grandparents are crying in front of me, asking questions, but I can’t speak to answer. Why didn’t you tell us? Because you’d have saved me. Was it something we did? No. Was there something we could have done? Not find me. I just shake my head. A nurse comes in and gives them the rundown of my condition. I’ll make a full recovery. I can’t go back to school and she’s handing them a list of mental health facilities nearby. She finally turns to me when she realizes I’m awake. The way she’s able to smile like I’m just a person on the street while I’m literally laying in a hospital be weirds me out. “How are you feeling, Casey?” I’m mourning my lost opportunity. I’m so tired and everyone’s staring at me, my grandparents hoping for some kind of miraculous emotional turnaround, but I can’t muster a lie even for their sake. The Pepsi truck would have been instant. “I feel pretty screwed up.” 0 Comments

03/18/2021 01:03 PM  don't cry for me. Memories of Rick’s party came in the form of faulty snippets he wasn’t sure actually happened. Following Rick and a few other people back to the room. Running around in the backyard, yelling about how bright the moon was. Goofing off in the kitchen and busting his knee. That had to be real because he still couldn’t walk right. Throwing up. Throwing up a lot. Randy coming to find him after he finally crash-handed in the bathroom. Making shapes out of stains in the ceiling like some screwed up version of cloud-watching just before his alarm went off. If someone told Casey it was all a dream, he might believe it if not for the relentless throbbing in his head, the annoying stinging sensation in his sinuses. The fact that every muscle hurt almost too much to move, but somehow not enough to skip out on another day's pay for. “Casey! I need that silverware, honey!” Casey hadn’t noticed he’d just been standing there, staring into the sink, the dishwasher having completed its cycle some time ago. Who knew how long? The kitchen crew snickered in the background while Diana stood behind him with her hand on her hip, eyebrows practically to her hairline. “I wanna have time to roll some before we get a pop!” She was a long-time server. She’d probably been waiting tables longer than he’d even been alive, but she still went crazy any time more than one party entered at the same time. With only two booths occupied, she could still be heard all throughout the restaurant, warning everyone on-staff that they were getting busy, but the rush she warned of never seemed to happen. “They’ve been done, yeah.” Casey mused, then turned to the dishwasher, opened up the lid and handed her the caddy. “Sorry.” He expected her to scurry off without a word like she usually did, but instead she paused. The way she looked at him made him want to disappear, never to be looked at by anyone ever again. His eyebrows furrowed as he opened his mouth to question her, but she spoke first. “You okay, honey? You’re awfully pale.” “I think that’s just my face.” Casey glanced to the side - really just trying to avoid looking at her. “Nooo, don’t give me that. You really outta call off if you’re sick.” “Then you’d be out of silverware, right?” Randy chimed in from his station at the grill, which only seemed to rile her up more. “You know, I ended up hospitalized once because someone decided to come to work sick. That’s not funny.” Casey shrugged her off. “I’m not sick, Diana, I promise,” he insisted, narrowing his eyes at Randy’s failed attempt to help. “I just didn’t get much sleep last night.” Casey was sure he’d hear about the interaction later on, but Diana was too busy to pursue it any further. She took the caddy and left, and as expected, the rush never came. “You feel alright, kid?” Randy asked him later on a smoke break. Casey was already tired of that question. Randy’s sudden concern unnerved him. “Yeah…” He pulled his knees up to his chest, staring out into the alleyway, watching people pass back and forth. “You’re not supposed to care this much, you’re supposed to be laughing at me.” “Laughing at you?” Randy raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. Or like an I Told You So or something.” Casey took a long drag off his cigarette, then snuffed it out on the ground beside him. “You don’t have to worry, I’m the one who screwed up.” “Eh, it’s just I should’a been lookin’ out for you. I know what it’s like to be laying on the bathroom floor feeling like you’re gonna die.” “I don’t need you to look out for me.” “Still, I feel bad you’re here to make something of yourself and I let you do that.” “I let me do it.” Casey leaned his chin on top of his knees, eyes falling on Randy.“When I really do die, then you can feel bad. Deal?” “When?” “I’m not changing it.” Casey looked out at the opening again. “Stop trying to protect me, I can look after myself.” 0 Comments

03/18/2021 01:02 PM  where's the kid? “Where’s the kid?” The question circulated mostly in passing. It wasn’t that no one cared, it was that they were all too drunk themselves to carry on a search for him, although it wouldn’t have taken long in Rick’s house. Nestled deep in the outskirts of Los Angeles, it was really only made for one person, not the twenty occupying the living room. Rick’s house only had two other rooms: the bedroom, which no one was allowed in unless Rick was in there, and the bathroom. The cycling question was allowed to come and go three times. On the forth, it was Randy who finally rose from his spot on the ground near the coffee table. “I’ll find ‘im, he’s probably passed out somewhere.” And he was, or at least he was close to it. He seemed to be at least partially awake, probably contemplating the decisions that landed him there. “Oh no.” Randy snorted a laugh at the sight of Casey curled up near the bathtub, only because he made zero attempt to hide his disgust with the place known the first time he’d ever been there. “You f***ed up, kid.” Casey had no rebuttal beyond a sluggish middle finger, outstretched arm trembling in his attempt to hold it up. Randy had seen him drunk before, but never like that. There was no telling what other people were offering him, and Randy knew him well enough to know he’d say yes to just about anything. “I was wondering how long you guys were gonna talk about me before you actually came in here,” he finally muttered, covering his face with his hand. Randy could see only a sliver of his face - enough to see him smiling. “Should’a heard the sh*t we were saying while you were actually passed out,” Randy remarked, sitting down near him, looking over his face. Maybe it hadn’t been the best idea to introduce Casey to Rick, or Rick’s outrageous parties, though Randy knew if he’d told him he was too young, he’d have argued. He actually hated being called kid, despite it becoming a nickname among them all. “You think you had too much?” “No?” Casey insisted, rolling onto his back, his arm still draped over his face, hands idly fidgeting like he was trying to make sure they were there. “I’m just resting.” “Right. On the moldy floor you made fun of.” “Ch’yeah. Karma or whatever, right? I don’t take it back, this is the grossest thing I’ve ever done and you can tell Rick I said that.” Casey let a heavy breath through his nose once he settled down again, his body squirming around in a failing attempt to get comfortable there. “I feel like I’m gonna die.” “Hey, not while I’m babysitting you,” Randy teased, but quickly simmered down when Casey didn’t laugh. He didn’t look much like a kid, laying on the ground, drenched in sweat and on the verge of passing out, but he was. He shouldn’t have been there. “Sorry I dragged you here, kid. Maybe this was a bad idea.” Casey smiled again, shaking his head, remorse apparently lost on him as he simply mumbled “Stop calling me a kid.” 0 Comments

09/26/2020 11:48 PM  drabble; oblivious. “Do you have anything to say?” Swallow it back, even if it hurts; even if it burns the entire way down, swallow it back. Sitting in the passenger’s seat, staring out the window, Casey is guilty as charged and he and his mother both know it. There’s nothing to say; there’s no defense, or at least not one she’d buy into. She seems to be having fun playing the victim — the mother in distress over her wayward son. She’s shaking her head, slapping her hand against the steering wheel, huffing. Waiting for him to explain himself, but he shows his refusal by avoiding looking all together — avoiding speaking. He’s sitting beside her, picking at his nails as a distraction. She says she can’t believe he’d embarrass her like that, but really, he assumes she’s just mad he ruined her date. “Casey?” Casey shakes his head, leaning his shoulder into the window. Trying to create as much distance as humanly possible without launching himself out the passenger door, although he doesn’t discount it as a backup plan, and maybe even spends too long entertaining it. What would she do if he went through with it? “No, I have nothing to say.” “You could have gotten hurt.” Casey shrugs, folding his arms. “I didn’t get hurt.” “You’re damn lucky you weren’t expelled, you know.” “No, you’re lucky I’m not expelled. I really don’t care.” “You don’t care that I have to take time off work to watch you? I don’t get paid for that, that’s dinner.” “No one said you have to watch me, mom.” Casey rolls his eyes, focus locked on the window. He’d never admit it, but the idea of spending three days at home with Jennifer genuinely terrifies him. “You act like I did it just to mess with you.” “Sure as hell feels like it sometimes when every time I turn around, you’re getting into trouble. Fighting, really?” “Ch'yeah, I’m totally gonna pick a fight and lose ‘cause I know it’s gonna piss you off. You’re totally right.” “Jesus Christ, Casey…” Jennifer shakes her head. “You done?” “Are you?” She slams her hand on the steering wheel again. He doesn’t look.“Unbelievable. You know, I really don’t know why you hate me so much…” At that, Casey’s jaw tenses, a burning sensation ignited in his chest, spreading outward. Either she’s playing dumb or she really doesn’t get it, and he can’t figure out which is worse. “I could honestly ask you that same thing.” 0 Comments

09/05/2020 12:22 PM  drabble; fresh wounds. cw: domestic abuse based off this piece. Neither can brave the house, but they can’t break the silence either as they sit together on the front porch. Their house is no longer theirs, no longer a place he even recognizes, yet he knows he’s supposed to be gathering his things from inside. While the mission is clear, it’s daunting, the weight of it pressing down on his shoulders, making it even harder to stand — harder to speak. Casey takes a long drag from his cigarette, stalling. Sarah stares out into the street with tears in her eyes, and while he’d usually reach out to brush them away, she’s off limits. An invisible barrier, composed purely of grief and spite, both separates them and simultaneously unites them. He can't stay away from her, or ignore her when she calls on him, despite everything that happened. “I didn't think you were gonna come.” Sarah finally breaks the silence. “I didn't want to,” he admits. “So why did you?” Casey shakes his head. The hope of normalcy was too much for him to ignore, but normalcy has become another phantom limb; gone, yet he can still feel it there. Gone, yet still clings to it in spite of its absence. “I wanted my stuff,” he teases. It's too much to explain and he already feels silly enough. “Wow. I’m sure tabloids would have a field day if they saw this, huh?” Sarah tries to joke, pulling her knees closer to her chest, wiping her face. Casey rolls his eyes. “Ch’yeah… not like they aren’t probably already…” “Yeah…” Sarah bites her lip. “Sorry.” Casey shakes his head. “I deserve it.” She doesn’t say anything. They go back to staring into the street, watching cars pass. Casey tosses his cigarette and finally prepares to stand up so he can start packing, but Sarah’s voice calls him back. “I hate you…” His eyebrows furrow. It feels like something’s caught in his throat. “I think you’re such an a**hole for what you did, but… I wish you’d stay…” She scoffs at herself. “I know it’s weird right now — I mean, you have Christian anyway, but I don’t want you to leave.” Casey stares at her, his lips pursed together. He doesn’t have the heart or ego to tell her he and Christian broke up too. He doesn’t think she’ll care anyway, and in fact, she might find satisfaction in it. “We both know I can’t stay.” “Because of him,” Sarah assumes. “Because I can’t, Sarah.” They both stand at the same time. “Sorry. You probably think I’m a total idiot, huh?” Sarah whispers, folding her arms over her stomach. He shakes his head slowly, running his fingers through his hair, a heavy sigh through his nose. “I don’t think that at all…” “Well, I think I am… you obviously don’t love me, you proved that, but I wish you still did.” Sarah takes a few steps closer, leaning her head on Casey’s shoulder, causing him to freeze. There’s a small part of him that suspects she’ll punch him in the gut next, but she doesn’t. Neither of them move. Time stands still. His whole body is about to double over in pain. “I wish we could just pretend for a bit that none of this was going on,” Sarah mutters into his shoulder. How many times has he said those exact words, but not to her? How many times had he leaned against Christian and asked him not to talk about it? ( — Hold me and forget the black eye. That’s not a part of my life that exists right now. ) And yet, when faced with the same request, he can’t do it. The thought of pretending — the thought of hanging on, of desperately grasping at such frail strings, has him sick to his stomach. Casey takes a step back, shaking his head. “I need to go.” “Wait —.” “No, I really need to go.” Casey holds a hand out as he makes his way down the steps, though he softens when their eyes meet. As messed up and sick as he is, he can’t even imagine what it’s like to be her. While he softens, Sarah’s face turns to stone. She shakes her head, looking away from him. The tears from earlier return, making tracks down her cheeks once again. “Go ahead then.” “I’m sorry. Let’s talk some other time, okay?” “Whatever, just get out of here, Casey.” Sarah starts back up the steps. “Eventually, you’re gonna have to come get your crap before I throw it out.” “I know.” Casey finally turns his back on her and starts toward the car. The front door slams just behind him, loud enough to make his ears ring. Sarah would never believe it, and he doesn’t have the heart to say it, but he wishes he could forget about it all too. Every single part of it. 0 Comments

08/16/2020 02:49 PM  drabble; cold shoulder. christian's pov. “I almost thought you were never gonna talk to me again,” Christian teases. The comment seems to go unnoticed entirely, Casey's face completely flat as he continues loading equipment into a large truck docked behind the venue. “Kinda hard to work together if we don’t talk, right?” Things are weird and Christian knows very well why. The tour, while wildly successful from an outsider’s standpoint, has been an endless supply of confusion and awkwardness, and Casey — rather than face it apparently — opts to give him the cold shoulder while attempting to process it. Christian wants to understand, tries to give him his space, but can't stand being treated like an enemy. Being treated like her. “Dude, what the hell?” He finally snaps, reaching out to grab Casey’s shoulder before he can walk away. “Casey —.” “Don’t.” Casey immediately smacks his hand away, but as quickly as his flame erupts, it simmers and he recedes a few steps back, running his fingers through his hair. “Don’t, okay?” Christian backs off, but can't bring himself to drop it entirely. “What’s your problem?” “What do you think?” Casey leans his back on the truck, arms folded over his stomach as if to put as much of a barrier as possible between them. ( How is it so easy for him to block himself off when Christian can't stay away from him? ) He catches Casey’s eyes start to glaze over just before he turns his head away. “This whole thing is totally screwed up, dude, you know it is…” “I mean, hell yeah it’s f***ed up, but it was both of us who did it, not just me, so I wish you’d quit treating me like I’m some kinda creep or something.” Casey shakes his head, rolling his eyes. “I told you we should talk about it, and you said you didn’t wanna think about it anymore, and that you just wanted to forget home for a bit. I didn’t think that meant you were just gonna blow me off forever.” “I told you I needed some space, I don’t know why you’re acting all surprised right now.” Christian is usually the number one advocate for Casey's sass, but not when it's turned on him. “Space is one thing, you’re just being cold at this point.” Casey shakes his head again. “I don’t like feeling like I was just a distraction to you and literally nothing else. And I definitely don’t wanna feel like you think I was making you do anything.” Christian's heard all about Sarah pressuring Casey into things, guilting him into things. The idea of being lumped into that makes him sick to his stomach. “I don’t feel that way at all…” Casey mutters. “I don’t feel that way at all and that’s the problem, so I need to like… stay away from you for a minute.” “That’s what you want?” Why did that hurt so much, even though he knew it? Casey scoffs a little. “No, it’s not what I want…” He comes in closer finally, and though he doesn't unfold his arms, he leans his forehead on Christian’s shoulder. “It’s REALLY not what I want, but you’re right, I need to figure this out.” Christian resists the urge to bring his arms around him for fear of being shoved away again. Instead, he folds his arms too. “Sorry, Chris.” Casey lifts his head, but still can't look Christian in the eye. “I didn’t mean to get you involved like this. You weren’t just a distraction, and that’s exactly why I have to figure it out, okay?” “I get you, man...” “It really wasn’t meaningless to me, okay?” Christian can't help but smile. “Unfortunately, it wasn’t meaningless to me either.” “You always said I was a trouble-maker, right?” Casey smiles back, rolling his eyes, then turning to lock up the truck. “C’mon, we gotta go.” Christian watches as Casey takes off toward their group. He's astonishingly able to turn it off like their conversation never happened, and even starts laughing with Jacob, but Christian isn't so sure he could do the same. He’d said back in the hotel room that Casey should figure it out without thinking about what he might do if the outcome wasn’t in his favor — without thinking of losing him. If he’d known, he might have savored the night more, though he instantly spites himself for thinking that. Maybe he has some things to sort out too. 0 Comments

08/16/2020 01:21 PM  blog post; normalcy. BLOG POST | normalcy. Hello. Been awhile. Maybe a little too long, eh? Enough time for people to start worrying and speculating, but I promise I’m okay! I’ve been thinking a lot about normalcy the last few weeks -- about how, in all this, I keep saying “when things are back to normal” but what is normal? In my life, normal has never really existed. My childhood was not unheard of, but definitely atypical. My career, my marriage, and even my own struggle now with sobriety and mental health ( let’s not even mention my sleep schedule, that's for another blog… ). If I were to define MY normal, I would say that it’s absolute chaos. I’m used to unpredictability, to survival, to erratic schedules and erratic relationships. So, I guess, the “normal” I’m dreaming of when this is all said and done is not one I’m even very familiar with. The “normalcy” I’m referring to is actually just stability? But the thought of that almost scares me a little. In a weird way, I think chaos has become my security blanket, and when I’m unsure of things, I run to it, because it’s what I know. It’s what I do. It’s… Casey? So, how do you break out of that and redefine yourself without feeling like you’ve lost what makes you, you? Without this chaos, who am I? Maybe I’ve grown a little too comfortable in my disheveled persona, and maybe that’s why this has been such a roller coaster for me. I know -- boo hoo, woe is me, right? I’m still moving forward the best I can. The last few weeks haven’t been easy ones. I’ve seen all your Tweets/messages/etc. about my trip to Vegas. Please don’t worry, I’ll be okay. We’re excited about our next event for AMT, as well as some details about our upcoming album ( we’ve teased about it long enough, we know ), and with a new album of course comes a new tour. Stay tuned! For those who need it, my comment section and inbox are always open for you to discuss anything and find someone who might be struggling in the same way you are. They’re a safe space to find support, comfort or anything else. I can’t promise that I, myself, will be able to respond to EVERYTHING, but I’ll do the best I can. Thanks for reading. ’Til next time. 0 Comments

08/16/2020 01:20 PM  drabble; i wish. A signature, a name, a handshake, a thank you, repeat. Signature, name, handshake, thank you, repeat. After so many times, you begin to work yourself into some kind of groove, or maybe even a trance, or another dimension in which it’s the only thing required of you. Faces are mostly unfamiliar and even blurry, though there are a few you come to recognize as they travel from show to show. Most of the conversations run together, save for a few questions that spice things up a little, and in most cases, put a smile on your face. A girl wants you to talk to her friend on the phone. Someone makes you something really amazing that you and your merch team never thought of. A birthday card. Flowers. Snacks they heard you mention in an interview a thousand years ago. Most of the time, signings are my favorite part of the job. They’re my favorite until they aren’t - until something catches me so off-guard, I literally hear tires screeching in the back of my head. The tour had been difficult ( that’s putting it nicely ). It was my bright idea to bring Sarah along with us in the hopes that maybe a little time away from home might lift both our spirits, but all it really did was expose the Hell we’d been living in to everyone close to us. I was sure whoever was unfortunate enough to occupy the rooms on either side of us hated our guts, but they could have never hated me as much as I hated me - as much as I hated her. “Did you fall down again?” Was the question that yanked me out of my trance, dragging me back to reality by a rusty hook. I could feel the pain of it deep in my chest, but I couldn’t say anything. This wasn’t like the time I drunkenly asked my friend to punch me. It wasn’t like the hundred times I busted my ass on stage before. “Someone’s gotta wrap you in bubble wrap or something.” I should have laughed and gone along with it like everyone else was, and in my head, I was screaming at myself. It wasn’t the joke that was unexpected, but my inability to process it, brush it off like nothing, lie - literally anything but sit there staring. I really was losing it, wasn’t I? Faster than I could scrounge up something to say, my eyes started watering. My mouth hung open. I saw the girl look back at her friend for some kind of reassurance, maybe distraction. I got a sudden mental image of me stalling Sarah in a rampage long enough to guard myself in bubble wrap. She was off somewhere else with her friend, but if she’d been nearby and heard it, I wondered if she'd have frozen over like I had. The staggering absence of normalcy between us finally bled into every single aspect of our lives, even our designated safe spaces, our getaways. I wished I never invited her. I wished the split in my lip really had been another instance of me being the band klutz. I wished I could speak. A hand on my shoulder finally snapped me out of it. Jacob was looking at me with his eyebrows furrowed, mouthing “you okay?” but I couldn’t readily answer him either. Not at all. I looked at the girl again. She was flustered too, bright red, looking like she wanted to get the Hell away from me, but I still had her CD. I shook my head, took a deep breath and picked up the marker after what felt like hours to me, so I couldn’t imagine what it felt like for her. “Sorry. What was your name, did you tell me already?” “It's Alaina. Um... sorry.” “Please don’t be.” I handed the CD back, trying to smile, but it was glaringly obvious the encounter was ruined for both of us. What was wrong with me? “Thank you for your concern. I’ll have to look into the bubble wrap thing.” I was really losing it, wasn’t I? 0 Comments

08/16/2020 01:20 PM  drabble; we're not friends. “You’re not gonna eat that either?” The question came after a long, infuriating silence, in which Casey and their new house guest spent staring each other down from across the table ( mostly Casey, Ben seemed rather oblivious ). The constant mental image of Ben wandering the apartment in a towel, using his toothbrush as if he lived there was enough to kill Casey’s appetite for the next five years if not more. It was as if he were slowly trying to shove Casey out, down to taking over his possessions. Wanda had yet to mention his little stunt at the store apparently. That, or Jennifer didn’t care, since he got caught anyway, the toothbrush conundrum going unsolved until he felt like bringing it up, which he didn’t. In the back of his mind, he contemplated waiting it out for awhile. A two-dollar toothbrush wouldn’t phase her, but an enormous dentist bill for her kid’s rotting teeth might do the trick. “When did you start hating my cooking so bad?” Jennifer went on. She was trying Casey’s patience with her Visiting Jennifer act, and even more annoying, Ben was buying into it, smiling, eating like no one was watching him. Ben injected himself into the conversation with an ear-piercing laugh without even swallowing his food, smushing Casey further into silence, pushing him out little by little. “My little girl used to be like that too. One week, she loved broccoli, the next we couldn’t even have it in the house. Asked for lasagna every night, then decided she was a vegetarian on a whim. At twelve!” “He’s not suddenly vegetarian, he’s just being a brat.” Jennifer rolled her eyes. “Where is she now?” Casey finally piped up. Ben’s eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?” “Your little girl — where is she? Shouldn’t you be hanging out with her?” “Casey!” Jennifer snapped. “I’m just asking. He keeps wanting me to talk so bad, that’s what I wanna talk about.” Jennifer slammed the palm of her hand into the table, but quickly retracted when Ben started laughing again, halting both of them. “Whoooa, easy, now. You still upset about the toothbrush? I said I was sorry, kiddo, I thought it was an extra. I got you a new one.” “I don’t care what you thought, you don’t live here. You can’t just walk around here in a towel, you can’t just use peoples’ stuff. Stop laughing!” “Enough.” Jennifer held a hand up, then pointed at Ben. “Quit laughing at him. You, quit being a brat. Eat your dinner. Apparently it got taken care of, so just knock it off.” Even though Ben stopped laughing, he was still grinning. He wanted to laugh and Casey could tell. To Ben, he was just a ridiculous kid throwing a tantrum. “It’s not funny,” he snapped. “It’s gross.” “I wasn’t in my right mind,” Ben admitted. “A little too far on the booze, you got me. But hey, we can still be pals, right? I said sorry, I made it right.” Casey shook his head, shoving his plate a few inches away from him and standing up. “We’re not gonna be friends.” “Casey, really?” Jennifer glanced at Ben, then up at Casey. She looked more exhausted than furious. Part of him was satisfied to wear her down first when it was usually the other way around. “Do you have to embarrass me in front of everyone who comes to visit? You know what, no, never mind. Go to your room if you want to so bad.” Sometime later, Casey found himself outside on the curb, knees pulled to his chest and chin leaned atop them as he watched cars pass back and forth along the street. He didn’t want to be inside where Jennifer and Ben were. Even having to hear them was making him sick. If he had the guts, he’d have run off and never looked back. How far did the sidewalk go? And the road after? And the road after that? How far could he make it before he passed out from exhaustion or worse? What did he really have to lose? “There you are.” Ben’s voice came from behind, but Casey didn’t look. “Your mom seems pretty convinced you ran off somewhere.” “Yeah, here.” “So, my kid lives out-of-state with her mom.” Ben came to sit beside him. Casey scooted an inch or so away to keep the gap between them as large as possible. “That’s what you wanted to know, right?” Casey shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter anymore. I’d rather know why you thought it was cool to use a toothbrush in a random house.” “Hey, like I said, wasn’t in my right mind. We all make mistakes, right?” “Well, that’s a pretty big mistake.” “I know. I didn’t know there was someone else in the house.” What was worse: the fact that Ben was drunk and decided to use his toothbrush? Or that Jennifer forgot to even mention he lived there, leading Ben to believe it was free game? “Let’s start over, what do you say?” Ben proposed, holding out a hand, but Casey remained hugging his knees. He shook his head slowly. “You should really just get out while you can, dude. Even if you don’t, we’re never gonna be friends.” 0 Comments

07/18/2020 02:08 PM  blog post; looking to the future. BLOG POST | Looking to the future. I’m sure in about a month’s time, you guys might be sick of seeing these, and maybe I’ll even get sick of writing them. But for now, here I am with another. I appreciate the kind responses to my last post. To everyone who left comments or even reached out personally, I appreciate it. To those who used it as a platform to speak about your own experiences, please keep doing that. Maybe together, we can create a small web of resources or support. If you find solace in that, then I do too. This week’s been a little weird with everything being set into motion again after what feels like the longest, most obnoxious pause in the world. At the beginning of last week (not too long after my last post) I was diagnosed officially with clinical depression. Before I say another word, let me just clarify that me disclosing this isn’t an attempt to get myself off the hook for any mistakes. It’s not an attempt to garner sympathy or explain myself. It just is. For me, it was equal parts terrifying and relieving. On one hand, there’s a whole list of steps that take place after this; on the other, I finally have something to reference and link back to. I finally have some clarity about what I’m going through and feeling -- what I have been going through and feeling for years now. Maybe this isn't the perfect analogy, but it's kinda like a name-to-a-face feeling.  The past couple months, if nothing else, have been extremely humbling. I think maybe I needed to be brought back down to Earth a bit, although I could have done without the crash landing. I have seen some people saying I’m faking it, or that I’ll go on this adventure again if I get into trouble again. That’s okay. I can’t control what other people think and I won’t waste the time convincing those who only wanna see one image of me. I regret a lot of the things I’ve done. I absolutely regret having to go through a lot of this twice because I screwed up the first time, but I can never regret being real. Fake is something you’ll never get from me, even if it exposes something ugly from time to time. That being said, one thing those people are right about, is that this might not be the last ugly thing you see from me, and that’s okay. Because humans weren’t designed to be only beautiful and nothing else. They weren’t designed to be perfect and these necessary flaws help us learn from past mistakes, both individually and as an entire community. With all our broken pieces, we can create something both flawed AND beautiful together. This has been the most difficult thing for me to learn. Anyone who knows me at all knows how worked up I get when something doesn’t go quite right in the studio, or the sound is off on stage. I’ve had to let go of a lot of that, and learn to embrace just going with the flow, and frankly, I still do a sh*tty job at that. Small steps. Anyway, I kinda got off-track, so if you’ve made it through my tangent (or many tangents, honestly), I do have some exciting updates. I haven’t shut up about it, so most of you know the Summer Break Sessions are kicking back up on the 15th. I’m stoked to announce this will be the day we will have a date for the new EP, but even further than that, we will have some details on another new project that we think you’ll be pretty excited about. I have also been working on growing a personal endeavor of mine that started years ago. If you’re familiar with Another Man’s Treasure and wonder whatever happened to it -- well, it’s undergone quite a revamp. I will have details to share on the 15th as well. That’s it. I think I’ve rambled long enough now. If you chose to read this, I thank you. Can’t wait to see you all again. 0 Comments

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