4 strings that sing

It sucks that past crap comes to haunt us later in life.

My feelings of being unlovable come from deep memories of a time that deserves tears.

I'm not sure why it destroys us when our parents split, but it does.  My question is though, why do we have to find ourselves in the same predicament that proves repeatedly how abandoned we really are?

I did this.

I attracted only those who were bound to hurt me.  I needed to feel pain over and over again to relive those feelings that I couldn't possibly be loved.

If I was loved, then my deadbeat dad would sober from his drunken stooper, put down the heroin and return.  Wouldn't he?

I played with the devil.  Those who were like the machines that helped me replay those tapes.  I would be left alone with tears of confirmation that were as loud as a Stellar Jay who's beak screams to the skies.

The strange part is, somewhere along the way, I learned not only how to love myself, but how to find love in my life that I could trust.

Trust.

I trust to a certain point, I suppose.

Even in the greatest love I could ever have, I still have that nattering part of me that whispers to me through door cracks.

they're all going to leave you ... you will be alone again ...

I've been alone many times in my life, and it's not so bad.  I get past the hurt and rejection, then I get my life rolling with smiles and shiny friends.

I'm really good at being alone.

I'm not alone now.  I am married to a wonderful person, who has a heart so sweet and gentle.  The kind friend who would head out at midnight to bring their step-sister to the hospital.

not to mention, hott

This is no ordinary person.

Neither am I.

Two peas in a pod.

This I know.  I'm loved by this sweet soul. 

So why won't those desperate murmurs that threaten me go away?  I can even try to talk about it out loud like I did to Papi yesterday.  The venom of paranoia seeps into me and waits for clues to affirm I'm not loved.

I wish they had a magic pill for that.

Ah.  They probably do.  I've just spent my life trying to figure out how to abolish it on my own.

My only defence is to do the things I love. 

Yesterday, I had a bass session that sang the sweetest song.  My fingers flew around that fret board.  The rehab of brain injury in this department is concluded now I'm sure.

I would watch those digits moving, feeling the burn of my tendons.  I'd allow them to shriek their pain, but I wouldn't stop.  They'd give in eventually and endorphins would ease the sting.

I played until my heart had the strength to tell me, "This is why you're loved."

I'm loved because of what I love.  In my life the only way to be loved is to love myself.

And my bass.

I played those 4 steel strings and long necked mass of wood for both Papi and I yesterday.

I sang my songs to my heart.

Music heals.