Fighting the urge to crawl back into bed, as least I can see some tangible space opening up in the filthy garage, that has been a moldy dark nest of secrets since I left 19 years ago.
I actually left when I was fifteen but I came back when I was seventeen. I dragged my 22 year old guitarist in-a-band boyfriend with me. They practiced in the garage a few times a week. They also practiced at Rinkor's house and then Dave Roden's house when he joined the band. It was called the Spaz at first. I really liked them. They evolved to High Gain and I didn't like them anymore. Fun funky beats were replaced by boring rock. I stayed for two years until I left again after that relationship dissolved into alcoholic garbage. I left again for 6 years but then returned for a few months before leaving again. The house was built in 1987. It's a beautiful, large space. I was thirteen years old when my dad finished it. It was his pride and joy. He worked downstairs, I assisted sometimes. My parents divorced, it was ugly, the same year I was raped. 1989. My mother suffered a nervous breakdown after the relationship was terminated. I left to help her get back on her feet. It doesn't make much sense, but I was doing everything for her, walking her to the bathroom, cooking her meals and keeping her alive, she was rotting and crying all day in bed. I thought if I left she would get up and take care of herself. She did. She got a little better. Mental illness in invisible if you don't know the signs. I have it too.
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July 2023
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