Do You Ever Think Of Me?

Sometimes, I wonder if I ever get some kind of exposure that makes me this super rich person, would the people of the past that have done me wrong want me back? Would they want a friendship, relationship, or some type of association? Would I let them back in? The guy that stopped talking to me when I told him I was a virgin? My ex that claims he loves me, but has never made an attempt to move forward and swoop me up? The friends that have used me for money? The family that acts strange because they think they are better than me (which in truth, financially, they are)? What do I do with them? What about the people that have never been in my corner, mocked me, talked bad about me, or never saw the greatness within me and laughed at my attempt to reach for stars? Do I accept their “girl I knew you had it in you’s” or their “damn girl I don’t know what happened to us but I’m all the man you need’s”?

I wonder a lot, what it would be like to actually be in this great position, but I know I would do exactly what I do now. I wouldn’t remember them, for my sake. Tons of things have happened in my past that I repress. Large amounts of names and people and events are gone forever. I still have a huge issue with zoning out. I can spend countless comfortable hours with myself, within the space of my head, and  withing a spectrum of time that gets lost and comes up as unproductive, and moments I’ve been apart of go unaccounted for. I simply do not remember what hurts. I rememeber the songs though.  I’m quite content with it.

I have mastered this art since I was little, when my parents would argue all the time. When they were screaming and yelling and cursing and telling the world the most embarrassing things about each opponents past, I couldn’t turn the tv on. As they both tried to hit harder and lower, below the belt, I couldn’t turn the music on. I could never assume any role that would show them that I thought so highly of myself that I was physically trying to block out their noise. No! I was far too afraid of them. I started going into a place in my mind, where I would hear music, and write songs. Now, I can’t turn it off. I used to have control but now, I zone out for hours and I don’t even realize I’m gone. It’s a bit sad.

I am stronger/weaker because of this space on my head, and I’ve certainly written tons of songs that can take me back to that very place, but of course, I try not to sing them. 11 year olds shouldn’t try to take their own lives by drinking bleach and sitting in a full tub of ice cold water. I didn’t know about sleeping pills then and nobody cared. In fact, nobody knew that I passed out and woke up with a killer headache, angry at myself because it didn’t work. That space in my head is such a precious place.

If everyone were to realize that I exist for more than their needs, but for my needs as well, would I be any happier than I am? I highly doubt it. I know that I would quickly tire from the attention. I can barely be around people for too long without dreaming of returning home to my room, to be alone and in the space of my head. I am relieved when I get underground in the subways (where I am right now) and I can be alone. I can dream about walking along the boardwalk on a hot summer day when it’s actually right smack dab in the dead of winter. I can pretend that I was being massaged and wined and dined by my ficticious, but faithful, loving companion. I can fade away to a stage in front of a massive audience that replicates Woodstock and everyone in the audience respects my music & sings along with me, verbatum. I’m drifting now…

Carmen xoxo

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