Une Lettre d'amour à Montrèal

Dimanche. 6.20 // Montrèal, Quebèc, Canada The station is silent. I close my eyes and focus on the beat of my heart. I'll hear the train when it comes. If I concentrate I can almost believe that I'm on the Underground rather than the Metro. There really is nothing like the London Underground. The sound of the incoming train shakes me from my reflection. I board the nearly empty car, Time of the Season runs through my veins. It's been a whirlwind of a few days. Despite this, it feels like I was in Montreal longer than I was in London. Time. A personal and universal experience. I'm drowning in a sea of sadness as the world races around me. I think about that special day over the summer; how I wish I could have frozen that moment in the form of a photograph. One that I could just step back inside at a moments notice. I need to get on the next train or I'll miss the Greyhound coach. My stomach bubbles with anxiety and longing as I step onto the train car. I've been to Montreal so many times, each time a complete different experience than the last. I don't want to be here right now. I don't want to be at home either. I don't know where I want to be. I pretend that the hum from the train makes me invisable. I allow the sound to encase and consume me. The thought of slitting my wrists is loud in my veins. I'm almost shivering with anticipation of the act of opening then. There's something wholly decompressing when I feel the blade under the upper layers of my skin. Perhaps it's the notion that if I can withstand this pain, I can withstand everything. A rather interesting take on boosting self-esteem. A woman's voice echoes through the car. "prochaine station: Berri UQAM" I know I have to get off now, but part of me really doesn't want to. Riding miles under a city on its underground network is my peace. The vibrations of the train echo through my body as I stand. I swallow the thoughts of self harm before getting off the train. Sometimes I see everything going by. Sometimes, even though my eyes are open, I'm not seeing what is racing by; I'm too lost in my thoughts. I get off the train just as the doors shut. I feel an odd mixture of longing and sadness as the train pulls away from the platform leaving me behind. I stand there for a few minutes, watching the train disappear. I wish I could disappear. These feelings of not being able to fit in anywhere have been consuiming me for days; I wonder how much longer I can continue to press on before critical mass is reached. An extended weekend away is just what I needed. I couldn't have been in this place at any other time. Things I've been long been looking forward to are now only memories; another time, another place. I ache to cut through the red tape of time, swim in the primordial ooze of life and hopefully I will come to understand why we feel the way that we do. The familiar stale coffee and lingering scents from the past night's travellers lingers in the underground station as I make my way through the silence of the station. The cool of the early morning ear carersses my face as I step out into the dim light. I pull my hood up as 'Geisterfahrer' blares in my headphones. Anything to get away from my thoughts right now. I mull over te last few days in my head. I planned to go a few places this trip, but I did absoslutely nothing. I mean, I did go to the Ghost concert, which was top as usual. And the tattoo convention wasn't a total loss; sure I didn't get a tattoo, but I'm going to other conventions nect year and I did manage to do a little bit of networking with other artists. The pool was nice, looking out over the St. Lawrence River. So what if I spent the weekend asleep? I may be okay, but I'm not fine at all. I feel like a failure as I struggle to paint a picture of what is trapped inside of me. Part of me is afraid to let everything out because I don't know if I could stop once I start. Feelings of inadiquancy have followed me as far back as I can remember. I don't need to discuss it in therapy to know the root cause. And sometimes knowing the root cause doesn't lessen the wound any less. I push myself in new ways with each passing year. 2022 has been quite a year for me. Philadelphia, New York City, Boson, Worcester, London, Brighton, Bristol, Canterbury, Dover, Hartford, that's just to name a few. I've gone so many places this year and had so many irriplaceable experiences. And yet now as I sit here waiting for the coach, I feel an emptiness growing inside me. This trip was to be a getaway from everything and all I could do was lay in bed there, the blabket pulled up over me, attempting to sleep away the suicidal thoughts eating away at me. Chills run through me as I snuggled into the bed. My anxiety is curled up into a ball in my chest. There's already a few people lined up and waiting for the bus to Albany, NY. I'm not looking forward to returning home. I've had this growing emptiness ever since I returned from London again. Part of me wishes I took the job offer there, but the pay just wasn't there. Who knows? I'm going back in May who knows what I'll be able to get up to when I'm over there? I need to try and focus on the good things, my get aways, playing with Uggie, getting a tattoo. I've met with a new medication provider and we're looking at starting a new SSRI to help with the low mood, obsessive thoughts and anxiety. I'm hopeful that the new combo of this and my talks with my provider will help me to get back to my old self. I've had the hardest time working on blogs, I have so many back logged from over the summer...you'll be seeling more from me soon. Merci, Montrèal.