“I am soft on the ground and rare as Vegas rain”, I once sang. “I wish I had a home like I wish I had a self.” The third song off of Mago, “Vegas Rain”, is arguably the song that expresses the most confusion on the entire album.
Gentle readers, I’m not here to praise the past, but to set it to rest, and there is something surreal about picking my past apart in a pubic forum in order to link it to happy-ending hopes for the future. It’s not a bad thing. It forces me to put my thoughts into perspective, which is incredibly valuable for both my progress and myself as a human. So we will do just that with that line from “Vegas Rain”.
It’s definitely a piece where I can look back and see how far I’ve come. When I wrote it, I felt completely lost with nothing to cling to. It felt like every “persona” I had adopted was fake, as I would later explain in the verses. I felt that same lost feeling in different forms until I reached two turning points, meeting my husband and starting this blog. Even though I only started blogging a month ago, it’s done more for me than most things ever have.
I had been talking with my then-future husband for about a month when the topic of conversation turned to other halves. I scoffed at the idea, saying that a mate or another person should never have to complete me. In reality, though, I was afraid. I didn’t want another person to leave. I was not secure in my own skin, and I knew my own ways a little too well. I was always afraid of smothering him or driving him away. I wanted an other half, I wanted an other half desperately – yes, desperately. But I knew in one way or another that I’d have to become better acquainted with myself for this to work, that my self esteem could not be permanently tied to the attentions of someone else.
My lack of self -knowledge and self-love had led me into some horrible situations by that point, and I viewed myself as utterly broken. The thing about this man, though, is that he showed me by his actions and words that he didn’t mind that I was a work in progress. There was no need for anything but me.
I was so scared because of my past that I only loved him because he gave me attention, but our bond proved me wrong. He was my other half, even though I was broken, and he was allowing and encouraging me to be myself and was willing to help me when I got lost. I loved – and still do love – him for his sharp intelligence, the way he operates, the way he thinks, and the way he loves. He is home in a human. I now need to find myself.
I’ve been writing here for 26 days now, thank you, handy WordPress counter, and it has been helping me do just that. I’ve always found writing to be an incredibly useful tool for introspection, but this is working better than any journal I’ve ever kept. Here, I’ve learned that I can’t kill my bipolar disorder, that I am heard, that I can give myself permissions, and other things.
While I would love to go back to instruct past me about these things, I know that they wouldn’t take my advice, because, well, it’s me…
Until next post!