Don’t Call It A Comeback

It’s been a few weeks since my dad went up to NH to visit my aunt for Thanksgiving. He should actually be home within the next few hours. I suppose last night was to be my last “hoorah,” as I decided I was tired of constantly feeling stuck, alone and a prisoner of my own house. I try and get out here and there but I figured I’d really get out of my comfort zone last night and went to this bar over in Cocoa Village, not too far away from where I live. I’d been there before but mostly with AA people so it wasn’t exactly for the bar scene.

What happened next was by far one of the most unexpected evenings I have ever experienced – in a good way.

You know how sometimes you just get to talking to people and then one thing leads to another and then before you know it you’re hanging out with a group of total strangers in a loft the size of a small office building doing makeshift karaoke surrounded by everything from vintage motorcycles to martial arts weapons? No? Well if not, I am really sorry. You’ve gotta try it sometime.

I’ll admit, way too much booze, maybe a not so great decision here and there but no permanent damage and I definitely have no regrets.

This new group of people I had met, or, what I’m pretty sure were actually a few groups of complete strangers who by chance were all in the right place at the right time was a hell of a mix. The night was nothing short of a remix of the very beginning of the movie Moulin Rouge when they’re singing about beauty, truth and love plus the movie Across the Universe when they’re singing “Being For The Benefit of Mr. Kite,” when the main characters are all tripping their asses off.

Granted, I wasn’t tripping, but I sure as shit fell down the rabbit hole and I was definitely not about to try and climb out. The social anxiety, the low self esteem, the terrible self image, all suddenly went down the drain and I know it had nothing to do with alcohol because I’ve been plenty drunker than I was last night.

I think I was just having fun.

Holy hell. Could it be? I was actually having a good time? Playing the guitar even though I have no fucking idea how to play? We didn’t care, we all jammed out anyways. We sang songs and couldn’t even finish because singing a song start to finish in front of a bunch of people with instruments is a lot more difficult than you might expect. None of that mattered, it was just a good time.

The true highlight of the night though, meeting a very cool, very open minded, tatted up woman with a real love of philosophy, open dialogue and psychology. Unfortunately, everything happened so fast and was such a blur that I think I might have made an error in judgement regarding my “time management,” but I can only hope to have a repeat of last night – maybe with a little or a lot less booze and a bit more coffee and surely a lot more dialogue. Not to mention damn she had some beautiful eyes.

Anyways –

I feel like as I sit here counting down to the moment when I’m once again a caregiver, I’m also coming to terms with the fact that I’m going to be losing a lot of my freedoms again. But for what? Last night was quite an eye opener for me. I love my dad but he really doesn’t need me all the time. We are very different people and my artistic side, my love of art and things of beauty are stifled as long as I live under the same roof as him. It’s just how he is. There’s nothing wrong with it, I enjoy tinkering with things, making things in my spare time, trying to make the most of my ADHD by going back and forth between multiple projects and interests while he is more stringent. Straightforward, one task at a time. Literally a one shot, one kill type person but he’s not using bullets, he’s using words; or a lack of which has slowly hurt the person I wish to be. It’s as if we simply can’t co-exist yet we have but with sacrifices being made on both sides.

It’s funny, I caught up with an old friend a few days ago and we were discussing this to an extent. I brought up joining the peace corp, moving to Africa, or South America, just doing something, anything to expand my understanding of the human condition outside of what I’m so used to and her response was surprising to say the least. I’ll admit, if she didn’t have a boyfriend (a serious boyfriend) I’d probably buy a ring and propose to her and not even finish writing this blog.

But that’s who I am aren’t I? I’m a dreamer. I’m a romantic caught living in a world where it feels like romance is dead. Not only romantic love but romance of life, of liberty of passion. It’s hard to feel the way I do when it’s so hard to find others who feel the same way. I believe that true dreamers under the wrong conditions become depressed, apathetic and become afraid to express themselves.

I want to flourish and thrive and I know compared to where I was in years past, I’ve made huge gains in that arena. There’s no doubt about that.

Last night though. That was something else. Something I hope I can continue to chase.

Remember friends, you are never alone, nor am I.

C. Brooks

~ BPS M. ~

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