[cw: drugs/addiction talk, moderate disordered eating stuff]

*

First time in awhile that I really. Really. Really fucking want speed. I could get it so damn easily, too, and probably at better quality than I've had since leaving Lorenzo. I'm just so barely functional (I was so worried this would happen and here I am, because of course I am), so afraid that I'm going to drown fully in the kind of sadnesses I used to get all the time before speed, the kind I'd always see Mom drown in, the kind I remain terrified of. Why has a single guy reduced me to this. Why the fuck am I so fragile. Why can't I experience the kind of stability, the kind of even-keeled calm, that most people seem to be in the majority of the time. --Or, more accurately, why can't I experience it clean?

There are times I almost get angry at Mom for this, for passing this curse down to me, but the anger is subsumed by guilt quickly after; I know it was my fault for giving those sadnesses to her in the first place, that she never had them til she had me. I cursed her, not the other way around. Granddad never let me fucking forget it. I ruined his daughter, he said so himself, multiple times. My father couldn't take it, either, just left her to it after trying to drink it away first, so in a way, it's my fault he left, too. He drank it all down, Mom drinks it all down, even Marv drinks it all down from time to time (it just takes a helluva lot for him to get there)... I'm not picky at my worst.

The only blessing is that I've miraculously been able to look "together" enough around the band. G-d if they could see the inside of my brain I'd probably get shitcanned immediately and I couldn't even complain if they did, they'd be well within their rights to. For now tho I'm hanging onto the little energy I have to keep up appearances and praying that it'll be enough.

*

Unsurprisingly, I guess, I've been writing a lot more with Nate than with Greg for this round of things. It really has become something of a machine-- Walt even has album names picked out already. He says they come to him when he smokes enough shrooms, but if that's true, I think he must hallucinate board meetings. Oh well-- it's nothing TOO bad. Just vague, slightly generic. Infinity. Evolution. Departure. Like yeah, I get it. Then again, I guess the vagueness means less to worry about with writing. If Walt made us try to write to some "theme" for each album that'd TRULY be ridiculous, ha.

It's admittedly easy to take my mind off of things around Nate, though. He doesn't really let you stay in your head too long, if he notices you there. And he always seems to notice, with me. I'm not sure if I always like that, but for now, it's been good. He even guessed-- maybe just luckily-- that any sign of being "off" I have is because of Greg. "It's gonna be so weird without him around, man. ...Y'know, I've been a band with the guy since I was in my teens. He's like an older brother to me. He knows what he's doing, though. He's been around the scene for AGES. If anyone deserves a good break, it's him!" True enough, in the bigger picture scheme of things. I just said it'd be strange having to either not have a main partner to harmonize with anymore, or to have someone else there instead-- asked him, then, off the top of my head, what he thought about more singing lessons. "Uuuugh, man, I can't sing, you KNOW that." Everyone can sing! It's just a matter of time and proper practice, and we had that for now. He had that with me.

So we started writing a song he'll sing a pretty major part of. He was still very reluctant, but really, he isn't as bad as he thinks. Strains a lot, doesn't quite know where his natural range is, but that just comes with being new to it. He can carry a tune, and that's more than many can say, and a good place to start. ...It was interesting seeing him so awkward, without his usual easy confidence. He was pouty at first, grumbly-- he wasn't used to being without that confidence either-- but he relaxed the more time went on. I haven't really taught a lot of other people to sing, but the instructor I had in college was the kindest I had, and I still learned so much from her, so I tried to draw from her with Nate.

It's nice to have something going well. I needed that. And as much as I'm wary of the idea of someone always noticing when I'm in my head, Nate was right that I needed to get out of it this time.

*

Guess it's not surprising that the bigger we are, the more things like fan mail and such get filtered thru various levels of management. Even getting some at all was an amazing thing at first-- like, I'm well-liked enough that people want to write me about it? Sheesh! Sometimes little notes get stuffed hastily into my hands after shows and record shop meet and greets, as well, tho. The latter, this time, from a small girl of around thirteen, maybe, with a shy smile before skittering away. "You're my favorite singer! Also, I wish I was as skinny as you are. Will you ever spill your diet secrets? I LOVE YOU!!!" Reading it made my heart crash into my gut, fly back up into my throat, and do a few backflips for good measure. So much went thru my head at once. Like, if Pam read this she'd cry. I kind of wanted to, too, for a few different reasons. Such a depressing regurgitation of teen mag speak. Then I thought, G-d, imagine being honest to that kid (of course I'd NEVER)...

Made me remember one time when I was around thirteen or so myself-- feeling extremely morbid around age and death for whatever dramatic teenage reason-- when I was over Auntie Roya's house playing w/Anna, Esther, Ebi. Aunt Roya had some of her friends over, and I was within earshot of their conversation. Roya's always looked so beautiful and has always been just as good of a cook as Mom (Mom would argue better, but I've always told her that's silly), but to this day is self-conscious about eating in front of anybody. Maybe eating in general, if she's still following the little "diet" tips I picked up from eavesdropping that day. I've done well by them.

Not sure what to do, now. It's not like I'm ever going to see that kid again. If I did, I don't even know what I'd say if I did. I couldn't be honest, obviously, but I also don't feel like changing how I do things and I don't think I could lie thru my teeth either, at least not on the spot. What I do works for me for now, but I wouldn't recommend it to anyone else. A strange line to walk but I'm trying in spite of things. It's not like it's new to me-- speed worked for me for awhile, and even when it did I wasn't singing its praises to anybody. I know that the things I do aren't necessarily "good"-- it's more like I need to do them (or needed to in the past) to function. To keep my own head in order. To shut the pain up. To have an anchor to hold myself to.

I'm not keeping that letter, that's for sure. What a depressing little thing it is. Maybe girls like her are so fond of me because I was a boy like them (tho for likely different reasons) and they can see it. As long as I'm not counted on professionally to be some kind of angelically good influence... ugh that would be awful; Walt gets on me about enough BS as is (and ironic, given what rock and roll ~stands~ for, but if anything, I've learned that hypocrisy is accepted or even expected if it gets you what you want and you have the cash or connections to grab it). Trying not to let it get me down too much, but that's part of what writing this down is about. Letting it out.

*

It's been so hard to eat lately, even when I want to, and I've wanted to try more ever since reading that one fan-letter. Like, part of me knows I'm too old for this shit (and I’m 118 pounds, and anything below 130 I can live with, or even a little more if it's muscle, or so I say, and yet). But I don't have an appetite at all unless I smoke pot and I obviously can't smoke too much, so. For awhile I really wasn't eating and very much didn't want to; back to starving myself like I would on and off in my teens n' early twenties. That was working oddly well for awhile; I could run and work and sing on a close-to-empty stomach and eat just enough to burn it off running or get a few hours of sleep at night. It made me feel like I was getting away with something and just... weirdly good, to the point that I tried to get away with it for far too long. I almost passed out after walking up the stairs to the studio the other day, though (and Walt saw me and called me a ‘little drama queen’ and I wanted to die on the spot), so now I'm eating by setting little alarms on my watch for myself every few hours or so when I'm at home and eating anything that's around (+a glass of water or cup of herbal tea). Even if it's just a slice of bread or a piece of fruit or a salad and that's all I can manage. Times like this, where I'm this stressed, also tend to make me nauseous. I've been drinking peppermint tea more than eating, still. Ugh. I know it won't last forever. But it's so difficult while it lasts.

It's like... I'm full of anger and shame and bitterness and spite. Ugliness. All those things shove everything else out, to the point where I can't even always keep food down. I've been trying my best to keep it all contained, to look like everything's fine and like I didn't just have my heart broken by someone oblivious to that fact, someone I have to keep working with, who I'll have to perform with in front of thousands of strangers like nothing ever happened between us good OR bad, who's going to fucking leave after all that anyway like usual, and juggling all those things at once has been so difficult. Sometimes working with Nate or just hanging with him, or other friends, helps. But it's always just temporary. They leave and I'm back with myself again.

Calls with Mom can help, and now that I'm trying to eat again, visits would be even better. I can't tell her really much of anything that's going on if I'm fully honest about it, so I've just told her I went through a nasty breakup with a girl. "Well, you know Mama's always going to be there for you." I know. And she has been-- outside of the time I screwed up so bad she had no choice. I can't ever use again. Not even once. And I have to try, my best, always, for her.

PS: Oh, another nice thing-- that guy who was working under our old puffed-up snooty producer is the main engineer for this new one! And hopefully however many more! Glad the good word I put in for him paid off.

*

Nothing feels good enough. Take after take after take and they're all garbage. They've been losing patience with me. I've had to just give up and go with things that sound "fine", which is the worst feeling there is. Everyone expects so much from me and I'm just giving them "fine". Like that's fucking acceptable. It had to be, though. It was for them, for some reason.

Actually ate a good amount today, a lot closer to "normal", despite everything. But Lori had to hang around us all day and I had to see her holding his hand, kissing him, had to see him smiling at her the way he'd smile at me once, thought about how they could do all that around everyone else, could hold hands when they walked down the street and not even think of it and of course Greg would want that, of course he’d want to live in the light, of course he’d leave me behind, of course I’m not good enough for anyone to want to stay in darkness and shadows and secret with when you chould choose otherwise, and as soon as I could I went straight to the bathroom again. Wanted to puke so bad, stayed huddled up near the toilet deciding for or against it 'til the urge went away on its own. I hate her, I hate him, I hate myself. I hate how fucking stupid I am, I hate that I have to be like this, that I’m stuck here in the dark no matter what and any light there is feels blinding. I feel like other people can take this so much better than I’ve ever could. I don’t even feel fully at home with other gays, always feel like I’m slightly outside of everyone and they just pretend not to notice as long as I pretend well enough myself. I don’t know how to stop feeling that way.

*

I was feeling tired, still very ragged, bitter, and more than that just hollow at rehearsal today. And… something strangely familiar, yet not-- familiar like a distant dream-- came up through the hollowness. I tightened my jaw. I kept an ear out for the smallest pindrop of a mistake. I recalled music theory shit I thought I'd completely forgotten about. I was a total bitch. To Greg especially, unsurprisingly, and at one point he had enough of it and grabbed one of Sam's drumsticks and flung it at my head. At least it only hit my arm instead. And I just tossed it back to Sam, apologized to him as a matter of course, and said "Again". Flat. Just an unmoving piece of stone (that is, if a stone could radiate contempt). I still have no fucking idea where that came from, but I could see the appeal in it. I really could. Even after Nate pulled me aside later, asked what the hell my problem was. I didn't even have an answer for him. And all that frightened me so much I drank myself to sleep to avoid making myself puke up the little I ate that day. And woke up with a hangover, and then I had to nurse my throat again (lemon/honey tea, cough drops, etc) so I wouldn't fuck my voice up, and G-d I really do feel like I'm about to spin off the rails. I was able to keep up the pretense of stability for so fucking long I almost bought it myself.

Fuck. I've felt on the edge of it for awhile now, I REALLY started feeling it a couple days ago, but now it's toes-dangling-off-the-cliff close, to the point that I can't even hide it around anyone anymore (and Rory's jokes are grating instead of something that helps, and I hate that that's true right now). This tour's either gonna cure me of it or send me on a one-way trip to a loony bin. May the best man win.