[cw for disordered eating/distorted body image talk]

*

Shann was sincerely interested in visiting Japan, and for most of the trip it was nice being able to show her around. She was the happiest I'd probably ever seen her, hopping over from landmark to landmark, asking me to take her picture/take pictures with her next to buildings or leaning against statues or posing with cardboard cutouts of cartoons, buying just as much clothes for herself as I did for myself a couple years back, enjoying all the sights and sounds. I was able to be calm with her and not obviously-act as much because of how happy and excited she was, how distracted she was by her surroundings to tip into anything bad. It felt natural, like we were two friends on a sight-seeing tour. She even tried the food-- of course, sushi is very easy to portion out, and she had a single piece of a roll. I had to eat the rest, and she was a little nervous and guilty about it-- she knows I don't puke at all on the road, that I need to preserve my voice the best I can-- but didn't let it become too big of a deal. She liked the sushi, too! I almost wish she did eat more of it, and I tried to encourage her, but one half of another piece of roll was all she'd go for. Oh, well.

The closer things got to going back to the states, the worse she got. Like so many good things in my life these days and like our friendship in general, our happiness here was a short-lived fantasy. This time, at least, there was a clear cause: she ran out of pills before I did. Which obviously wasn't MY fault. I knew I'd have to ration things out to stretch 'em 'til we could get back, and on some level, I'm sure she understood that too, so I have no idea why she blew threw 'em all so fast. She'd ask me for mine, of course, and sometimes she'd ask while I was in the middle of work, and sometimes I really did have to just give her one to leave me alone. So I didn't have any for the return trip. The sky might've well have been made out of molasses, that's how slow that damn plane ride was with how awful I felt. Almost as bad as the chest cold I must've picked up at the airport on the way there[52]. But did I yell and scream in Shann's face? Did I beg her for things she couldn't give me? No! Ugh. Well, things'll be simpler from here on out.

*

I had no idea I'd ever be this relieved to be on the road-- at least, not ever since Greg. I guess circumstances between Benny and I are a bit Greg-like, but thankfully not in their entirety and certainly not from an emotional standpoint. He's not ashamed of his feelings toward me and he's very much a part of my life still while we're off the road, even if he's not around as much as I'd like and I can't be around as much either. There's still something tour-bound about a good chunk of our romance, though. And the hiding, always the hiding, but a different, more familiar mode here, now. One that sparks a daredevil in me more than a scared child; pulling him aside to hidden alcoves before shows to give each other nice deep good-luck kisses, pinpointing the perfect areas after shows to have a little quickie before he has to go back to business, finding the most deserted parts of truck stops to blow each other. I do greatly miss the long, involved fucks we can have off the road-- but I can see him every day again, I work with him every day, and we're so proud of each other, I'm so motivated by him. While we're here we truly are partners in every sense of the word, and I needed that reminder.

Even if things are simpler than they were in Japan, they're not uncomplicated. Can things ever be uncomplicated anymore? Benny was quite successful in getting Walt to streamline this year's tour. 120 dates instead of 200. Decent spacing between dates for the most part. More stops we stay at for multiple nights; big stadiums in big cities or outside of them, close to transit hubs, where people from all around can come to. A bunch of separate dates at separate cities isn't as needed anymore-- we have quite a bit of "market" saturation, but convincing Walter was apparently like pulling teeth; the country's in a recession so that means we have to do everything Walt says or we'll spiral into economic doom. Ugh, poor Ben (but now hopefully he understands what I've been dealing with!!). There's still some very odd dates in there, though. Oklahoma? Utah?? And not Tulsa like before, and not Salt Lake City, either. Towns I've never HEARD of. Norman. Provo. Asked Benny about it and he shrugged. "Cheaper than the cities, lotta land for festivals". Huh.

The heaviest songs are on our setlists quite a bit more than I'd like; I have no idea how I'm going to be able to pull those off every night for the entire tour... ugh. It's already affected my performance for the rest of the tunes. When I know we're doing 'em, I'm virtually mute 'til soundcheck, and then I am the next day afterwards as well. More of that "weirdness" Shann doesn't like. The guys don't like it either. I think they think I'm being standoffish, or something. I've told them it's about my health, but I swear Jeffrey thinks it's about Shann. UGH. Why is everything about her? And it's not like she's stupid, she can TELL the others see her like some "difficulty" they have to put up with for my sake. She's had her moments, but I've also had mine, and either way, Sam and Rory have their wives with them and that's apparently no issue. Just me again (and the most infuriating part of it of course is that I was essentially forced to find Shann, but none of the others know that).

Been getting along with Nate again despite all that, and that's been quite a relief. To be fair, it's always easier getting along with him on the road. It's where he belongs, I think. And Walt's not around him nearly as often, either, so he's more himself, and I remember that there are parts to that self that I very much like, and have missed. That openness he has, that recklessly free attitude he goes into so much with. The part of him that grabbed my wrist all those years back and ran with me laughing in the rain. Things really were so simple, then.

*

I can feel a little rasp in my throat some nights when I sing, now, and it makes certain notes/octaves/vowels either more difficult or simply different to enter than they were before. I'm obviously worried about it, and about it getting worse and not being able to do anything about it, just watching the thing I'm most proud of, the one inarguable thing that makes me good, disintegrate into nothing 'til I'm nothing. I'm not sure if it's age-- voices do change over time, as Walt has been reminding me obviously out of the goodness of his heart-- or if it's overuse. Or if I really did puke too much before Shann gave me an alternative to it.

Speaking of which, I know I've gained weight even with the pills, and it does frustrate me (I mean, the pills aren't just for my weight anyway; they're very good for focusing and I have an awful lot to focus on). My face looks even more easily childish with such short hair, and any bit of weight goes right to my face first anyway, and then I look downright cherubic and it's AWFUL[53]. Benny noted how thin I was at the beginning of all this, tho, and he worried that I was sick the way Dave's sick. So I've been making it a point to eat more again, despite how difficult its been and how awful it feels, how disgusting it all tastes, despite how much Shann'll be disappointed in me (or she'll accuse me of trying to make her feel bad or guilt her...). I just run after, for as long as I can. Benny has far too much on his plate to add my issues to it. And honestly I'd rather forget those issues exist for awhile, if possible.

It's so difficult to keep everything I need to do and think of in my head at once. The pills help, but not all the way (the more pills the more help, but I know I can't just knock a whole fucking vial in my mouth...). It's also difficult being around the guys. I don't know what they think of me anymore. Maybe I never actually knew. I did hang with Nate after the show tonight. Got some beers, snuck out to some shipping loading bay type thing to sit by outselves, no one begging for attention or autographs or anything, legs dangling, mostly quiet, especially at first. Then, eventually, he muttered something about his girlfriend. Poor Rita dumped him (...she likely had good reason, but I obviously didn't say that). Being on the road was good for taking his mind off it, but sometimes it was still hard for him. There was a part of me that bristled at all this-- oh, great, just what I need, another guy that wants to see me as some surrogate girlfriend while his is gone. Fuck you-- but he was treating me so... normally. And I didn't want to ruin that. So I sat with him. We were still mostly quiet. Both of us needed that quiet as much as anything.

I don't think I ever know quite what the hell to think or do about him.

*

I said that singing is the only thing that makes me good but I was thinking about that sort of thing a lot lately, and what I was able to help Benny do with the crew, what I can continue to do and contribute, are all also good things. They make my heart feel full in a different kind of way, and feel a different sort of pride. I dunno. Maybe I can fade into the crew if this all destroys my voice. Just be Julie Rajani again in all aspects of my life. Though would Walt even let me? I feel like he'll run me ragged and toss me out entirely before letting me stay on in any capacity. Too much of a troublemaker. Maybe I would've been better off if I was always in the crew, never got in the band to begin with. But then would I have had the leverage to help make a good portion of this happen? And honestly, would I be satisfied being on the outside looking in at it all? I don't think so! I suppose things happen the way they do for a reason.

Thinking about my voice again because it's been hard, lately, to get to that place where I'm able to be swept up in song. I think of what's happening at LR, what's happening across the state, the country; I juxtapose that with the screaming crowds in front of me--mostly waspy straights, too many of them assholes come home from their office jobs in their fucking polos and khakis. Our young adult audience has graduated to a ~young professional~ one. Wonderful. And they're going about life without a care in the world, they’d turn on me in an instant the second they knew for certain I was a queer, the guys I'm playing with are for the most part walking around like things are fine because it IS fine for them right now, and I hate all of them. Not always. Sometimes I can forget. I love when I can forget (and then I feel guilty for loving it). But not right now. I hate them, I hate all the fucking entertainment reporters, I hate all the cameras shoved in my fucking face, I hate the one press motherfucker who called us "the perfect band for the Reagan era" so much that if I ever see him I'm probably getting arrested; how fucking dare you accuse me of singing for the man trying to kill me, killing the people I love, turning people I used to think I could trust into frothing at the mouth lunatics or "pragmatic" "realists", baying for sacrifice or pointing at charts that say sacrifice is practical, throw everyone on the fucking bonfire as long as the ten people around it can get and stay warm (and the realists and lunatics both think they'll all be part of the ten people holding hands watching us burn. 'Faggot' comes from kindling, Tommy reminded me recently on the phone).

--I try to pretend otherwise, like I said, but I can't ever fully erase the feeling. The anger. And that anger makes it difficult to find that sincere, beautiful place for singing. I have to work harder for it. And my voice had already changed, was already not working the way I'm used to, and I have to use it in ways I'm not used to for Nate's songs, and so it's even extra work, and there have been some nights already on this tour where I truly could not be happy or satisfied with my performance and that makes everything feel even worse. I'm trying my best not to use more, to keep things at that simple minimum I've been able to set for myself, but it's getting more and more difficult (--"Use". Ugh. Like I'm fucking snorting them or something. It's not like that).

Benny and I were able to get a bit of time for ourselves recently, at least. Away from Shann, away from everybody. More than usual, that is. Enough to make love-- which did make me feel SO much better, tho I'm not as happy again now. And I did tell him, after, about how angry I was just generally lately, how so much was falling apart and no one gave a shit because their little corners of the world weren't falling apart yet. How singing had become so oddly difficult for me. He said he wasn't surprised at that, that of course singing would be difficult with everything else on my mind. And how can I let any of it go? Nothing I'm stressed about is going away. So much of it is getting actively worse. So few people around me-- him, some of the crew, that's all-- understand it or care. I told him I had an old friend that had less than a year to live, that I was worried sick about not being able to make it in time to do something big for him. He held me in the end, and I melted in his arms awhile. He sometimes gets self-conscious about not being able to find the right words to say, sometimes hides those moments behind cigarettes, but I've told him that I don't always need words from him. His touch is so very often enough, and often what I miss most when he's not around. G-d, what would I do without him.

PS: I did make Ben laugh 'til he was gasping for air once recently by quipping "fucking crackers" after I saw a gaggle of them stare after us gawking (not in the usual starstruck sort of way) while we made our way around the venue. --And he's not a big laugh-out-loud kind of guy!

*

[52]Right before a taped concert, of course. Of course!! So I had to be pumped full of all sorts of things. And it was so difficult not to panic thinking of Dave, thinking about whether this was the "flu" that would just lead to unavoidable terminal decline-- but it never really got to the level of "flu". Ugh I can't think about this

[53]And Walt hates the hair-- this felt good at first, it was funny-- but he hates it for such an actually real reason that I couldn't find it funny after that. Like, it IS boring. It does make me look more frumpy, especially when there's weight on me. Ugh. It'll grow out.