You'll Only End Up Joining Them | Kevin Devine

These days my hangman's hunger makes my gut kick
My sleeping mind, could map it blind
A flask, a key, a bag, a fifth
I try to will myself away
While shouting habits plead their case
So when the sun sears through my eyes
My beggar's brain can't compromise
I splash cold water, I draw the curtains, I stay inside

There was no wine or motown tonight, just thai food and garbage bags. In lieu of a pretty life changing decision this week, I decided to go through my drawers and closets and throw out everything I haven't used/worn in the past six months. I came to the conclusion that I throw away things too easily. I started to panic. I put the garbage bag, and one of the 12987 black t-shirts down. I needed a break.

On one hand, I just celebrated my one-year anniversary with my boyfriend, my longest relationship to date. Somehow, I had found a patient guy in New York who could put up with my odd behavior. But on the other hand, it was also almost exactly a year ago that I accepted what, at the time, I decided was my dream job. I was 22, wide-eyed, and longing for something to validate what I had strived for all this time. I didn't happen as easily as I thought, and while I was discouraged, I found hope, and excitement that it had all paid off. That was then, this is now. Part of me worries that I'm unable to keep things for too long, that if I went to a therapist he/she would tell me that moving so many times as a child has kept me restless. I worry that I'll always think the grass is greener on the other side, that I'll constantly be looking for the next best thing. But like any choice, it's never that simple.

I took all the above into consideration when I decided to quit my job. But 2008 has really turned out to be one of those times in my life where I'll look back and realize that this was when I started to actually live. After almost two years of being in and out of doctors, on and off of prescriptions, and never feeling fully like myself, I decided to take things into my own hands. I quit smoking, which while I miss it terribly, I've never felt better. I also decided it was time to look into alternative forms of medicine, which solved an almost simple case: I'm allergic to wheat, and dairy. As if my already sever allergies to dust and mold weren't enough, now I had to clear out my refrigerator and pantry and look at ingredient lists for everything I buy. It hasn't been easy, but in the month that I've treated this, I've began to feel like myself again.

But there was something holding me back—a frustration that came because I cared so much about what I did, that the limitations became more and more ridiculous by the day. I realized that my own office, which I spend more time in that my actual apartment for the most part, was making me sick—both physically and mentally. It was time to move on.

So I write this not to be self-serving, but perhaps as some sort of solace for those who may feel the same. I'm incredibly unsure of my future, but relieved that now I know what I need in order to be healthy and happy. I've missed writing here, and I've missed listening to music just for enjoyments sake. Watch this space to see how it all pans out.