I need to make it clean for you
I need to make some room for you to breathe
Spring cleaning has come a season too early
Or maybe it's three seasons too late
I should of kept my soul spotless and tidy
But I have dirtied it too many times over
I feel guilt worse than anyone I know
And when I'm wrong I'll tell you that I am
Finally I found someone that I can bare
Bare all that I feel I should convey
I finally have real eyes, to look and realize
That you are what I might have been waiting for
I won't try to get ahead of myself
The future holds more than any nailed on shelf
It has no weight limit, no limit for you to wait
You just have to see what comes for you
You just have to see what's in store for you
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Monday, December 1, 2008
The Psychiatrist Session (Teenage Years)
[Music fades in quickly, revealing a song that is shrouded in the singers emotions. The song is more heartfelt, but starts to have a sense of sadness to it. A light dim light starts to come forth, brighter and brighter it shines until 2 figures are seen. The well known psychiatrist and a less familiar slouching figure, sitting in a chair that has started to seem to shrink opposed to The Teenager's growing body. The Teenager sits in his chair, the same one he has used since a child, as he stares at the same man he has always seen as a nuisance.]
Psychiatrist: Hello, I know it has been some time, but I can't let this get off to a slow start, I'd like to just ask you about your comment, many sessions ago.
[The Teenager doesn't know how to reply to his statement. He thinks of the first couple times he came to the psychiatrist, it had been years and the visits had become less frequent so that the conversations would be longer. The psychiatrist looked different now, he had a goatee growing and he looked even more aged than before, a coating of guilt and sadness had been slated over him and could not be removed due to his long life of dealing with the problems of other's and no one to deal with his own. The psychiatrist became such a significant part of The Teenager's life now, he was hardly anything short of his life. The Teenager saw the psychiatrist more than he saw anyone else, he would spend hours, equaling days in his office, an eternity of time spent in silence with a man who started as a stranger, but became his closest family.]
Psychiatrist: Look...I know that you don't want to talk about it, but I'm telling you it will help.
[Music bursts into The Teenager's head, a loud scream with a pounding kick drum explodes into the center of his brain. No words, just pure anger reside in this music, The Teenager just snaps back in rage, “I don't want to talk about it!”, the music suddenly goes into a slow acoustic breakdown, he calms like a river flowing slowly to a dark blue sea. The Teenager breathes slowly and apologizes for his outbreak. The psychiatrist is in a sudden state of shock at what has happened, not only was he yelled at, but it was the first significant sign of emotion that his patient had given him. The Teenager calm now, thought of the years, zooming by in his head, his eyes just saw vivid flashes of memories, then he saw the one memory he didn't want to see, the memory of parent's graves, and the lack of tears in his eyes. He was young and naïve, he hardly knew what was going on, but the loss of parents obviously affected him. These are the bones that the psychiatrist has been trying to uncover, but that The Teenager doesn't want to let out.]
Psychiatrist: Well I see you're under some stress, maybe we should cut this session short and start somewhat fresh so that you can compose yourself. Goodbye.
[The Teenager almost got angry again, he felt composed, he didn't feel like anything was wrong with him, how could the psychiatrist have any clue what he was going through, he was a growing human, going through a life with no parents, with no one to call his own family, he needed to get his feelings out to someone, the psychiatrist mainly. But his mind was full right now, he couldn't think. He had to go leave, maybe in a following session he can reveal his thoughts to the psychiatrist, but he couldn't promise on that. The sudden drum beat starts again when he lifts himself from the chair, the floor seems to be bouncing, almost trying to meet his steps half way, so that he won't have to work the full strength of his own leg. He walks slowly focusing his eyes on his musical hallucination, then soon realizes how suspicious he might look, he quickens his pace along with the drums and walks towards the door. He exits.]
Psychiatrist: Hello, I know it has been some time, but I can't let this get off to a slow start, I'd like to just ask you about your comment, many sessions ago.
[The Teenager doesn't know how to reply to his statement. He thinks of the first couple times he came to the psychiatrist, it had been years and the visits had become less frequent so that the conversations would be longer. The psychiatrist looked different now, he had a goatee growing and he looked even more aged than before, a coating of guilt and sadness had been slated over him and could not be removed due to his long life of dealing with the problems of other's and no one to deal with his own. The psychiatrist became such a significant part of The Teenager's life now, he was hardly anything short of his life. The Teenager saw the psychiatrist more than he saw anyone else, he would spend hours, equaling days in his office, an eternity of time spent in silence with a man who started as a stranger, but became his closest family.]
Psychiatrist: Look...I know that you don't want to talk about it, but I'm telling you it will help.
[Music bursts into The Teenager's head, a loud scream with a pounding kick drum explodes into the center of his brain. No words, just pure anger reside in this music, The Teenager just snaps back in rage, “I don't want to talk about it!”, the music suddenly goes into a slow acoustic breakdown, he calms like a river flowing slowly to a dark blue sea. The Teenager breathes slowly and apologizes for his outbreak. The psychiatrist is in a sudden state of shock at what has happened, not only was he yelled at, but it was the first significant sign of emotion that his patient had given him. The Teenager calm now, thought of the years, zooming by in his head, his eyes just saw vivid flashes of memories, then he saw the one memory he didn't want to see, the memory of parent's graves, and the lack of tears in his eyes. He was young and naïve, he hardly knew what was going on, but the loss of parents obviously affected him. These are the bones that the psychiatrist has been trying to uncover, but that The Teenager doesn't want to let out.]
Psychiatrist: Well I see you're under some stress, maybe we should cut this session short and start somewhat fresh so that you can compose yourself. Goodbye.
[The Teenager almost got angry again, he felt composed, he didn't feel like anything was wrong with him, how could the psychiatrist have any clue what he was going through, he was a growing human, going through a life with no parents, with no one to call his own family, he needed to get his feelings out to someone, the psychiatrist mainly. But his mind was full right now, he couldn't think. He had to go leave, maybe in a following session he can reveal his thoughts to the psychiatrist, but he couldn't promise on that. The sudden drum beat starts again when he lifts himself from the chair, the floor seems to be bouncing, almost trying to meet his steps half way, so that he won't have to work the full strength of his own leg. He walks slowly focusing his eyes on his musical hallucination, then soon realizes how suspicious he might look, he quickens his pace along with the drums and walks towards the door. He exits.]
The Psychiatrist Session (Boyhood Years)
[Music fades in, louder than before, but having more of a melody that is distinct from any songs that would be considered music. As the music is sustained at a constant level, a light of a desk brightens, revealing 2 silhouettes, both recognizable, but one is of a slight larger stature than before, and there is something more than just physically different about this boy. His silhouette alone lets you sense a difference in The Boy.]
Psychiatrist: Good evening son, It's good to see you again. What's been on your mind?
[Off to the same old start. The Boy looks at the psychiatrist, ignoring his question, seeing his somewhat receding hairline, and noticing the bags that the years of this job have created under his eyes, he feels almost responsible, thinking that maybe this man has somewhat of a relationship growing with this boy, that maybe the psychiatrist feels a connection, a friendship. The Boy would love to believe his own thoughts, but in the years of time he's known the psychiatrist, he can't even believe he would think that the psychiatrist could develop any feelings. In these years, The Boy seemed to get more details of the psychiatrist's personal life, than the psychiatrist could get of The Boy's. He was a smart boy, and both of them knew that, that's why these sessions were so difficult to go through with, both knew that they would end at the same dead end as always, the psychiatrist asking what was on The Boy's mind and The Boy staying silent like always. Silence follows, pursues, and proceeds his thoughts.]
Psychiatrist: Well, since you won't answer...what has been going on lately?
[The Boy cites his weekly events, telling the psychiatrist of the days at school and his interaction, or lack thereof, with his fellow students. It's not that The Boy thinks he is better than any of the students, although he is, it's just the fact that the students see him as frightening. The Boy is neither tall nor burly, he is of rather average height and strength in physical aspects, it is in his mental and emotional traits where this fear resides.]
Psychiatrist: Son, how do you feel about these students, about your lack of social life, your lack of acceptance.
[The Boy thinks about this, he almost feels insulted when he hears what the psychiatrist says. Although the boy agrees with the fact of his lack of acceptance, he feels like it was never needed to be stated or talked about. Although bothered by this, he tells the psychiatrist what he thinks he should say, maybe not the truth, but a answer that will leave that at that...Unless you're a psychiatrist of course...]
Psychiatrist: Now you can't just feel so generic about this. You must have some feelings about the situation.
[The Boy knows what his acquaintance is trying to do, but he will not let the psychiatrist get to him, The Boy just restates his lack of care for the subject, and reiterates that he is fine with his relationship with his fellow students. The psychiatrist will accept this for now, but he will of course go back to his never-satisfied question.]
Psychiatrist: Before you leave, I wanted to ask, what do you have on your mind?
[The Boy thinks, he ponders whether to unlatch the gate of his mind, he opens it slowly, thinking of whether to say anything or nothing at all. The music suddenly pounds in his skull, as if some foreshadowing of an epic event, like the movies he has seen, where music comes in at the right parts, but The Boy does not know where this is coming from, the singer chants into his skull, “Don't let anything go, you will only let everyone in. Sometimes depression can be, the best way for keeping away sin. Don't let you get ahead of yourself, you'll only get hurt. Don't lose your upper hand to him, don't say a word.”, but with theses lyrics fresh in his mind, he accidentally lets one thing out, “I miss my parents...”, it slips through the crack of the open gate before he could slam it shut and bolt it closed. The music has turned into a scream, one sounding of pain in his chest and his head. The Boy thinks of what he has just said, he realizes that he might of just unlocked a door for the psychiatrist to pry through, until he finds his answers. The Boy stands up and turns to leave, knowing that he should go before the psychiatrist has his way with his brain. As he leaves, another drum beat slowly picks up pace, more like the beat of his heart, almost like an essence of life for The Boy. He walks with the heart beat, even as it quickens, and almost dashes out of the office, while the psychiatrist calls goodbye out of the office door. He exits.]
Psychiatrist: Good evening son, It's good to see you again. What's been on your mind?
[Off to the same old start. The Boy looks at the psychiatrist, ignoring his question, seeing his somewhat receding hairline, and noticing the bags that the years of this job have created under his eyes, he feels almost responsible, thinking that maybe this man has somewhat of a relationship growing with this boy, that maybe the psychiatrist feels a connection, a friendship. The Boy would love to believe his own thoughts, but in the years of time he's known the psychiatrist, he can't even believe he would think that the psychiatrist could develop any feelings. In these years, The Boy seemed to get more details of the psychiatrist's personal life, than the psychiatrist could get of The Boy's. He was a smart boy, and both of them knew that, that's why these sessions were so difficult to go through with, both knew that they would end at the same dead end as always, the psychiatrist asking what was on The Boy's mind and The Boy staying silent like always. Silence follows, pursues, and proceeds his thoughts.]
Psychiatrist: Well, since you won't answer...what has been going on lately?
[The Boy cites his weekly events, telling the psychiatrist of the days at school and his interaction, or lack thereof, with his fellow students. It's not that The Boy thinks he is better than any of the students, although he is, it's just the fact that the students see him as frightening. The Boy is neither tall nor burly, he is of rather average height and strength in physical aspects, it is in his mental and emotional traits where this fear resides.]
Psychiatrist: Son, how do you feel about these students, about your lack of social life, your lack of acceptance.
[The Boy thinks about this, he almost feels insulted when he hears what the psychiatrist says. Although the boy agrees with the fact of his lack of acceptance, he feels like it was never needed to be stated or talked about. Although bothered by this, he tells the psychiatrist what he thinks he should say, maybe not the truth, but a answer that will leave that at that...Unless you're a psychiatrist of course...]
Psychiatrist: Now you can't just feel so generic about this. You must have some feelings about the situation.
[The Boy knows what his acquaintance is trying to do, but he will not let the psychiatrist get to him, The Boy just restates his lack of care for the subject, and reiterates that he is fine with his relationship with his fellow students. The psychiatrist will accept this for now, but he will of course go back to his never-satisfied question.]
Psychiatrist: Before you leave, I wanted to ask, what do you have on your mind?
[The Boy thinks, he ponders whether to unlatch the gate of his mind, he opens it slowly, thinking of whether to say anything or nothing at all. The music suddenly pounds in his skull, as if some foreshadowing of an epic event, like the movies he has seen, where music comes in at the right parts, but The Boy does not know where this is coming from, the singer chants into his skull, “Don't let anything go, you will only let everyone in. Sometimes depression can be, the best way for keeping away sin. Don't let you get ahead of yourself, you'll only get hurt. Don't lose your upper hand to him, don't say a word.”, but with theses lyrics fresh in his mind, he accidentally lets one thing out, “I miss my parents...”, it slips through the crack of the open gate before he could slam it shut and bolt it closed. The music has turned into a scream, one sounding of pain in his chest and his head. The Boy thinks of what he has just said, he realizes that he might of just unlocked a door for the psychiatrist to pry through, until he finds his answers. The Boy stands up and turns to leave, knowing that he should go before the psychiatrist has his way with his brain. As he leaves, another drum beat slowly picks up pace, more like the beat of his heart, almost like an essence of life for The Boy. He walks with the heart beat, even as it quickens, and almost dashes out of the office, while the psychiatrist calls goodbye out of the office door. He exits.]
The Psychiatrist Session (Childhood Years)
[Music fades in, something light, but with a significant beat. As the music is as prominent as it will be, a light glows brighter in a psychiatrist's office. A child sits in a chair consuming his little body, maybe 7 or 8 years of age, as a psychiatrist sits in his own comfy leather seat, dusted with age, yet as clean as it has always been, staring at the child with a determined stare.]
Psychiatrist: So...now son, will you tell me what's on your mind?
[Silence is all that drips from the child's lips]
Psychiatrist: Now look, I don't want to be rude but I have been sitting here for 10 minutes and all that I hear is silence. Please, can I have at least 1 session with you that consists of more than just "hello doctor...I'm good...you?...that's good". I have asked you what's on your mind every session we've had and all 4 times all I receive is a blank stare and a stitched mouth.
[Although the psychiatrist sees a blank stare, that is hardly what is given, the child has more hurt in his eyes than any 50 year old man, post-mid-life-crisis. But this psychiatrist isn't as perceptive in sights of a patient as he is in the sight of money, everyone knows he doesn't care about you, he just wants to be paid. This child, will not tell him what is going on, he will not give a hint, he is a mere child, what is he to say?]
Psychiatrist: Look Son, I guess I will have to cut this session short just like all the others that came before, unless you change your mind. Do you have anything to say?
[The child's mind finally grasps onto something worth the toll of leaving his mouth, but instead, something tells him to keep his words perched on his lips. He hears the music in his head, almost louder than ever. The singer pounds the words into his skull, "Don't you trust them, they will all turn on you. Won't you listen, You know what to do. The truth is more important, when kept in your head. The cries from the past, are meant to be buried with the dead." Although young, the child is an intelligent one, and immediately finds these sudden poetic verses a sign. The child will keep his mouth in control, and will only tell the psychiatrist weekly events, only simple stories of his day at school. But what is yet to come from this child's mouth, the psychiatrist could never be ready for, even with his prior knowledge of the past.]
Psychiatrist: Well since you have nothing left to say, I will just leave that at that and I will see you next week, have a good week, child.
[The child leaves, almost to a tune, to his own rhythm, tramping across the ground like his legs were drumsticks coming down on a snare for a drum roll of a big event to pummel him into a sudden realization, a realization that would change his life. He exits.]
Psychiatrist: So...now son, will you tell me what's on your mind?
[Silence is all that drips from the child's lips]
Psychiatrist: Now look, I don't want to be rude but I have been sitting here for 10 minutes and all that I hear is silence. Please, can I have at least 1 session with you that consists of more than just "hello doctor...I'm good...you?...that's good". I have asked you what's on your mind every session we've had and all 4 times all I receive is a blank stare and a stitched mouth.
[Although the psychiatrist sees a blank stare, that is hardly what is given, the child has more hurt in his eyes than any 50 year old man, post-mid-life-crisis. But this psychiatrist isn't as perceptive in sights of a patient as he is in the sight of money, everyone knows he doesn't care about you, he just wants to be paid. This child, will not tell him what is going on, he will not give a hint, he is a mere child, what is he to say?]
Psychiatrist: Look Son, I guess I will have to cut this session short just like all the others that came before, unless you change your mind. Do you have anything to say?
[The child's mind finally grasps onto something worth the toll of leaving his mouth, but instead, something tells him to keep his words perched on his lips. He hears the music in his head, almost louder than ever. The singer pounds the words into his skull, "Don't you trust them, they will all turn on you. Won't you listen, You know what to do. The truth is more important, when kept in your head. The cries from the past, are meant to be buried with the dead." Although young, the child is an intelligent one, and immediately finds these sudden poetic verses a sign. The child will keep his mouth in control, and will only tell the psychiatrist weekly events, only simple stories of his day at school. But what is yet to come from this child's mouth, the psychiatrist could never be ready for, even with his prior knowledge of the past.]
Psychiatrist: Well since you have nothing left to say, I will just leave that at that and I will see you next week, have a good week, child.
[The child leaves, almost to a tune, to his own rhythm, tramping across the ground like his legs were drumsticks coming down on a snare for a drum roll of a big event to pummel him into a sudden realization, a realization that would change his life. He exits.]
The Sun
I'll never burn bright next to someone else
I'll just snuff my flame and dissipate myself
Cause it's obvious you'd love to see me alone
I'll be the white dwarf in the Northern sky
Alone with no black hole neighbor to watch me die
I will dully glow in this house with not one window
I don't care how harsh I may sound
It's not like I'm saying something profound
I just know that you don't like me, with her
But god damn it, can't you be a better friend
I supported you, even though I didn't like him
Couldn't you do the same for me, and her
I just can't help the way I feel
It's not my fault I finally found someone real
Someone I feel like I can actually be with
Jealousy can play a wicked game
But don't get mad and tag me to blame
I hate to see this all go down hill from here
Let me end this on a better note
I still love you even if you'd slit my throat
Please just let what happens, happen
I know this might not be what you want to hear
I've never made a better friend, within a year
I still love you, you honestly changed my life
I'll just snuff my flame and dissipate myself
Cause it's obvious you'd love to see me alone
I'll be the white dwarf in the Northern sky
Alone with no black hole neighbor to watch me die
I will dully glow in this house with not one window
I don't care how harsh I may sound
It's not like I'm saying something profound
I just know that you don't like me, with her
But god damn it, can't you be a better friend
I supported you, even though I didn't like him
Couldn't you do the same for me, and her
I just can't help the way I feel
It's not my fault I finally found someone real
Someone I feel like I can actually be with
Jealousy can play a wicked game
But don't get mad and tag me to blame
I hate to see this all go down hill from here
Let me end this on a better note
I still love you even if you'd slit my throat
Please just let what happens, happen
I know this might not be what you want to hear
I've never made a better friend, within a year
I still love you, you honestly changed my life
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