1985 was an incredibly difficult year.
In fact, that time in the mid-1980s was awful. Things weren’t going well, and whatever dreams I had after high school for happiness or success were long gone. Relationships were sporadic, and usually filled with drama that I didn’t need. In the end, I was left with a trail of low-end jobs and a worn-out 1976 Chevy Vega to get me there.
One day that year is one I consider to be the lowest part of my life.
I awoke that morning with a bad mood that I couldn’t shake, and through the day the darkness never lifted. I even dressed in my finest clothes – a trick to feel better taught to me by my high school band teacher – but even nice threads didn’t make a difference. By the end of the day my head was a complete mess; for some reason I called my sister, and broke down by the second sentence in our conversation. She insisted that I come over, and that evening I just remember talking and talking. She listened and listened. It was the closest I ever got to the notion that ending it all was an option. Thankfully I didn’t do that; the next morning I felt different and uplifted; life seemed to improve from that day forward.
This poem – found in the archives recently – is evidence that 1985 was filled with trouble.
Not only did I write about my darkest feelings on relationships and depression, I even dated the work – October 17th. From what I recall the poem was written around the time of my lowest day, while the pain was fresh in my mind. It was never intended to have an audience – only me – so I let loose and wrote exactly what I felt. The message says, “You know what? I don’t care anymore. Just get it over with.” It’s a call from a man who felt trapped in whatever situation kept him down. While it is hard to read today, I’m glad I wrote it; the poem is like a life marker by which I can compare my current experience.
It’s definitely better now.
He Just Wanted to Be Alone
As the boiling point was achieved
Feelings exploded, and true meanings were obscured by jealousy
He was angry
Failure was not something he cared to deal with
Nor was it something that he was ready for
He wanted neither self-pity or compassion
He just wanted to be alone
Life bothered him, almost to an intolerable extent
People bothered him, the regularity of the human race knocked him off balance
The woman in his life was gone, shoulding some other guy’s feelings
He watched her walk out the door, and into someone else’s life
And he watched the sorrow turn to tears
He wanted to neither end his life, or start over fresh
He just wanted to be alone
Lately, life had been tackling him head-on
And, although fighting fairly, he was losing
He lit a cigarette and got back into the game
Only to be pushed back and crushed
He wanted neither a crisp, new view of life, or a biased look into the future.
He just wanted to be alone.