Writing my memoir has become one of the hardest things I’ve attempted
in all my career. I do like a challenge, that is why some of the short story submissions
that have been published have been out of my comfort zone, but that’s all
fiction. Writing non-fiction for me has become a new level of difficult and I
know why. It’s always been easy for me to make up worlds and situations with my
characters to be placed but talking about my life hasn’t always been easy. Even
those that know me offline can tell you I keep my circle of friends very small.
I don’t open to just anyone.
Part of me trying to get over my introverted nature and
quietness about myself is me posting the Story Time series. I can talk about my
experiences in writing and sharing advice that may help, that’s non-fiction,
but that isn’t quite the same as what I’m taking on while writing my memoirs.
So here I sit in a struggle. The one of me surviving abuse has been the
hardest. It’s been worked on over the years. It’s hard because it’s so
personal. One it’s published all that buy it will know all my worries, my
struggles, and pass their judgements upon me, my life, my loved ones, and my
I worry about the feedback before it’s even finished and that adds to my struggle. I have had to learn to re-heal from what I went through unaware that it would be a journey that would open wounds I thought I had healed and scarred over. It’s been hard. I even went into therapy to help myself cope with the nightmares, the trigger dreaming, and the way my body handled the things I thought I had recovered from. It’s raw emotionally for me to write about what I am, but I continue because I feel its so important to share my story. I am not alone, sadly, in this type of abuse and surviving it, but it’s the not being alone and surviving that fuels my need to publish this out.
Through the journey I want to get this memoir out. As of
what has been occurring, I am not sure when this will come out. I have high
hopes the end of the year. I do not know many publishes or even editors that
will take up the challenge of a memoir much less one on this type of subject
The Day Seattle Died is the term that had been given to the day April 5th. The first wave hit in 1994 with the death of Kurt Cobain and the second wave hit in 2002. Both days I can remember only the announcements, how they made me feel, and how I reacted. I cannot remember what I was doing before or after, but these have always been pushpins in my timeline. I’ve had many conversations with why people didn’t like Cobain, why people didn’t like grunge music, or why it was all ‘dumb’, but for me these were important events in my life, important enough to me to remember them.
I grew up on a healthy diet of my family’s musical tastes. My dad served me The Doors, Foghat, Fleetwood Mac, Steppenwolf, Mamas and the Papas, Uriah Heep, Jim Croce, Creedence Clearwater Revival, and other artists he grew up with, loved, or heard while he served. My mother served me platefuls of The Statler Brothers, Johnny Cash, other country music artists, and gospel artists to even me out. My sibling added his touches, salt and peppering my early life with the music of the time. He left the television on MTV when he was around, so I ultimately would be introduced to other musicians of the times. This is how I learned of Nirvana originally.
With all that, as one may assume correctly, I was constantly hearing decades gone by and what was ‘dope’ or ‘da bomb’. My dad played guitar or sang almost all the time. It was my signal he was, in the very least, in a decent mood. My mom sang when she cooked, cleaned, and sometimes at bed (something I do for my child and yes some same songs, they’ve got their own groove in my grey matter. Check out You are my Sunshine by Johnny Cash, released in 1969).
The First Wave Hitting
I remember watching Nirvana Unplugged in late 1993. Like everyone else, I was unaware that only a few months after its airing Cobain would be gone. I was in 3rd grade, still, when the announcement popped up on MTV (This was days after he had died and when the public learned of the news on April 8th, 1994). I had just turned the television on and it was already flipped to MTV, my sibling had been there at some point. At first, the announcement was a little crawl at the bottom of the screen and then it was an interruption of Kurt Loder releasing the information.
I saw the original of this:
I can remember being sad and confused. This was the first time I’d ever heard of suicide and didn’t know what it meant. I had yet to learn how troubled someone must be to attempt much less succeed. One of my parents came in and asked what I was watching and telling them Kurt Cobain had died. I can’t remember which one came in, but remember it was one of them. I also remember them telling me they didn’t know who I was talking about. “He’s the singer of Nirvana,” I explained. Their reply, “changes nothing, I still don’t know who they are.”
The announcement was all I really remember from that day. Later, several days later, eleven to be exact I have discovered, I remember seeing Eddie Vedder’s tribute via a ‘K’ on his shirt because someone in the house was watching Saturday Night Live when it happened.
The Second Wave
I was in 9th grade listening to the radio when I heard that Layne Staley had died. I instantly thought of the previously shared memory. I was older then. I understood what suicide is by this point and even how destructive drugs are on those taking them and the loved ones around a user.
It hit me like a ton of bricks. I cried. I didn’t just tear a little I full blown blubbered and shook crying to the news. My sibling came in to see what was going on and I told him. I remember destruction crossing his face; he was sad too. My sibling and I don’t get along very well for many reasons. The actual brother/sisterhood we share is almost non-existent. We rarely shared decent moments through my life, this was one of those few times. In that moment, we were both broken. I do feel it was also in that moment my sibling realized I knew more about music than he ever had cared to wonder before and how greatly it affected me.
I can remember the next day still being sad walking the halls of my high school. No one else had been affected. It was as if it hadn’t even happened. I wasn’t expecting the halls to be filled with crying girls and somber statues made of the male gender or anything (Not like the devastation I witnessed of my classmates when September 11th happened). It bothered me how it was different for everyone else. I’m sure many of them didn’t even know who he was, most of my classmates loved either hip-hop, gospel, or pop.
I loved Alice In Chains and still do, very much so.
As an adult, I’ve seen two more major hits to the list of my favorite bands of my childhood. In 2015, on my birthday to boot, Scott Weiland of Stone Temple Pilots passed. Two years later, Chris Cornell died. In my post 90s Kid Alert, I talked about watching my childhood fade away. The day Chris Cornell died; May 18th, 2017 was one of those days that again made me sad. I felt the music of my life was slipping between my fisted fingers. I was grasping for some happy memories of my life.
In those fists I held the music I grew up with. Music always made me happy. All those days and nights I danced, head-banged, and transported myself somewhere else became more realistic. Life was hitting me with its shittiest branch–the one called reality. With the death of Mr. Cornell, those like me that loved ‘grunge’ music have been left with one singer of my generation, a damn good one too–Eddie Vedder of Pearl Jam and Temple of the Dog.
I recommend reading this article from Loudwire to read more about Cobain and Staley. I also recommend reading this article from The Economic Times about Chris Cornell and Eddie Vedder.