Nothing On My Tongue But Hallelujah

Shawn T. Meade II
Aug 27, 2017 · 5 min read

I am brought to you today from within the walls of Fort Lost Childhood, or maybe it’s Fort Shirked Responsibility, either way it feels like Fort Do I Have To, right now. I’m writing on this overcast, wind-swept, rainy Sunday much earlier than I did yesterday because like a good lighting strike, inspiration cracks you in the side of the head unexpectedly, but almost always in a good way. Today’s no different. I woke up before 7:00 am, having not showered the day before, determined to be a better Shawn today to allow myself enough time to remember how to be a good adult for my new job tomorrow. I did an oil pull on my teeth, read my ignored emails, and made a list of things to attend to on LinkedIn.

I opened up Medium before I checked out Facebook or Instagram, because at least Medium is focused on semi-scholarly, but hella insightful, articles as opposed to cat videos and curated vacation photos. At the top of my feed was an article featured in a series I haven’t heard of, by an author I don’t follow, centered in a topic I haven’t flagged as an “interest” of mine. All the same, Medium said, “You might like this”. Never one to pass up a suggestion, I opened this article that was labeled a thirteen-minute read. Just before this, I got the urge to listen to as many versions of “Hallelujah” on Apple Music I could — don’t ask why, I’ve just become accustomed to giving in to my less-than-destructive urges lately. Based on the chosen image, and title, I thought this was an (inordinately long) article about someone coming to terms with the lack of fulfillment they were experiencing in their chosen career and were finally announcing to the world that they were making the big boy change needed. After the second sentence, I said, “Oh, this is some serious shit”.

What was expertly-titled, “A Letter of Resignation”, turned out to be a harrowing coming-to-terms story about alcoholism, lost interests, destructive behavior, and, finally, realization of a desire to live. Heavy and well-written, it was a sobering insight into how people can rise above the challenges they’ve faced, or even brought upon themselves, and move forward. While I can’t say that this was a characterization of my life and struggles, the parallels in emotion were striking. Even now, as I’m finishing my black coffee and chomping my sprouted grain toast with organic peach preserves, I’m still moved by the story. (Of course, I feel like the universe wanted me to feel the importance of this man’s words by also making me listen to about 50 different versions of “Hallelujah”, an unrelated song altogether, but equally somber and sobering).

My life has felt like one good achievement immediately followed by what seemed like a monumental struggle, after another. Each time, the monumental struggle over time felt so infinitesimal compared to what else was going on in the world and I would eventually feel like a punk, whining about the “bad hand I was dealt”. After a few months, though, I would get down again. Reliably cyclical, my depression would always come back. Maybe I’m overly dramatic and what I have felt on and off since I was 17 is all part of my regular emotional cycle, something you have to ride out like a rough tide. Either way, you can’t help but get seasick… I’d like to think that now that I’m regularly writing down my thoughts and feelings about the goings-on in my life that the negative juju that so long plagued my erratic brain won’t stay up there and thus fester and blister until it explodes into my real life. If not, at least I’m getting out a few funny lines and poignant thoughts.

One of the best things I’ve had going for me through all of my very up up’s and very down down’s is that I’ve had a best friend who never let me stay too down for long, or get too into myself when things were going well. She and I have known each other since 1998, which is about to be 20 years ago and makes me feel old af; and we’ve been good friends since 2007. Ten years of learning from each other, growing into adults together, enjoying each other’s company, and always being there one another. When someone speaks the same language as you, and goes through the same things as you, you can’t help but love them. Interesting that listening to a slow song that’s been done and redone 1000 times and reading a Medium article about coming to terms with a drinking problem reminds me of the closeness I have with my oldest and dearest friend… I can assure you that we don’t have some dark, suicide-pact-like friendship, quite the opposite. I guess maybe it’s because she’s the person I think about when I’m feeling some kinda way about something. My husband is hands down the closest human to me in the world and I’d never keep anything from him, but when you have a friend that knows all the stories, who’s seen all the fuck-ups, and clapped for all the triumphs, your heart and your brain goes there. Sometimes all we have to do is send each other a meme or say “bitch…” to each other and the understanding is there.

When I wrote last week about celebrating my marriage and how in love I was with a person I didn’t know I needed until I found him, I told everyone reading that I hope they get to find that kind of love with another person, if they already hadn’t. Now I’ll say, when I didn’t realize that this was where my piece was going to go when I started writing, that I hope you can turn to your closest friend and thank them for their friendship. Acknowledge the strength your bond has given you for however many years you’ve been friends. Tell them that you love them unconditionally because that’s the only kind of love a friendship like yours deserves. Thank them for not only having your back but being the mirror you refused to be for yourself when you were spiraling the drain. (That’s what I’m doing now!).

I was told right before I graduated high school that if you kept in touch and stayed close with two or three of your crew from your teenage years, you were lucky. I can tell you I feel luckier than all of you combined for having stayed in touch with and gotten even closer to just one of my OG crew. Looking back on this whole piece, it doesn’t actually surprise me that I started writing about my bestie (which is a title we never refer to each other as!). Just as I turned to my husband when I started writing about how I felt like a stranger in my childhood home, when I reflect on my waves of depression through the years, I turned to the person who helped me keep my head above water, and who I’d free dive into the ocean after if she needed. So in the end, you see, I am an optimist! Took the long way around to get there, but I’m there all the same.

To read the piece that I referenced, and thus inspired my writing today, click here.

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Shawn T. Meade II

Written by

Everyday, I scramble my brain and make thought omelettes. High heat, vigorous whipping, a little seasoning. Introspection is served!

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