Light reading for your Sunday Scaries :)
The End of the World & Ego Death & Disassociation & such.
In March, maybe through early April, I went through multiple interviews with someone who had interest in hiring me to curate a newsletter.
When he found out I had yet to update my newsletter since 2023 had come about—purely based on my own poor memory, because I do think I had at least one entry—he said, “What! C’mon Gomi! You need to update it—“
Something like that.
He quite literally ghosted me after inquiring my rate/desired pay. And this is just one example of how people will always blame me for having false understanding of my public facade, despite it being instilled by people’s carelessly enforced false expectations.
I kind of hate that some people were kinda right despite their ill intent, regarding how much time I’ve put into Manic. and my friendships with the guys. When May 26th rolled around, we celebrated with (in my opinion) a perfect day, the next morning I woke up and sat in my robe, felt sun on my skin for the first time in months. It’s not that the sun hasn’t been around, I’ve simply switched off most of my feelings.
How do you distinguish ego death from disassociation? When I look down at my feet and feel voices of my friends become this glassy thing and the air starts taking a way too physical shape—is that me losing control? Or gaining control in a completely metaphysical way?
But oh… Fuck you. These past few months were the weirdest thing. Nashville is weird like that, I genuinely believe some people just don’t want you to be happy and succeed. I’ve heard people saying, “I miss you! We want more YOU!” implying they want to see less Manic. on my web presence, even though, the very conversation taking place involved demands of favor, inquiries of my professional relationships in the business.
And I mean, I get it, I think most of Nashville is too tired to remember how to be decent human sometimes.
Months of cabin fever as we go between shows, studios, our own shows, 51st Deli… The presence of my friends became my safe space. Yes, we were isolated. But if the boys and one of the best debut albums ever didn’t exist in my life, I would have still been isolated.
Still, on May 27th I opened my arms to new friends and new ventures (with an elongated pit stop at Nick’s, and bringing him to a show instead of going alone because he’s my comfort person). On May 28th I mapped out the next chapter of my own photo project.
Then the week proceeded, and it felt like I was learning how to walk again. Everything was energy-demanding, conversations I used to hold all the time feel way too loud in my head, and all I got was this craving to be present—because somehow I’ve reacquired the ability to do that again.
I got to see one of my favorite bands ever on Tuesday night for the first time in almost 4 years—in between then and now I’ve interviewed Awsten Knight twice and both times fueled me to keep going—and I had vivid moments where everything felt so visceral and I uttered “UGH!” after every riff. I didn’t get to see my all time favorite band on Thursday night, so I went around the neighborhood in my most obnoxiously annoyed self among community soccer teams and called up all my friends—I knew who was going to pick up and who wouldn’t, I called them all anyway—and I complained about how boring is this city, how other than shows and drinking at bars, there’s nothing to do with your friends.
I ended up at Nick’s place watching him play video games. To be honest that’s all I ever wanted. The next evening me and Nicole embarked on a whole girlie activity night. There was a moment when we stood around looking at the oddest expensive college apartment living room, and I delusionally thought it was like college again, me and my first truly intimate friendships with other young women, at a party, bonding way too quickly through past trauma and, too much joy in the very moment.
I think about how me and Matt still got so much time to learn to be friends. We’ve been stealing each other’s memes and our friends point out how both of our brains are fucked on the same level at brunch table. It was a full circle moment. A year and three months prior I met Matt at my friend’s brunch gathering. We’ve met each other first, we’ve spent the least time together. I cannot be more grateful for my tearful 2am self from that one night, when I penned the question “Can we be friends?” in my letter to Matt.
We are friends. But I just wanted him to know that beyond the album, the band, we got a whole life ahead of us.
So why did I write this entry again?
Maybe it’s just that, I like the person I’m becoming. It’s hard to comprehend how I went from endlessly apologizing in the week leading up to May 26th, for all the fuck ups I’ve done in my months of oblivious existing and fixing one mistake with another… To returning to my own body, accepting that luckily, despite everything felt like a blur since January 1st, I like who I’ve become in the months-long butterfly effect.
And I’m just looking forward to worrying less, experiencing, feeling, seeing who I truly want to see and not having to listen to people bullshit me at coffee with who they want me to be again.
*clarification, if we got coffee this week, I like you all a lot.
A pandemic and a few family deaths oversea, a whole album from the great loves of my life and a few major career moves before turning 24 later, sometimes it’s easy to forget I still got a whole life in front of me.
Ego death or disassociation, whatever, I just need to go back to therapy again.