I suppose it didn’t literally break, being that I was born with a heart problem… But I didn’t know about it until 2009.
I’m gonna try this new series, in which I eventually tell the whole story of getting sick and being in the hospital (or as I liked to call it, the hops).
The current plan is to do a post every Wednesday night/Thursday morning (depending how you look at it). We’ll see if this turns out to be interesting. I’m learning about blogging and taking it as it goes. Why not try this and see what happens?
Originally, when I started drafting some posts, I started by talking for at least three posts about June 25, 2009 – the day Michael Jackson died (my birthday). Obviously, that is the day my heart really broke.
(*Note: This post makes me sound pretty crazy and possibly too sad. The hospital stuff gets less emotional (usually). Expect this to (hopefully) be the only crazy, sad post. To skip this post that’s mainly about Michael Jackson (crazy, I know), and go straight to part 2, click here.)
I never met Michael Jackson. Yet, he had an incredibly profound impact on my life. It’s beyond words, so there’s no use spending thousands of words trying to explain it.
I’m not not-talking about it. I’m just trying not to bore you or sound off-the-charts nuts. Almost every major decision I made was based off of my inspiration from him – high school for musical theater, “Berklee or bust” for college (because Quincy Jones went there). I know that’s in the nuts category, but that’s how it is. Michael Jackson changed my life. I. did. not. know. how. to be a person once he was gone. (I’m still not positive that I do.)
Not to sound like a complete downer, but on June 25, 2009, I was broken. Completely broken. I tried to go for a run since that was the only way I knew how to deal with problems, but I broke down and sobbed for hours when “I Wanna Be Where You Are” came on my iPod (while he was on every TV, on every station playing in the gym).
I had the empty glass eyes when I went work, able to get things done, but nothing more. When I was able to drag myself to school, I sat in the back of my classes, looking down. What was I doing at Berklee now? What’s the point of going to music school if I’m not going to work for him?
Let’s get real. I would’ve worked with him someday. I would’ve done whatever was necessary to make it happen. It was going to happen. I will always believe that. Now it literally cannot happen. There are so few things in this life that are actually completely impossible. Working with him is one of those things.
Almost three years later, and it still can’t be right. How can he not be here? I don’t understand.
June/July 2009, I was an empty shell of a human being, questioning everything about my life, having literally no idea how I was going to survive. Within a few weeks of that fateful day, I tried – I tried so hard to put myself back together. He was able to do anything. I should be to as well. I tried to remember to eat. I tried to run. I’m strong. I know I’m strong, right? I can get through anything? Sure. Of course.
So, I tried – laced up my shoes, gave it a go. My feet weighed 90,000 pounds. I was unbelievably tired all the time.
I knew I was upset, but it felt as though something physically was wrong. I like to think I have very strong willpower, and I was trying so hard to be a human being again, but I just could not do it. I don’t even believe in “I can’t.” Anything is possible. But at that one moment in time, for the first time in my life, I thought there was something I could not do.
I went to see a doctor on July 29, 2009, a little over a month after Michael Jackson died.
“Please help. I’m drinking lots of water, and taking iron supplements. I fall asleep throughout the day. I try to run and can’t. What’s happening to me?”
“Give it time. I don’t think the problem’s physical.”
“It must be. I can feel that it’s not in my mind. My willpower is strong. My body is not.”
“Come back in a couple of months and let’s see what’s happening.”
We’ll see what’s happening next in part 2, next week.