Annual bell shirt thoughts

Yo everyone. Brendan here.

Firstly, the shirt is going up for sale today. As most of you know, we do this annually and 100% of profits are donated to the American foundation for suicide prevention.

A little behind the scenes moment. For yinz in the patreon. To be up front this is not a very upbeat post and if you’re not in a place to go somewhere heavy, maybe save this one for later.

Things don’t always go as planned. I wanted to have the shirt up yesterday. I also wanted to have a post in patreon a day before that. Clearly today is not yesterday anymore nor is yesterday the day before. Actually that is pure speculation as I don’t really know what day it is. Frankly it’s hard to keep track of time right now.

For multiple reasons it has been hard to do a simple write up to post with this shirt on social media. Part of it is trying to write while my daughter wants my attention and feeling like a jerk for not giving her 100%.

But also, even in the best of times, I over-think everything. From the way I said good morning to my girl, to her response and the inflection of her voice, to standing in a grocery store aisle for an hour deciding which type of soap I should buy. And so writing something like that simple print, while it is only a few sentences, presents me with endless options. It could be easy to make the message too personal as if it’s somehow about me. I don’t want that, so maybe I should just write the facts and let people buy the shirt and donate. Or should I say what I’m feeling about everything and, who knows, possibly open a can of worms of emotions for people or sound too pushy just by saying “reach out”. The goal is something in between. Something clear that resonates and is also aware enough to know that not everyone can or will simply “reach out”. The shirt wouldn’t be necessary if suicide was a solvable issue in that way. Of course we know all that but that doesn’t mean someone won’t start yelling at me about it because A. It is a very emotional subject and B. it’s the Internet.

Recently the quarantine aspect of our world has reminded me of my friends agoraphobia. And it’s reminded me that, while we do what we can, there aren’t always answers. But to be honest it’s not really all that deep of a conversation I’m having with myself and it’s likely just that I am feeling clouded and depressed in my own world.

Quarantine has not brought out the best in me. I’ve been in motion since I was kid. Always moving always on the road and always needing a retreat from people to stay mentally sound. So while every day I do my best to focus on gratitude for the things my family and I have, I also find things to feel shitty about. So, my head is fuzz right now. I’m trying to accept that as part of self care right these days it’s ok to allow myself to be upset about my little problems like waking up in chronic pain and having constant headaches and needing some fucking SPACE from my family and I want pizza and we might not be able to afford our mortgage and I can’t play shows. Yeah you know what I think it’s VALID to be a little upset these days. But finding peace with it has been a struggle. Every day I’m just grateful none of us are sick and oh yeah I can still walk and hear and see and hug and that’s what’s important to me.

To be honest I haven’t written anything since my daughter was born. I used to write every day. It just stopped. Immediately. Maybe a lack of time or maybe something deeper that I can’t explain. But it feels alien now and less comfortable. Actually I feel alien and less comfortable now that I have a child, so that’s probably part of it. Parenting is not comfortable. It’s a fucking straight up bonkers job. Anyway, the point is.

The point is that every time I start writing something simple It turns into an outlet for four years of shit I’ve been neglecting to write down.

So the point is.

I’ve had some conversations, mostly listening, about suicide recently. About how being stuck in the house alone has let peoples minds travel back to thoughts they’d forgotten. About plans for how they’d leave us. And I dunno. It’s powerful to hear someone say these things because for myself saying these things was the key to unlocking a door that helped me find a path to a healthier self. So I am grateful when people feel comfortable enough to share with me. I know how hard it can be. And recently I feel them freeing themselves just by saying these things out loud.

Anyway the point is. We’ve got people stuck at home alone for a month and we’ve got people working in hospitals who watch people die every day from Covid-19 and there is a lot of fear across the board. There is going to be a lasting impact on global mental health And we need to fucking look out for each other more than ever.

Anyway the point is that Messing around with the new Final Fantasy has brought up a lot of memories. My friend Scott, who left the house only a few times in the last ten years of his life, mostly sat and played video games. We bonded over final fantasy. And so powering up this start screen reminds me of... Well.. all the things. Of fucked up jokes. His dark sense of humor, his ridiculous laugh and oh yeah. Failing to save his life when for years I knew he was going to kill himself. How I sat in his bedroom, its’ walls tinted yellow with tar from years of Marlboro reds, a residue you could scoop with a fingernail and watched him chain-smoke while I sat trying not to choke and I asked him to let me help him. I did it again the next month and then three months later and then two years later, and learned eventually that he could not take a step even while holding my hand unless I dragged him out of his grandmothers attic through dark lamplit house and the kitchen where the stovetop always had a burner glowing bright blue with nothing on it, through the overgrown yard, to the health department to therapists every day. Yeah. And I lived far away by then and I was touring most of the time. And this is why I’m having a hard time writing a simple thing this year. Because it just stops there at, “I couldn’t”. And most of the time I have accepted that. But right, now this isolation. This time. It feels heavy and it feels familiar. And I am remembering a few other people that I could not save. And it sucks. I’m reminded that it’s not fair. And that i had to say it wasn’t my fault a fucking lot before I believed it.

the point is I am wandering around my house these days doing the best I can to be a good version of Brendan for my family and by the end of each day I have a moment or two I wish I had treated differently. Maybe I was an asshole to my four year old daughter or maybe I snapped at my girl while we took a walk because I am currently guided by fear in a way that I had forgotten I was capable of, and “can you please get off the fucking sidewalk when other people are walking by because we have to control what we can here and other people have shown they don’t seem to take this shit seriously”. And a lot of apologies instead of just breathing and doing the right thing the first time.

So the point is. I am really missing playing shows. There is no other outlet in my life that gives me what I need. Not making love or exercising or playing guitar or eating a cookie. And I’m going through withdrawal in a very serious way. So I wanted to say I miss it.

The point is, sometimes there’s not much we can do to help even the people we love the most and I think that hurts more than just about anything. So we make this shirt in memory and we send money to those who dedicate their time and effort and knowledge to trying to help this cause and hoping that it helps even just one person. That’s enough.

Anyway, I haven’t read or edited this so I hope it doesn’t read like a straight Up sob story or a jumbled mess but also. It is whatever it needed to be.

I’m really doing fine.

B.