It was 1991, Nine Inch Nails had just released their first debut album, "Pretty Hate Machine."'
I honestly couldn't believe it happened and that it already was such a success. It was amazing,and I did it on my own, of course not without my live group for the tour, but still I did it. "Pretty Hate Machine" just went triple platinum and I had just finished the tour. Now, I could take a break and worry about myself a bit. I rose from my bed and slipped on a very soft cotton tee, not worried about the cleanness of it. I walked to my desk, sun peeking just a bit behind my dead-as-night black curtains. I liked the room dark. Old wall paneling, which I had carved lyrics and ideas into, had dust and dirt on it from lack of care. Dust floated through the house. I was hardly here, back in Cleveland, Ohio. Where it all began. It was odd, and sometime I judged that any of this was real. I grabbed a pen and some paper and sat down, my body aching. I wrote down feelings no one would even think I feel. Every day is exactly the same, there is no love here and there is no pain.
And then I shut my journal, thinking it was a dumb idea and sounded terrible. I took a shower and put on a clean black tee and black shorts. No one thought I was the brightest person. Now they all look up to me for just saying what I've held in for all my life, and they think I'm mean or rude when I laugh at them.
I walked out the door and when I walk out no one is staring at me, or running towards me. And I walk slowly, enjoying the fact that I'm alone. Right where I wanted to be. I didn't know where I was going and I didn't care. I wanted my ideas to flow before I wrote it all down and created something I would regret. Why does it feel like everything if falling apart? Why? I thought this to myself, knowing everything would be fine. Nothing bad has even happened.
