Six Letter Word [Kaylor]

My Own Words (Introduction)

trigger warning: minor allusion to past self-harm, depression

I don't think it's exactly news to anyone that I keep journals. Pages out of some of my old ones adorn the walls at the Grammy Museum. What might surprise some people is that I usually have more than one at a time. One for song lyrics, one for what's going on in my life. What follows is an edited version of the one I kept in 2016 and the first part of 2017. Some things are still too private, too personal. Some you'll have to hear in songs. I never thought I'd write a memoir so young. At 27 I'd like to think I have a lot of life yet to experience. But after countless questions, I realized I'd rather put it all out there, for you to read on your own, rather than let the media interpret what I have to say. I've had enough of people twisting my words to last a lifetime.

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To fully understand where I was in the fall of 2016, there's a little history lesson I need to give, so here goes.

A few years ago, I dealt with some pretty bad depression. I felt guilty for not being happy with my life, given all the amazing things I'd gotten to experience, and the guilt just made it worse. Depression is a medical disorder, caused by a hormone imbalance in your brain. Sometimes things can be knocked out of whack by bad things happening in your life, but sometimes it just happens. I didn't know that then. So I beat myself up for not being absolutely thrilled with my life. Sure, I'd fallen prey to a guy who used my own insecurities and doubts to manipulate me into thinking I loved him, but I'd also come out stronger, and more sure of who I was than I'd ever been. I thought that meant I should be in a really good place. But I wasn't.

Never mind that there were other factors. I was alone, as far as romance went. I'd hooked up with some people here and there, but no one long term. My parents where fighting, a lot, and I was still young enough to be freaked out by it. And meanwhile, the chemicals in my brain were all fucked up. But it worked for me, weirdly, for a while. I got some good songs out of it. I don't think it's going to surprise any of you that the album I was working on through all of this was Red.

Along the way, as I was running out of ways to cope, I met the woman who changed my life. It's weird, now, because even though she changed my life for the better, she isn't a part of it anymore. Even losing her hurt less than it should have because she made me strong enough to do it without her. She made me strong enough to say no, when she hit one knee, and I wasn't ready. But before that, she helped me realize that what I was feeling wasn't normal. That I didn't have to struggle with all the pain inside my head. That I didn't have to use series of thin red lines where no one would see them to let it out. My mom never liked how wild and free she was, or how willing she was to give up everything she'd worked for to spend her life with me, but mom, and I, will always be grateful to her for encouraging me to see a therapist.

A loving relationship, hours of therapy, and prescriptions for antidepressants and scar cream later, I hit a much better place in my life. I wasn't happy all the time, but I wasn't so hard on myself because of it. I came out of the Red Tour a lot better than I went into it, even though by then I'd already had to make the hardest decision I thought I would ever have to make – the decision to turn down a woman with a ring in her hand, and love in her eyes. She loved me. I don't doubt that. But she wasn't ready to settle down any more than I was. I don't think that's a thing she does. But it's something I wanted. And thanks to her, something I knew I deserved.

We made one valiant attempt to reconnect as friends, after I turned her down. By then, I'd weaned back off the antidepressants. I was writing again, pop songs this time. Some sad songs, but without the deep melancholy that dominated Red, even as I wrote songs about the end of what we'd had. Nothing was the same, and that helped, weirdly, because it told me I had moved on. You never forget, or completely let go of someone who's been such a huge influence on your life. But you do reach a point where they're not your everything anymore. The scars she left behind are like old friends. Soft, faded, the kind of scars that evoke pleasant memories of good times, when you took a leap and fell, but jumped up screaming "that was awesome!"

So why does any of that matter? She doesn't feature anywhere in this story, although for the record, she did call me when the beginnings of this story first broke. It was sweet, and she said things I needed to hear. But that's not why I thought you should hear what came before. It's because this all started with what I thought was a resurgence of my depression. So I thought it might help to know I'd been down that road before. Because having been there before, it didn't scare me when it came back. I knew, all along, that depression is cyclic. It never completely goes away. And sometimes it comes back even when you're happy.

Going into the fall of 2016, I'd had a weird couple of years. I'd fallen head over heels for the girl of my dreams in 2013. I'd considered coming out. That's how sure I was that she was the one. I'd gotten scared, chickened out, and rushed headlong back into the closet at the end of 2014. Professionally, in 2015 and 2016, I'd hit almost every high I could imagine, but there had been some rough points personally. Dealing with a fake ex who turned out to be a nightmare. A point in July when I'd been so distraught I'd shattered my phone against a wall in a hotel in Australia. But through it all Karlie was there. She kept me grounded. She knew every part of my history. She'd seen the scars I never let anyone else see, on my stomach and on my heart.

When I started feeling numb, in the fall of 2016, when the happy love songs I wanted to write wouldn't come, it was Karlie I turned to. She encouraged me to add sessions with my therapist, to try to figure out what was happening. I worked hard to make sure she knew that she had nothing to do with how I was feeling. I knew she would stress that her reluctance to come out, now that I was finally ready, was somehow contributing, but I knew that wasn't it. I figured it was just a hormone thing. In some ways, I was right.

She's been here with me ever since. We tested out that whole, "in sickness and in health" thing a little earlier in our marriage than I would have liked, but there's just nothing like knowing you have a partner in everything you do. This is my story, but it is also hers. The last year has been the kind of year no one ever wants to face. But I've been fortunate to have the love of my life by my side through it all. I love you Karlie.