Tin Man

So this amazing person is telling me something that kind of scares me. This person does not know or appreciate the weight in which the words roll off of her tongue. I can’t imagine why, considering I feel that the words chosen are carefully put forth. It’s been while since a number of things in my life were normal. It’s been a while since I looked in the mirror and recognized the person looking back at me.

Some nights I’m outside my new favorite place that The Vamps take me to. Sometimes I am outside looking at cheap artwork and smoking cigarettes. Other times I am just sitting and watching others smoke and talk about things. Nonsensical things or interesting stories or self-degrading jokes that make us laugh.

Other nights I am outside of an apartment watching my friend complain that the person who lives here has not arrived, and she has to use the restroom. Being the good friend that I am I offer a cup, or maybe just to take a picture of her as she goes insane at the prospect of having to hit the nearby bush.

I’m in the parking lot of a nearby bank, which allows us the pleasure of avoiding an overnight ticket. We are about to hit a local bar for whatever the reason is. A birthday, a gathering, the party we were at a while earlier offered nothing in terms of a crowd that we were comfortable with. We took our beers, said our goodbyes, and headed off to the next adventure.

I’m outside the local Taco Stand in some Los Angeles neighborhood eating what resembles a meal for the first time in front of my friends who swear they have never seen me eat more than a few bites. Pictures are taken, video on a cell phone, decisions and promises and smiles.

I’m leaving my home in 105-degree weather to be taken to my truck. I left it behind knowing I would be in no shape to drive later. I say goodbye, and I jump in the old pick up and head to the park.

I run my ass off. I run until I sweat from my head to shoulders. I run till I perspire from my arms and look at the time and make sure I don’t stop no matter how hot it is. I run slowly, but I run nonetheless until it hurts from every part of me. I hold in my stomach till its sore. I hold out my arms till they are tired. I turn up my music till all I can hear of the world is gone behind dark music, and angry lyrics.

My friend tells me she doesn’t know who I am anymore. She says that I have somehow changed when I didn’t realize it and it hits like a train on the tracks would hit an unsuspecting vehicle running the gates. I appreciate the thought, and I appreciate the observations. She wouldn’t be a friend if she DIDN’T say this to me when she thought it.

I think about it, and I ask others what they think. The answer is varied.

“Be you, who you want to be.” Says another parent that I connect with.

“Fuck Josh, you don’t know who you are. Who was that guy before? Was that you? People like you and I are gonna do things when people say not to do them because we can. We do things because no one else will, and no one gave a fuck enough to keep us from this shit” says another friend as he cuts my hair.

“Where have you been are you mad at me?” she writes to me. I realize that I’ve neglected some people.

So I wonder if the person we were is the person we are. I wonder if the person we are is who we are supposed to be, or some prologue to a shadow we haven’t attached ourselves to.

I wonder these things as I run as hard as I can now. I have gotten my second wind, and this is the second time today that I have gone running. I am about to head in for the night. Its late, and its still hot in this California Heat Wave. My eyes burn, and my ankles are sore. My heart aches and my chest burns because I have been smoking too much.

None of it matters to me. The pain of running, or the complete and total absence of emotion that I have come to realize defines me as the person I am today.

The Tin Man so says my sister.

I’m almost done running. I cant take much more of it but I push as if I was being chased by an angry mob and not regret. I run like a fucking champ to the finish line even though I don’t have anywhere to run to. Not a home or a family or a goal. Nothing but what I have created around me in order to get by.

One night a while back I am messaging a friend because she never sleeps, and hell I am writing this at 5AM after not sleeping all night if that’s an indicator of how much sleep I get. I tell her I like to run, and she says something that I’ve heard before, but coming from her it really makes sense to me for the first time.

“Once you’re done running you are still right back where you started.”