Dear Blog: The Comeback Is Always Louder Than the Fall

I used to think rock bottom was a place.

Now I think it’s a rhythm.

You don’t just hit it once—you loop it, remix it, live inside it for a while. And if you’re paying attention, somewhere in that loop, you start to hear something else underneath the noise: a beat you didn’t know you had.

That’s where I am right now.

A little over a year ago, life pulled the rug out from under me in a way that didn’t feel cinematic or poetic—it just felt real. Messy. Complicated. The kind of “series of unfortunate events” that doesn’t make for a clean story arc. It led to me selling my house in Oak Park and moving back to my hometown—Midland, the Chemical City.

Not exactly the triumphant return I had scripted in my head.

But here’s the truth nobody tells you: comebacks rarely look like comebacks when you’re in them. They look like rebuilding. Like saving money. Like going back to basics. Like sitting in a place you didn’t expect to be and asking, “Alright… now what?”

One thing about me—I’m artistically insecure.

Not in a cute, self-deprecating way. In a relentless, internal-critic-never-sleeps kind of way. I’ve spent years creating—music, poetry, fiction, performances—but rarely allowing myself to actually enjoy what I made. The high was always in the act of creating, not in the existence of the creation.

But something’s shifting.

I’m in a phase now where I can finally sit back and experience my own work like an audience member. And strangely enough, I like some of it.

There’s a line from Chaplin that’s been living in my head. Anthony Hopkins’ character asks Charlie Chaplin—played by Robert Downey Jr.—why he didn’t enjoy his success when he had it. Chaplin’s answer:

“I couldn’t then… I can now.”

That hits.

Because I couldn’t then either.

But I can now.

Still, there’s a catch.

If I’m not creating, I feel like I should be. Like I’m wasting time. Like the clock is ticking somewhere just out of sight. It’s a strange tension—finally appreciating what I’ve done while feeling pulled to keep doing more.

Maybe that’s just part of being an artist. Or maybe it’s part of being me.

I’m back in Midland now, rebuilding. Working. Saving. Grinding through a PhD in English. It’s not glamorous, but it’s real. And there’s something honest about that.

“It was a long walk home kicking dirt and stone.”

That line’s been echoing in my head—and it turned into a song I’m working on called Expressing Myself. It starts like this:

“I’m expressing with my full constitution

Now they got me living in mental institutions…”

It’s chaotic. It’s raw. It’s me.