Strength is a funny thing.

I went to a show at the Elk’s Lodge in my hometown over break. It was a typical small-town rock show – one semi-known name, a couple of established local bands, and two hardcore bands made up of high school kids. I love going to shows like this, even if I am usually one of the oldest people there. To me, this is rock in its purest form. It is young, uncorrupted, and filled with unfeigned energy. Just kids doing it for the love.

Unfortunately, I was not fated to have a flawless Plymouth Hardcore experience that night.

My ex-girlfriend was there.

This, in and of itself, was not a problem. It had been four months since we’d broken up. Well, OK, let’s be honest here – she dumped me. I find it interesting how it’s always ‘I broke up with her’ when you do the dumping, but when you are the dumped, it becomes ‘We broke up.’

Anyways, it wasn’t a big deal that she was there. We’d gone out, hung out a couple of times since the break-up, and, as far as I was concerned, things were cool. She had a new boyfriend, I had an interest, and we were well on our merry way to becoming that most rare and elusive of couples – the former-daters who can still enjoy each other’s company. I thought this was a good thing.

She and her boyfriend got out of the car directly in front of where me and my friend were standing waiting for the doors to open. I’d say they were probably three feet away. She totally ignored me. Didn’t even say hello. She turned her back to me without a glance and leaned into her boyfriend.

Ouch.

After about 30 seconds, I figured I had to do something besides stand there. The situation was (for me, at least) beyond awkward and I wanted to do something to defuse it.

I walked over to them. I said ‘I came to say hello because I’ll feel bad if I don’t.’ She curtly asked ‘Why?’ I gave the boyfriend a big hug. Him and I had been acquainted before – I wanted to 1) show that I was an adult and cool with the situation and 2) inject some humor to defuse the tension. He looked absolutely terrified. Then they just looked at me. I went away.

I was hurt. I was hurt badly, actually. How could she not even say hello to me? I couldn’t help but think that after all I did for her, all I went through, all the love I gave, after it all she owed me, if nothing else, a hello.

Most of this is my fault. To a large extent, I lack the ability to control my emotions; in fact, the reverse is largely true. My emotions control me. I cannot consciously change them, no matter how much I’d like to. I loved her, and I couldn’t change that to hate, or even a cool, subdued dislike, no matter how much easier it would have made my life. I’m a sap, basically. A sucker. Weak.

The Elk’s in Plymouth is small. The room where the show was held is about the size of maybe a Herter classroom and a half. It was half to three-quarters full the entire time. We avoided each other like the plague. In a small room of sixteen-year-olds we might as well have been in different hemispheres. It sucked.

I’ll skip the narration and cut to the chase. I found out from a mutual friend in attendance that she was tripping on acid. There was a chance she’d dropped some E too, but that wasn’t clear. I had wondered why she was spending a lot of time sitting on the floor. She wasn’t able to stand up.

If you aren’t me than you probably won’t understand the reaction this caused in me. Her drug use had always terrified me. I had cried for the very first time in almost ten years when she’d gone on E and hurt herself badly while we were dating. She was slamming her hands in cabinet doors because she couldn’t feel them. Her head had been next.

This was the icing on the cake. The person who, at this point (sweet God, hopefully not forever), had been the strongest love of my life, won’t say hello to me or even talk to me, even though she’d done both earlier in the week, was high as the sky, and probably didn’t even recognize me due to the chemicals in her bloodstream.

I laid down on the floor.

I was choked with my own emotions. I hated her for having the power to do this to me without even thinking about it. I hated myself for being this weak. I hated drugs. I hated the little kids in Misfits shirts who kept stepping on me.

Mostly, I thought about what I’d do about it. I knew I’d never sleep if I didn’t work out the emotions somehow, if I couldn’t find a way to free my mind. Would I steal some of my dad’s beers and pass out? He’d never miss them. Lord knows he’s got enough. Would I run until I fell down in the snow and was unable to rise, and just had to lay there, sweating and steaming, until I got enough strength back to hobble back to my house and my bed? Would I use my old friend Mr. Boxcutter to bleed my problems away? These were all viable solutions. They had worked before.

And no, the thought of just not being such a pussy and getting over it never occurred to me.

Then the headlining band, Eastcide, came up. The music was good, and the music was loud. And then it happened.

It hadn’t happened in years. I was beginning to think that I was too old, that I’d lost the ability to lose myself in the music. All my emotions, all my contradictions and flaws and frustrations – all of it came pouring out. It came out in my body, the violent horrible dancing I subjected myself to, it came out in the rage with which I screamed the lyrics back at the singer, and it came out in the blissful, satisfied smile which was on my face the entire time.

It led me to two epiphanies. (Not bad for a 40-minute set.)

During ‘Grow High,’ about dealing with a loved one with a drug problem, the lyrics suddenly snapped into my head. Something I’d known all along, but had been afraid to deal with freed itself and become clearer than the sky. She wasn’t my problem any more. I’d done everything I could to help her, and more than she had any right to expect or that she even deserved. I was just clinging to a sense of something that no longer existed. She was on her own. And that was fine with me.

That was the part that I had never faced – I liked not having to deal with her sh.t anymore. I was happier without all the bull and all the problems. I finally thought the thought that I had needed to think for so long: ‘Thank God she dumped me, ‘cuz I never would have left her, and it was the best thing that ever happened to me.’ I said it to all my friends afterwards, just because I liked the way it sounded. (For the record – it sounded damn good.) Does that make me a bad person? Probably, but I made my peace with that long ago.

The other realization came during my favorite Eastcide song, ‘Bucolic.’ As the singer shoved the mike in my face and I screamed out the chorus ‘You want enemies? You made enemies!’ I realized that I was singing to her, with all that implied.

I was done with her. Finally and totally. F.ck that ‘let’s be friends’ crap.

What about that ‘oh, but I love her and I can’t change my emotions’ stuff I talked about earlier? It’s true. However, emotions are complex – I didn’t change my love to hate that night. I simply realized that there were other emotions there too. I managed to get in touch with my bitterness, and my resentment, and my innate sense of superiority to a drop-out who still lives with her mom, drops tabs, and screwed me over bad. I’ll always love her, in a way. I just won’t ever let it bother me again.

As I walked out, I realized that I didn’t have a care in the world. I walked over to her little circle of friends, put my arms around everyone’s shoulders, leaned in, and said ‘Goodnight, everyone!’ in the most cheerful voice of my entire life. Then I walked away, the smile still gleaming off my sweaty face.

I didn’t look back.

Turns out that I’m stronger than I thought I was.