Fading Storms

The one thing my sister and I had in common was music. My Own Prison by Creed was one of our greatest loves. She introduced me to Creed, and from then on, I was Scott Stapp-obsessed.

Add to that, the summer I turned seventeen brought my summer love— and the father of her future child—yeah, you read that correctly—who was in a band that mainly played Creed. He was so good. In a lot of ways, but in this particular story, I’m talking about his singing.

I spent fifty percent of that summer in a bar that didn’t card, drinking amaretto sours, twirling my straw and my blonde hair, and listening to him sing until he and Scott Stapp were one and the same. I spent the other fifty percent in his apartment, getting shredded by a man five times my size and twelve years my senior.

I knew when I was seventeen that I wanted to get a tattoo of this song title, but I held off because I thought, maybe in ten years, I won’t want the word prison on my body.

I’ve talked before about all the reasons this song means everything to me. I created my own prison many times, in many different ways. Self-hatred, anxiety, depression, horrible men, horrible choices. And the lyrics, man, the lyrics could bring me to my knees.

Hell, they still can.

Which was why, thirteen years after declaring at seventeen that I’d tattoo these lyrics on my holy temple of a body or whatever, I finally did it at thirty. I thought, if I wanted them then and still want them now, I’ll probably want them at fifty.

I went with my sister, Emily. We sat side by side, black ink smearing across our feet, needles jabbing into our skin. I imagine the thoughts running through our heads. The many summers we spent together. The laughs. The trips. The shared man—her doing. That was just another form of her abuse, though she tells it differently now. All those years that I loved her out loud, and she hated me silently.

Less than two years after we sat and marked our bodies together with matching tattoos, she ripped me to shreds in every way. She ruined me. She ruined my family.

In the aftermath, she created a new prison for me, as if I needed another one. But a few years later, we switched places in that mental cell, and she remains there while I am free.

Even so, I hope every time she sees that tattoo, she thinks of me.

I hope she mourns me.

I have other, beautiful memories with this song.

In 2002, my on-and-off boyfriend of five years took me to my first Creed concert. We both knew our relationship was ending, but neither of us could accept it. The concert was nice, but tense. He touched me in my tight leather pants and crop top, but I felt nothing. That night, we had sex for a very, very long time. It was soft, hard, fast, slow. Beautiful, nostalgic, and sad. We knew it was the last time.

In reality, it wasn’t our last time, because years after that concert, we crossed paths again and slept together. But by then, the magic was gone.

I listened to this song when I wanted out of my marriage but didn’t know how to do it.

I listened to this song while raising all four of my children.

I listen to this song when I’m happy, when I’m sad, when I’m nothing.

It doesn’t just speak to me. It screams.

My most recent memory, though, and my favorite one, happened this past summer when I took my son to a Creed concert. My youngest son, my little music twin, who is just as obsessed with Creed as I was at his age. I love it so much.

Watching him during my favorite songs, seeing that sparkle in his brown eyes, was so amazing. His lanky, almost adult frame moved with the music, singing along, his heart likely being scorched by these songs just like mine was at that age. God, it was such a sweet time for me.

I’ve created a lot of my own prisons over the years. I’ve put myself through a lot of shit. I’ve been put through a lot of shit I didn’t ask for.

But the biggest prisons —the things that locked me in the tightest —are no longer allowed in my space.

And now more than twenty years later, well, now it’s just a song I fucking love.

And y’all better play it when I die.

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Enjoy the sort of foot pics.

❤️—GC