I remember exactly where I was the day Prince died, do you?
I was locked up in a psyche ward, spiraling at a velocity only he and I could comprehend. Time stops when you’re manic crazy, and the chaos of the world feels like an action movie, that you’ve seen before and nothing is original. Blasé boredom cages you in and there is nowhere to land when you’re climbing the walls. I’d been there for a while, unsure how many drawn out days and sleepless nights. I guessed that from the hallway wall I’d plastered, filled with nonsensical words and more words and theories and figurines a child would carve. I had gone too far, unable to find my way back to reality and too sick to give a shit. My bestie would remind me later about the daily hundred phone calls and irrational thinking. My mother came, every day, and I understood that from the bullshit coloring books the nasty nurses gave us which I used as a personal calendar marking X’s every day, and then futilely losing count. I was gone, unreachable, so far away unsure I could or even wanted to make my way back. Visiting with my dead during the sleepless nights, and conversing with the brilliant stars convinced they shone secretly and exclusively for me.
My love affair with Prince runs long, hard and deep. His ability to stretch beyond the limits and create music that is absolutely unique and alive filled the crevices of my broken mind with hope, dreams, and possibility. I did not believe the bastard bitches when I saw the news, read the headlines, the world in mourning. “Purple Reign Is Dead.” In a rage I hurled the paper screaming, fuck you, you lying cunts.” I refused to believe in a world a less vibrant shade of purple. They would transfer me out that day unable to manage my crazy. Somewhere inside my broken brain and body, I knew I was toast. I needed help.
Strapped to a gurney, crying and screaming for my mother, the loss of my sanity and Prince all on the same day was too much. I was defeated, I began to pray. Nobody prays anymore, but on that day, the day Prince died waiting for shock treatments, I fell to my knees in surrender and I prayed. I prayed for the sick, the lonely, and the lost souls. I prayed on my knees for the old healthy me, gone forever.
Prince’s death anniversary came and went, time does not stop, and I am better than I was on that day. I’ll never be cured or whole, and with every break and the passing of time, I lose another part of me. I understand and try to make peace that insanity is my fate. But, no one can ever take away the deep love, emotion and adoration I felt as a young girl watching Prince sing and dance, otherworldly up on stage. Don’t get it twisted, I’m so much better than yesterday. Life’s odd and funny like that. Every so often, I fall to my knees in surrender and pray. Grateful to be shrouded under a purple cloud of possibility and alive one more day.