brilliant resilience
It was a huge risk to make 0304. When I’d originally come up with the concept I thought I had all the money in the world, and had never before let money govern my decision about what direction to go. With “Intuition,” I made a song I loved even though it was manipulated into being. It was still an authentic part of my soul and I was proud of it and believed in what it said. Knowing how much I needed the money made it surreal. So much was on the line, though I never doubted my direction. It was a risk in terms of the media or those who did not follow my career closely. My real fans saw it coming. I had experimented with loops on my third album, This Way, with tracks like “Jupiter” and “Serve the Ego.” I began doing dance remixes. I was pushing myself. I felt if an artist was put in a box, it was their own fault for not being willing to break out of it. Now was not the time to safety up. I had to define what being a sellout meant to me. Being a sellout was doing what everyone expected of you, if it went against your own instincts or heart. I could have done You Were Meant for Me 2 and the press would have loved it and said I was being true to my roots, but I would have felt like a sellout. Only we know when we are being true to the small and quiet voice that whispers from our soul. Very few on the outside of our skin are in a position to know. Bob Dylan and Neil Young taught me that. The fans will know the difference between changes made of contrivance versus authenticity. And if they didn’t, I would. I knew it would be controversial but I was tired of being controlled, of being told as a woman that I had to hide my sexuality to be considered smart. I doubled down on my instincts.
As usual my label heard nothing until I turned it in. Ron Shapiro was still my champion at Atlantic, along with Craig Kallman, Judy Greenwald, and Andrea Ganis. They all believed in it and my vision, and we went for it. I went to Europe to tour, and while I was there my label called me to say “Intuition” was at the top of the charts. My video, which I thought clearly articulated my satirical comments on pop culture, was widely viewed but also wildly misunderstood, which tickled me to no end. It infuriated people to see me dolled up. It was polarizing, although I felt it was in line with my values—to question, to seek, to explore. Regardless, it became a performance piece, illustrating the mindlessness in culture and the fight for irony alongside the fight for truth alongside the right for sexuality alongside the right to just have fun. I remember talking with Clive Davis about writing for an artist of his, and even he said no one wants to see this generation’s Joni Mitchell wear a miniskirt. It created a huge debate, and that was all I could have hoped for. I never hoped to tell people what to think with my music; I hoped to start a conversation so they could think about it for themselves. My experiences at this point made me more determined to never be dogmatic in my music. I was so relieved my single was doing well. God knows I needed it to be. I had done it against impossible odds, and I would slowly get back on my feet. I would never get back what I had lost, but I would be okay.
After my European tour I went back to the States. And I went back to Ty.
It was hard to come to terms with the fact that I had let go of a man who loved me and stayed with a mom who did not. I chose so wrongly. I told Ty as much. We rekindled our relationship, though he was hurt by our parting and I had to earn back his trust. He was an absolute knight in shining armor. He stood by me and held me when I cried. He stayed up nights talking with me as I tried to make sense of it all. And when there were no words, he stayed close as I tried to heal a broken heart. I confided all the things I had never told him before. All the things I never told anyone. I told him about how Jacque was not just a dear friend but about Z as well. I told him about Dean and Solano. Telling this to a true-blue cowboy was quite an experience. He turned to me and said, “Jewel, I think you were in a goddamned cult!”
I told him about all the things I’d been raised believing. That I could control the lights with my mind if I focused hard enough. That when I failed it meant I didn’t have enough focus. That life was a web of interconnectedness, and that if I didn’t anticipate something in my life it was because I was not connected enough. That if we could harness and fully grasp our true genius and spirituality we would be able to absorb the frequency of any object around us, even be able to walk through walls. Again, I’d always failed. That I would be sick if I lowered my frequency too much. There were some legitimate spiritual beliefs and practices, especially in the beginning, but with time the net effect made me feel insignificant, subservient, obedient.
Ty was the opposite of all this, it seemed, and it felt good. There was nothing touchy-feely about this man. No gray area. It was all black and white and real in his world, and I needed that. He felt like rock-solid earth that I could fall the hell apart on. I began to research cults and how they worked and came across the word programming a lot. I don’t know if what I was involved in was a cult in the classic sense, but I did know I had ideas and thoughts in my head that didn’t belong to me. It was hard to tell where I ended and my mom began. My mind felt as if someone had shattered it with a hammer. There was a lot of guilt and shame, and I trusted no one, especially when it came to my mind. My God, I could spend years in therapy and never get over this. I wanted to look back over my life and think of everything my mom had ever told me, to try to see whether any of it was real. I called my dad.
My dad told me that he didn’t blackmail my mom into letting him keep us. She told him she was tired of being a mom. He told me that she did not have cancer that year we lived in Anchorage. She had told him that she had one year to live and that he needed to give her the money to have us for one year. Every single thing I thought I knew about her no longer seemed real. Nothing about my life seemed real. I found out our former employee had never had cancer. Suddenly the grief and stress of everything I had gone through, it all caught up with me, and I could not just go back out on the road like nothing had happened. I had been juggling all this while I worked. I was smiling on the cover of every magazine. I did all the interviews and all the TV shows. My album was a hit. But I needed to stop. I needed to be with Ty. I called Irving and said I needed to cancel my American tour. He didn’t bat an eye. He asked if I was okay. I said I would be. He said okay, he would take care of it. I would make no money.
I was on my way to the bathroom one day—where all eureka moments happen, right?—when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I knew something in a flash. It was like a revelation. I see thoughts visually. I saw an image of light that had layers upon layers of sediment covering it up. But the light was under there, intact. I said to myself, A soul is not a teacup. It is not a chair. It cannot be broken. I knew I was alive in there. I was just covered in layers of shit that did not belong to me. That idea would be my key to deprogramming. The idea of therapy was depressing to me, and I didn’t trust a therapist or a support group at this point. I was terrified to give anyone influence over my mind again. But I saw that I had been operating on the premise that I was ruined and needed to fix myself. I knew in that instant that I was not broken and I did not need to be fixed. I needed to go on an archaeological dig back to myself, where I was still there. Whole. Unspoiled. I had a memory of myself as whole, before all the heartbreak. I remember being a child and lying on my back in a green field and I felt free. I could shut my eyes, go inward to this part of myself, and tell when a thought or a feeling was not part of my genuine self, and I could gently push it away. I could lovingly remove all that had been put on me. It would lead me back to myself.
I called this exercise “self and other.” Thoughts that stemmed from me had a distinctly calming feeling, a warmth and a soothing effect. Thoughts and fears that stemmed from programming had a completely separate feel—anxious, metallic, colder. They left me feeling tense and frightened. When I felt triggered—if something made me suddenly highly emotional—I used the phrase if it’s hysterical, it’s historical as a rule of thumb, to acknowledge that whatever was affecting me in the present was probably reminding me of something more damaging from my past. I learned to go off by myself, sit, close my eyes, and focus inward. I would breathe into my body and ask what had set me off. Something angered me once, and someone who was with me said, “Don’t be angry, it will just make you sick.” For most people this is a kind and caring thing to say. For me it triggered memories of never feeling allowed to express anger or any emotion contrary to my mom’s needs and wishes. There was still a part of me that believed it and a part of me that became incensed when I heard those words, and neither reaction actually had anything to do with the person in front of me or the current situation. The disconnect between my fear and emotion and the conversational stimulus was my first clue that a “hysterical” reaction was “historical.” It took me a minute to calm down enough to access my own thoughts and ask myself whether this was my self or other. I could not come up with an answer until I asked myself specifically, “Do you think feelings like anger can make you sick?” Suddenly I said aloud, “I think stress is harmful, and has negative effects on your health. I think our thoughts affect us. But I think expressing anger and darker feelings allows the energy to move out of your body, and that is better than holding them in and denying them.” This sounded more like me!
I noticed while examining my thoughts and reclaiming my beliefs that there was a grain of truth in things my mom told me. She appealed to a part of me that was altruistic and ideal, playing to my genuine nature and then slowly using my own strengths against me, to the point where I was not allowed to take even the smallest pride or pleasure in what I built, nor to feel entitled to the fruits of my own hard work. My mom is not all good or all bad. Like each of us she is comprised of a million variances of gray. I don’t think she set out to ruin me, or us. She is not Evil. I believe she was doing what she felt was in accordance to a higher calling she believed in and that, in her mind, justified the means.
how our natural gifts get exploited
I can handle anything was another natural gift that had served me well many times in my life but that started working against me. I could handle a lot. But at what point was I allowed to say it’s not about how much I can handle—it’s about whether I should be handling it? So much of my self-worth was tied to the belief that I could handle anything that I never stopped to wonder—should I? I just felt like a good dog when someone piled more on for me to deal with. If they patted me on the head, I did anything gladly. It took learning to love myself on a whole new level to let go of this as a source of self-worth and to say, If you were loved, you would not be asked to do this, no matter how capable you are.
Another natural gift I had was an inclination toward philosophical thinking—the concept that our thoughts form our reality and thus our lives, and health. This idea was perverted for me at a young age and made me solely responsible for every time I got sick (and eventually for any bad thing that might ever happen to me), and closed my mind from wondering whether it was just a physiological problem with my kidneys. I began to let go of the notion that I alone was responsible for it all. I learned to take a truth I came by naturally or when I was young and to update it to complement who and what I was—expanding on philosophy with real experience and knowledge from where I stood now.
Reality is dualistic by nature, because there is the subject we look at and the person looking at the subject. Before we can decide how to interpret reality we must first make sure we are seeing reality. Really seeing it. Not fooling ourselves. Not letting wishes or wants or wounds become the filter through which we perceive reality. If we can give up the myth that we can control facts and truth, thus distorting them through our willfulness and need, then we can use our mind and spirit to choose what we do with those facts and how we continue to experience them. We must practice seeing with clear eyes before we can exercise our power to effect meaningful change.
innocence is not lost—it is traded for wisdom
Betrayal converts our innocence to wisdom if we can let go of pain, bitterness, and fear and create enough self-love and safety for ourselves to allow it to do so. I kept my original feelings and built on them until I was rid of the part that did not belong to me.
The truth was I could never make my mom love me or be tender toward me without giving her something in return. No amount of wishful thinking or good deed or compliance would change that. I had tried for years not to see that truth and to will a different reality. It was a myth and I had to face that now. But how I allowed her treatment to affect me, how I allowed her betrayal to affect me, was up to me. That was the only power I had.
• • •
I WENT THROUGH SEVERAL PHASES that helped me confront my feelings of betrayal and discovered that each of them had to be experienced fully in order to heal. I learned to see them as distinct stages in reading psychotherapist Melanie Brown Kroon’s valuable insights on aplacetoheal.com.
Shock, which comes in many forms. It can cause an urge to run (flight) or an incapacity to move (fright). It can feel like numbness or chaos. Your mind swirls in anger, disbelief, humiliation, sadness, as it tries to grapple with an old reality being shattered by a new one. In a crisis it is so important to talk about it, if you can, to help understand your feelings and lessen the impact. I wish I had found a support group, a twelve-step program like Al-Anon or one specifically for those who had been in a situation like mine. I want to tell anyone who feels isolated and alone that you are not going through something that no one has ever gone through. You are not alone. Reach out to support groups if you don’t have friends. Don’t let shame keep you from finding connection and healing. After being isolated for so long, I had to work hard at finding friends who loved me and were a safe place to turn to when I needed help. I was terrified to be seen as less than perfect or to be myself, especially if I sensed it was not what people needed me to be. Twelve years later I have three friends who hold a place for me in their hearts and who remind me of my worth in moments I can’t feel it for myself. I consider myself rich for their love and friendship.
Grieving the loss of a person whom I loved. I had to see my mom for who she was and let her go. I had to accept that missing having a mom was less painful than having the one I had in my life. No one will ever replace what she should have been, but I’m okay with that. I know now I am strong enough to love myself enough for the both of us on those inevitable days I wish I had a soft shoulder or a warm place to land.
Grieving the loss of the person I thought I knew. This step is unique to betrayal. I was in a relationship with a person who did not actually exist. I had to grieve the loss of the person I thought I knew first. There are lots of questions in this phase: Why? Why did it happen? Why me? Why did they do this to me? A need to understand it and how you could have been so wrong is very painful. It’s hard not to let your self-esteem become wrapped up in the equation. You must remember betrayal is not about you—it’s about the other person. It’s a crime to let their betrayal cause you to doubt your own goodness and worth. Piercing the veil of this fantasy, and grieving for its loss, was the impetus for my next album, Goodbye Alice in Wonderland. We trade in fantasy, it is a currency, and I wanted nothing to do with it anymore. I wanted truth. The title track distinguishes between dreaming as a positive act that helps us create and envision a new world for ourselves versus dreaming as a tool we use to fool ourselves about the truth.
Forgiving the person who betrayed me. People often confuse forgiveness with condonation. Forgiving someone doesn’t mean you condone or approve of what they did. Forgiveness is not for the other person at all. It has nothing to do with whether they deserve it or not. Forgiveness is an act of self-love. The best revenge really is a life well lived. While fantasizing about all kinds of revenge was fun for a while, I realized it would only perpetuate what I wanted to be free of, and it would keep me from healing. My advice to anyone struggling with betrayal is don’t let yourself be abused twice. First by the act committed against you, and second by believing it has ruined your ability to experience happiness, trust, or love. Forgive someone who has hurt you so they may receive that gift, and more important because you know it is the scissor that cuts the cord that binds you together. Remember that betrayal doesn’t happen to you so much as it happens by someone else. Forgiveness allows you to release anger. Carrying anger with you is like lighting your own house on fire to get rid of rats. The rats run to safety while you burn yourself down. Forgive. Let go. Heal.
Self-forgiveness has been the hardest for me. Shame and humiliation kept me from speaking out for a long time. It has been very, very hard to forgive myself for having been fooled. For not watching the money when I should have known better, and because I was capable of learning to do it for myself. For adopting beliefs that ran so counter to my own instincts. Me, who set out on a journey at age fifteen to avoid being a statistic and landed right in the biggest cliché. Me, who read books about reason and science and fell for the biggest bunch of malarkey a person could. I felt like a failure, and I can’t tell you how many nights I have lain awake shaking my head, sick to my stomach with humiliation, guilt, and shame. Irving (who never knew the details of my life with my mother) told me that he was sure I knew what was happening with the money and that I let my mom do it because I loved her. He said, “You’re too bright not to have known what was happening, Jewel.” I was flattered that he thought I was bright, and yet it felt hopeless to try to explain how I could not have known. I actually believed I should be able to slow time down enough to catch a missed flight! I felt like a liar and a phony. It took a long time to have enough self-love to see what I’d been up against, to see my part in everything, and to see the part of it that was simply a young child’s innate trust in her mom that could not be guarded against. I had wounds that made me vulnerable. That was my part in it, but there is no shame in that.
The difference between guilt and shame is best described for me in Brené Brown’s book Daring Greatly. She wrote separately on her blog, “There is a profound difference between shame and guilt. I believe that guilt is adaptive and helpful—it’s holding something we’ve done or failed to do up against our values and feeling psychological discomfort. I define shame as the intensely painful feeling or experience of believing that we are flawed and therefore unworthy of love and belonging—something we’ve experienced, done, or failed to do makes us unworthy of connection. I don’t believe shame is helpful or productive. In fact, I think shame is much more likely to be the source of destructive, hurtful behavior than the solution or cure. I think the fear of disconnection can make us dangerous.” There is another book I read many years after this time in my life called Focusing, by a philosopher and psychotherapist named Eugene Gendlin. He and a group of colleagues discovered that internal transformation in a person was not contingent on the type of therapy received, but rather that it was dependent on a process the patient engaged in inwardly. With practice, the natural tendency to engage in this self-reflection is teachable even to those who may not naturally do it. I highly recommend this book if you are interested to know more. It can be practiced on one’s own or with a trusted friend. I like this method because it does not require money and can be done on its own, yet it also helps if you are already in traditional therapy. It goes beyond an intellectual understanding of a problem and helps engage your whole being in healing, affording real breakthroughs. When I read the book I recognized instantly that it was a process my writing led me to naturally since I was quite young, helping me get beyond merely my mind and into what I call my greater sense of intelligence. Our minds are wonderful tools but can also create a lot of interference or circular thoughts and chatter, which do not let us access our real intuition and truth.
I do believe in therapy, and recently have started going for the first time in my life. But it is important to find a therapist who works for you. I found it can be helpful to go in with a goal and that you use your therapist to help you effect change in that area. Therapy is like a road trip—it’s important to look in the rearview mirror and see where you have been, but you also need to know where you want to end up. Without knowing your goal, and developing a plan to get there, and spending time imagining and creating new neural pathways to support it, you will find yourself looping back to where you have already been because the roads are so familiar. It takes years to embrace a new emotional habit. A good therapist can help you look at the motivations and wounds from the past, and then help you make decisions about where you would like to be so you have an opportunity to actuate change.
It’s also important to look at different types of therapy. A breakthrough experience for me came just recently at a wonderful place called Onsite in Tennessee. They use some different modalities and do retreats that can create a real life-changer for participants. The Living Centered Program is my particular favorite, and their new facility for those suffering from trauma is very good. It was very useful in helping me process and find tools to deal with things that trigger trauma in me. I like to call it human school. Therapy is expensive, and often the best facilities and practitioners are not covered by insurance, and so mental health becomes a luxury. I think that’s a shame, but there are still resources for anyone unwilling to accept unhappiness or emotional pain. No one in need of help deserves to feel like the answers exist solely beyond their own skin. Our happiness and fulfillment can be achieved with or without traditional therapy, with or without a supportive spouse, money, or a family we feel safe with. It is our birthright.
It has been important for me each time I faced betrayal to spend as much time visualizing my new happiness and new life as I have spent replaying and mourning the loss of the happiness and life I thought I had. It’s important to examine our hurt, our loss. It’s natural to feel rage and anger and to fantasize our perpetrators coming to a perfectly devised end, but it is very important to also spend as much creative energy imagining a life for yourself beyond your current pain. New neural pathways need to be built. Let the addictive nature of our brains work for us—spend time visualizing what you want, instead of what has caused pain. Taste it. Smell it. Imagine the love you want. Get specific about how you want to be treated. Imagine your life in a new house or at a new job. This is the groundwork required for creating a place of happiness. It begins in believing it’s possible. Then we take steps to bring it into our lives. Do the things that lead to the happiness you want. Make sure your hands carry those thoughts out into the world and do not serve your negative thoughts. Discipline is key. Change one thing about your life when you wake up. To have a different life, you have to behave differently.
Brilliant resilience. We have all heard of coping mechanisms. When we hear the phrase, we think of negative ways of coping with difficult times, like turning to a medicator to help numb our feelings—be that work, drugs, sex. Medicators can take the form of compartmentalization, or disassociation. I can see now that many of us also find brilliant ways to cope—ways that don’t harm, but serve us. With time, however, they can also limit our ability to feel and experience fullness and joy. Our greatest strength can become our greatest weakness. This happens when we harness one of our natural gifts to get us through hard times, but after time it becomes an armor we use to protect ourselves, and ultimately it can cut us off from our ability to feel joy. We need to examine where that gift stopped working, and then ask it to kindly step aside where it has calcified and hardened us a bit. Peel it back to where it is in balance and working for you again.
I will give a few of mine as an example. Independence. From a very young age, I made it work for me. It made me feel safe, and in many ways it kept me safe. But after a time, I didn’t learn how to accept help. After a while it was isolating. My independence got me to safety but it didn’t teach me to connect once I was there. Once I identified it as an area I wanted to improve on, I chose small, safe ways to let myself accept help from those who genuinely offered it. I don’t recommend diving right into the most intimate parts of our lives where there is a big emotional risk by reaching out in a new way. I started with letting a door be opened for me when someone offered. I started with letting a friend bring me soup when I was sick.
I realized that often we get into relationships we are historically familiar with. I wanted to be self-reliant, and so I ended up in a relationship with someone who needed me to be also. This felt comfortable. I didn’t know the side effect of this meant that intimacy was impossible. For it to be possible, two people have to be willing to be vulnerable in order to connect. Renegotiating midstream in a relationship is tricky. Both partners have to be willing to change the script. You have to start inside yourself. To start saying, I am worthy of being cared for. I’d like to be cared for. Start taking baby steps to build your courage and comfort with the concept of changing your emotional language.
Another bit of brilliant resilience that served me for a long time was the notion of being a fixer, and that I was not a quitter. I have grit. I have never looked at short-term solutions and commit to whatever I do for the long haul. As a young woman, much of my self-worth was derived from this notion of being capable of fixing things. I was rewarded for it. I would dig in, examine a situation, make a plan, execute it. This can be an act of self-love and love for others, but unless it is informed by a genuine and deep sense of self-worth, it can be a mechanism you use to try to prop up your own ego and to get love for. It helped me to cover up a deep fear that I was not lovable just for existing, that I had to do things to earn love. And this set me up to be the fixer in every relationship I was in. It took decades for me to realize it was not all mine to fix, especially in a relationship, where it’s up to the other person to decide how much work they are willing to put in. Sometimes we have to step back and stop fixing, because being engaged in constant fixing limits our ability to say, This is not all mine to fix. I love you enough to let you fix what is yours, and I love myself enough to leave if you are not willing or able to meet my needs. Sometimes fixing is a desperate attempt to resuscitate something that should die. I did not want to feel the grief and pain of the truth about my mom, and so I “fixed” everything I could right up to the bitter end. Saying I was done and that there was no more fixing to do was a frightening prospect indeed. I am learning to believe I am worthy of love just for being alive, whether I am perfect or not. I am saying this at age forty. This is not something I understood at thirty when I left my mom.
My assumption that I don’t have all the answers has also served me at times. I believe this is common for many. We do not believe we know it all, and so we are often in a great position to learn. We will buy books, and we will accept we might need help. It’s a natural humility that is genuine, and no one grows unless they begin with the premise that there is room for it. Where it quit working for me is when I lost touch with my sense of knowing anything. This was a very lonely place to operate from and it got me in a lot of trouble. I let my mother be my moral compass and assumed she knew what was best for me. I did not see it at the time, but I would do this to myself again. I would make Ty my new moral compass instead of reclaiming my own. I was so ashamed and embarrassed that I could be so thoroughly subjugated by my mom that I lost what little trust I had for myself. I asked Ty to be my eyes and ears for a while, not realizing that was the same thing I’d trusted my mom to do. No other person can replace our own sense of right and wrong.
At fifteen I set out on this journey, trying to find happiness and avoid becoming a statistic. I thought diligence would help me avoid the pitfalls of life. I avoided some while finding others. The one thing that kept me safe was not my hypervigilance, it was the attitude with which I faced my trials. The point is not to avoid pain, it’s to learn and let go.
Another exercise that worked for me was learning to recognize and dismiss my internal critic. One of the most pernicious aftereffects of abuse is that our abuser’s ghost lingers and speaks to us still. We can hear them run us down in our minds as if they were there watching over our shoulder. We often internalize them so thoroughly that we become the critic, inflicting self-abuse once they are gone. I cannot stress enough how important it is to listen to those voices and make distinctions between self and other here. We would never be so unkind to a child as to call them stupid, fat, an idiot, or worthless, and yet we find it entirely permissible to say these things to ourselves. I really had to slow down and pay attention to what I was saying to myself, and when I noticed that critical voice, I would tell myself, I can practice self-love and still effect the change I need in my actions without running myself down. I don’t need to be cruel to myself to give me the motivation to change. Shame only paralyzes me.
People often talk of regrets. It’s tempting to bravely say, “I have none. Each thing has shaped me into the human I am.” I feel that way about most hardships in my life, but not all of them. I have one regret that haunts me. It happened at a fork in the road I did not see at the time. If I had a time machine and could change one single moment, it would be the day I went to a pay phone and made a collect call to Homer, to tell my mom that record labels had come to see me. If she had never come back down, if she had never been involved with my career, I am confident I would have been better off. I would have continued to build my inner compass, my relationship with myself, and learned to make my own mind work for me. I would have built on what I learned while living in my car. Instead I took one hell of a detour. I climbed to great heights anyway. But I can’t help wondering sometimes how much higher I may have gone, or how much happier I might have been along the way. Spilled milk.
Goodbye Alice in Wonderland
It’s four in the afternoon
I’m on a flight leaving L.A.
Trying to figure out my life
My youth scattered along the highway
Hotel rooms and headlights
I’ve made a living with a song
Guitar as my companion
Wanting desperately to belong
Fame is filled with spoiled children
They grow fat on fantasy
I guess that’s why I’m leaving
I crave reality
So goodbye Alice in Wonderland
Goodbye yellow brick road
There is a difference between dreaming and pretending
I did not find paradise
It was only a reflection of my lonely mind wanting
What’s been missing in my life
I’m embarrassed to say the rest is a rock and roll cliché
I hit the bottom when I reached the top
But I never knew it was you who was breaking my heart
I thought you had to love me
But you did not
Yes a heart can hallucinate
If it’s completely starved for love
Can even turn monsters into
Angels from above
You forged my love just like a weapon
And turned it against me like a knife
You broke my last heartstring
But you opened up my eyes
So goodbye Alice in Wonderland
Goodbye yellow brick road
There is a difference between dreaming and pretending
That was not love in your eyes
It was only a reflection of my lonely mind searching
for what was missing in my life
Growing up is not an absence of dreaming
It’s being able to understand the difference between the ones you can hold
And the ones that you’ve been sold
And dreaming is a good thing cause it brings new things to life
But pretending is an ending that perpetuates a lie
Forgetting what you are seeing
For what you’ve been told
Ohh truth is stranger than fiction
This is my chance to get it right
Life is much better without all of those pretty lies
So Goodbye Alice in Wonderland
And you can keep your yellow brick road
There is a difference between dreaming and pretending
These are not tears in my eyes
They are only a reflection of my lonely mind finding
They are only a reflection of my lonely mind finding
I found what’s missing in my life