Confession

Ozean Horizon survived to the end of their first arena tour. The penultimate show was certainly their sloppiest, but it shined the way their underground shows used to. The raw energy of a hungry and talented band pushing past their limits was truly a sight to behold. I was honored to play on stage with them in this more exhausted and honest form.

As sound check wrapped up for the last night at the recently renovated arena in Seattle, I found myself ready to bear my trauma to Kiia. I knew that this tour meant everything to her, and after the initial headwinds of our relationship becoming public, she found her groove quickly.

We also knew that the media around that was only going to intensify during the summer tour. Instead of six weeks, we would be on the road for ten, and the shows were two to three times larger. Add in the true return of Cy Rondeau beyond just a nightly cameo and the amount of attention was going to explode.

“Kiia,” I called, catching up to her as she handed her guitar to her tech. “Do you have some time to talk?”

She turned, putting on a smile, her eyes hollow from the exhaustion.

“For you, Cy, always.”

We walked past the green room to a separate, smaller dressing room that I verified wasn’t being used for the night.

“So, I’ve been meaning to talk about this for years, and I’ve never been able to come to terms with it, but if I don’t…I don’t think I’ll be able to stand on that stage as anything more than a voyeur in someone else’s dream.”

I let the words hang, perhaps too dramatic on the air.

“Everyone knows the story of my solo career. I split from BTR in 2017 and embarked on what was supposed to be a two-and-a-half year solo tour in 2018.”

She pulled her chair closer to mine to grab my hands as a reassurance.

“At the end of 2019, I had spent twenty of the last twenty-two months on the road, and we just landed in Spain to start a three month European tour before I would go back into the studio for my second solo album.”

I didn’t even know why I was crying.

“I didn’t realize how bad my mental and physical health had gotten. While talking to a local stage hand during load-in, Fernando, he noticed I drank three energy drinks during sound check, and what started as normal ribbing, turned into a serious conversation with a stranger.”

“The longer we were talking, I started to realize that no one on the Twilight Reverie team was on my side, since I’d been abusing caffeine, anti-anxiety meds, and pain relievers like they were water, and I hadn’t spoken to a single person aside from interviews for more than three minutes at a time.”

“Walking back to the dressing room backstage, my mind was whirring as the weight of the stress, the substances, and the jetlag all caught up to me at once.”

I lifted my head, looking her in the eyes.

“I didn’t even make it to the dressing room. I collapsed in the hallway. The next thing I remember is coming to in a hospital bed with a doctor explaining that my heart had gone into ventricular fibrillation. An arrhythmic collapse, he called it. He also said I was lucky. Most people don’t get back up from that.”

I was trying to be articulate through my sobs. Her expression was unchanged as I talked.

“The only reason I did was Fernando. He’d followed me because he thought I didn’t look right. He found me on the floor, called for help, and started CPR until the medics showed up. If he hadn’t been there…well, I wouldn’t be telling this story.”

Kiia’s disbelief overwhelmed everything else.

“How did this not make the news? How was this explained away as a logistics issue, and no one pressed it further?” She said in a slight rage.

“Well, the label figured I’d be back on my feet pretty quickly,” I paused. “Then the pandemic hit two months later, and the lockdown was in effect, so I finished my second album while I was in recovery.”

“That went alright, but then during my rehab for my heart, I told my doctors that I felt uneasy and light headed whenever I was playing music…So, they had me do some more tests and visit a therapist where I was diagnosed with PTSD.”

“That was the day I became a sunk cost for the record label. What good was a puppet that couldn’t step on stage without breaking?”

I’d unearthed all of my self loathing and my resentment for how things went. I dropped my head into my hands. I thought I could do this.

In the silence, I realized I did it. I told my story.

“I completed my rehab in 2021. I stopped going to therapy last year…I realized that they couldn’t help me take the next step.”

“I gave up on ever doing this again. I started going to shows to find bands that could be the next BTR. I accepted that I was a weak, pitiful husk of who I used to be…until I saw you perform again. I don’t know how to explain it, but after the show in October, you make me want to do this again.”

I felt my demeanor unraveling again.

“I’m so terrified that I’m going to grab my guitar one night, and before I make it to the stage, my body will remember, and that will be the end. I know it’s unreasonable, but I’m an addict. I get addicted to everything that feels good, and I abuse it for all its worth until there’s nothing left of it or me…”

I couldn’t figure out if I was mad or depressed. I was spiraling. I didn’t know what I wanted anymore.

“It’s okay,” Kiia’s voice cut through the panic in my mind. “You just have to rely on me…you aren’t the type of person you think you are anymore.”

“You haven’t abused me or drained me for a second. Since we committed to each other, I’ve loved every moment we’ve spent together; I feel like it’s made me a better version of myself, because we keep taking steps forward together.”

She put her forehead against mine.

“You signed us. Just put a stipulation in your contract that you’ll only play shows with me. That way, whether you’re coming or going from the stage, I can always be there with you. If you feel like you’re touring too much, I’ll just tell you no, I want some time off, and maybe by then it will be time off with my husband.”

I started laughing through my tears.

“You’re really planning our whole future together, aren’t you?”

“Well, Cy, you plan out our day-to-day, so someone has to be thinking about it. Like, geez, you gave us two weeks off in five months. You’re not any better than the rest of Twilight Reverie,” she said with loving pout.

“I guess you’re right,” I chuckled.

“So, that settles it, no matter how your meeting goes next week, I’ll be there for you like how you’ve been here for me.”

I felt an incredible relief, as if four years of self loathing finally began to heal. I knew that she didn’t feel like it, but I disliked burdening her with all of this. It felt great to have an accomplice to carry it with, though.