Posts Tagged ‘music’

“Help me, it’s like the walls are caving in.
Sometimes I feel like giving up,
No medicine is strong enough.
Someone help me.
I’m crawling in my skin.
Sometimes I feel like giving up
But I just can’t.
It isn’t in my blood.”

~Sean Mendes

I really listened to these lyrics for the first time a few weeks ago and they hit me. Hard. This is a description of an anxiety and/or a depression hole, folks, pure and simple. I’ve, of course, heard of Sean Mendes, but I didn’t know that he sang this song until yesterday. It’s clear, though, that he knows a more than a bit about anxiety and depression. Here’s a bit more from the same song:

“Laying on the bathroom floor, feeling nothing.
I’m overwhelmed and insecure, give me something
I could take to ease my mind slowly.
Just have a drink and you’ll feel better.
Just take her home and you’ll feel better.
Keep telling me that it gets better.
Does it ever?”

Sounds completely hopeless, yes? That’s because it is, at the time. He’s absolutely hit the nail on the head. When you “fall” into one of these holes, this is the feeling. And it’s scary. And it sucks. And, for a while, it feels like you’ll never be right again. In my case, eventually I do feel right again, quicker these days than before I started talk therapy a few years ago, but for some, it lasts for days, weeks, and months. Through therapy, I’ve learned strategies to cope, but while that helps to quiet the demons, it doesn’t keep them away entirely. The combination of extended childhood trauma plus my genetic disposition toward depression make it clear that I will probably always need some sort of therapeutic outlet. I know that and I’ve made peace with that. I’m strong, but not strong enough to carry this thing by myself.

And I’m not by myself. Besides my therapist, Marty is a huge support and I have no doubt that my “holes” frustrate him at times, but he’s done his best to understand and he has learned about depression in order to help me with what I need at the time, which is usually for him to keep a watchful distance and let me ride it out in silence. He never complains.

I wish I could control it.

Twice, I’ve seen posts on Facebook this week about choosing to be happy, that you only have to make the choice to be happy and it will be all better. How easy that sounds! Unfortunately, I can’t choose or pray my way out of this disease any more than I can choose or pray my way out of any other disease. Just because it has to do with my brain doesn’t make it easier to get rid of than bronchitis or a broken arm. It amazes me that people still think that way.

What has brought all of this depression talk on, you ask? These past two weeks have been a struggle for me; it’s been rough. Triggering, in popular talk. Writing helps me deal with it. I’m not okay with mocking sexual assault victims, in public or otherwise, but right now, the administration of our country seems fine with that. I’m hurting, not just for me, but for all victims, especially for those have kept it to themselves, who were not believed or helped. My heart aches for them.

The worst thing was the laughter at the Trump rally as he mocked Dr. Ford, especially after he had called her testimony credible. My god, that was hard to stomach. Vile, really. Inhuman. Who thinks that this is okay? How much of a scum do you have to be to laugh at someone who has clearly been victimized, whether or not you believe it was the named perpetrator? I felt sick when heard it. A lot of bad words were flung at the TV screen.

I’ve been there, been through it. Years of it. I didn’t make a noise about it until it was too late, legally, to make a noise. I didn’t report at the time, I was terrified. I was a child, and then a teenager. But it happened. I know that. The step-monster knows that. That is enough for me. I understand why things don’t come out until later. You have to be strong enough, first. That takes time for some of us.

Depression sucks, and I have to be stronger than it is, but I’m tired this week. Exhausted, really, but I’m okay. When triggers like this happen, you have to work through it, you have to process what’s going on and choose how you will respond, but it has felt like a continual battle lately. I need a break. I know it will pass, and there will be good days, really good days. But I know that it’s waiting in the wings, just waiting for that next rape “joke”, that next unexpected scene in a television show, that next disturbing section in a book. Then, the cycle begins again but by then, there’s a reserve of strength to deal with it.

“Sometimes I feel like giving up
But I just can’t.
It isn’t in my blood.”

I’m not giving up; not even close. There’s too much to fight for and after a short bit, I’ll be back to fight again.

You are not alone.




Read Full Post »

Last week I wrote about pet peeves, things that drive us insane at times. I do like to keep things balanced, so this week I’m writing about things that bring me joy.

Joy is different than happiness, a term that I use in to describe my constant feelings about certain parts of my life. For example, I have happiness in my marriage. That’s something that is all the time; a state, if you will, rather than a moment. Do I have moments of joy in my marriage? Undoubtedly, yes! But in my mind, joy is one of those things that happens spontaneously, a moment that catches you off-guard and can take your breath away while filling you with, well, joy!

For me, joy can be elusive. It’s not that I want to be joyless, but depression makes it hard to feel good things sometimes. Therefore, when I do experience something that brings true joy, the feeling is so profound that it stays with me. Moments of joy give me hope and keep me going. From the silly to the sacred, reactions vary from genuine laughter from deep inside to quiet awe and reverence. Here are some of my favorite things that bring me joy.

When Marty Man does something romantic. We’ve been married a long time, but he still has that power to make my heart flutter. It can be the surprise book that he ordered for me because he knew I would want it, the spontaneous, “I love you” that drifts across the couch, or even just a look that he sends my way. My husband brings me joy.

Connecting with my kids. I love my boys, always, but when we have a moment, whether it’s snuggle time or a good conversation, it makes my heart swell. They get closer to being on their own every day, which makes those moments precious to me.

Baby belly giggles. Completely unresistable. Hands down one of my favorite sounds in the entire world. I dissolve into a puddle of joy. It’s so real, so genuine. I can take on the world after hearing a baby lose it in laughter.

The ocean. Wild, raw, powerful, untamable. I love being around water in any case, but something about the ocean just fills my whole being when I watch it. I could stand there for hours.

Travel. Not necessarily the nitty-gritty parts of it, but the very thought of going somewhere, especially somewhere on my bucket list, is more exciting than Christmas morning. Right now, I’m looking forward to Italy. One month from today I’ll be in Rome. The anticipation is wonderful, but the reality will be even better. Even the opportunity to drive someone else to or from the airport makes me giddy, because it’s a wonderful place. I know, I’m a dork, but that’s okay.

Sleeping babies in my arms. I can’t even explain. Settling a baby down so that he or she is sleeping in your arms is amazing. They’re just so perfect, so innocent and beautiful.

Feeling God’s presence or understanding when He’s at work. When I’m reading the Bible or something related and a point just hits home, there’s no mistaking it, especially after I’ve been through a rough patch and the result is something that I never would have expected or planned for, but I know is right. The awareness that comes through and the feeling of being close to Him is indescribable, but joy is in that mix so it definitely belongs on my list. He is my everything.

Seeing the sun and clear blue sky after several cloudy ones. Relief, just pure relief and joy. I don’t know if this is a depression thing, but I do know that people, in general, feel better when it’s sunny out. It’s especially joy-inducing when it has been hot, awful, and muggy. I hate muggy. It makes my skin crawl, so when that lifts after several days and the sky is that clear, clear blue, it’s heavenly.

Music. I don’t know where I’d be without music. It helps to cope with or enhance every emotion, from the dark deep holes I can get into to the best moments in my life. There is a song for every feeling, every day, every time. Music understands.

Writing. I amost didn’t include this one, because when I write, I have to fight the nagging feeling at the back of my mind that tells me I should be doing laundry, or cleaning, or something else mundane because writing feels like such a guilty pleasure, but the times when I really just put that on the back burner and allow myself to get lost in my story or my blog are really full of joy. I love to write and I wish that I could make more time to do it. A work in progress, yes?

I’d love to know what brings you joy. Life is hard, joy gets us through.

Until next time.

Read Full Post »

Tonight, I watched my two older boys play in their high school marching band show, as I have for the past few years. I usually only go once or twice a season. Football games, with the crowds and bad behavior, are not my cup of tea. I’m only there for the music, but, boy, am I happy to watch them.

The marching band was wonderful. I had seen them at the end of band camp in August, but watching them perform a medley of Beatles songs in their uniforms in front of an audience was soul-stirring, not just for the fact that the kids did a great job, which they did, but because it stirs up a plethora of memories for me.

I was a band geek in high school and I was proud of it. I still am. In the marching band, I found a community of quasi-misfits that welcomed me with open arms. I wasn’t a cheerleader, I wasn’t in student government, and while I wasn’t bullied, I certainly wasn’t a popular girl, but I fit right in with the band kids. In the summer of 1988, I went to my first band camp. I was absolutely terrified. Because the music program had been newly reinstalled only a few years earlier in our district, all three high schools shared a band. We were Tri-Union and although there was friendly smack-talk between schools, we were one cohesive unit. The only time I had ever been to any kind of camp before was when I had been in Girl Scouts and we went to weekend camp. It was wet and horrible and band camp didn’t appeal to me at first, but I loved playing the flute and decided to give it a try.

I went through initiation that freshman year. Back then, words like “hazing” didn’t really have the meaning they do today and as freshmen, we were subjected to things such as jumping off of the high dive (did it!), singing the school fight songs or “I’m a Little Teapot” in the dining hall, races of pushing pennies with our noses across the dining hall floor, and standing at attention during our free-time, monitored by upperclassmen. Each night, those who had committed transgressions such as forgetting to wear their class button or messing up during the many rehearsals were sentenced to marching into the lake at the close of evening’s rehearsal. The “Weenies” were made to march, in step, down to the lake and march in while the rest of the band came along to watch. Nothing horrible or serious ever happened and we went through it all with good attitudes.

On Friday night of that long, hot, tiring week, we were seated around the campfire with our “big brothers” and “big sisters” where we were blindfolded and given body parts of our respective mascots to eat (really cold noodles, grapes with syrup, and cashews) in order to truly become full members of the band. When it was done, we were all emotional with the work and sweat of the week as well as feelings of accomplishment. We had done it! We were in! And we really were. The band community is a welcoming one that protects its own and is fiercely loyal. If you weren’t an excellent musician, you may get ragged on in class or in rehearsal, but you were still a part of the group, always.I can still see that today in the band where my sons play. Most of their friends are fellow band (and/or theatre) members, mirroring my own experience more than twenty years ago.

The four years I spent in marching band were some of the happiest of my life. I can’t remember some of my high school teachers (okay, more than half of them), or who many of my other classmates were, but I can remember who the band seniors were when I was a freshman. Wayne Duperon and Renee Thompson were gods in my eyes back then and I knew from Day One that I wanted to be a drum major like them one day. I worked hard, won the “Best Sophomore” and “Best Junior” trophies and finally, my senior year, I made drum major with one of my best friends. I was a “big sister” to three freshmen and came back as a counselor after I graduated for four more years, even quitting a job in order to go to band camp. I had summer loves, best friends, and was challenged to push myself further than I ever thought I could. In my junior year, I auditioned and qualified to travel to Australia and Hawaii with the Michigan Lions All-State Band with my best friend, Jenny. We had a fabulous time, and learned the hard way that Honolulu does, indeed, have a red-light district. (A blog for another time…) For a kid who didn’t ever really think she would make anything of her life, music showed me that I could fly high, that I didn’t have to settle for anything, that I could achieve things through hard work and dedication. I didn’t feel like I had a place at home, but I had a place in the band. Band gave me the confidence I needed to fight through my abusive situation and to set goals in my life. Without it, I shudder to think of where I would be.

These things are what I remember when I watch my boys march across that field with their friends. Although I’ve encouraged them, I haven’t pushed them into this program. They both began in elementary school, followed it through into middle school, and were then swept away in high school, just like I was. Middle Son is in it mainly for the fun with the trumpet, but Oldest Son has amassed quite the collection of instruments, including my old flute and piccolo, which I heard loud, sweet, and clear on the field tonight, happy to be played again. I resisted letting him play it at first, selfish pride of ownership getting in the way, but I realized that it wasn’t meant to be hidden away. While there is a small sense of pride that they’re following in Mama’s footsteps, I’m more happy that they’ve found a place to shine and that they’ve found some amazing kids to be friends with, many of whom they will be friends with for the rest of their lives. Music and discipline do something to the soul that makes it swell with emotion, with possibility, and makes one feel things that they’ve never felt before. Music will help some kids find a place in a topsy-turvy world and will help others learn something new about themselves. Although I don’t feel like I was given a good academic education in my home district, the music program and my directors, Mr. Dale Olmstead and Mr. Dennis Winnie, made my high school years more than bearable.

Music is so important. It is love. May all of the bands keep playing. Thank you, marching band, for giving an old band geek some feels tonight.

Read Full Post »