On repeat

I was sprawled belly down on my bedroom floor at 7 or 8, my little brother next to me, his hair sprouting from his head in springy, yellow question marks. We hovered over an old tape recorder, two of my fingers in position on the buttons, one black and one red, ready to act. The radio sat on the floor next to us while we listened to the opening notes of each song, testing my reaction time as I cobbled together one of my earliest play lists.

I’ve always loved music, especially music that tells a story. I listen as I drive, as I work, as I read, as I write. I listen as I breathe. I wake up each morning, the latest song stuck on repeat in my brain. I try to get to the bottom of each nuanced syllable. What was the artist thinking, feeling, living as they wrote? I can’t always figure it out, but I never give up. There are times I listen to the same song over and over and over again – 5, 10, 50 times in a row – I need to understand. Seriously, people – it’s mandatory. It’s no surprise that it drives everyone I’ve ever lived with completely insane.

Sometimes a song is easy to figure out. Sometimes a song, or even an album, drops into my life when I need it most. For example, Mike Shinoda – of Linkin Park fame – recently released a new album, Post Traumatic, that I’ve been obsessing over for the past two weeks. His brilliant friend and band mate, Chester Bennington, committed suicide last year following a lifetime of depression that stemmed from childhood sexual abuse. This album is about processing the unimaginable. It’s about processing the confusion. It’s even about processing the anger. And I can relate to all of it, even if the source of our trauma is not the same.

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“I used to know where the bottom was
Somewhere far under the ocean waves
Up on a ledge I was looking down
It was far enough to keep me safe
But the ground was cracked open
threw me in the ocean
Cast me out away at sea
And the waves are still breaking
Now that I awaken
No one’s left to answer me

My inside’s out, my left is right
My upside’s down, my black is white
I hold my breath, and close my eyes
And wait for dawn, but there’s no light
Nothing makes sense anymore, anymore
Nothing makes sense anymore, anymore
Nothing makes sense anymore, anymore
Nothing makes sense anymore, anymore”

Nothing Makes Sense Anymore lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group

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I’ve been consumed by this album for two weeks now. It found me right about the time I started feeling the knee buckling pull of the coming anniversary that converts my brain to mush, hobbles my smile, and dares my emotions to swell until my skin itches for their release. Yesterday, for the first time in months, I felt the anger build one brick at a time until I’d erected a block tower that threatened to come crashing down with the smallest of sighs. As I left work, burning from the inside out, I opted for the longer drive home so that I could rush down the highway at 70 mph, windows wide, sunroof wrenched open like a mouth mid-scream. I joined in. Today my throat is raw, but my anger is gone.

After my last post, my aunt suggested I spend the anniversary of the crime doing something distracting and happy. I responded with an explanation of why it wouldn’t work. But, I couldn’t let it go. I kept thinking about what she said. And as the days went on, I started wondering what would happen if I tried it. Everything I said to her is still true – there is absolutely nothing that will keep this reminder of hell from my mind every year, on this day, for the rest of my life. But, what if Mr. C and I go do something pleasant or maybe even beautiful together. It won’t change anything about what happened, but it would be a nice way to spend an afternoon.

So, we’re doing it. I’m not telling him why. If he’s forgotten the date, I will not be the one to remind him. But, I’m leaving work a little early. I’m going to pick him up. I’m going to harness the dogs. Hell, we might even put the cat in the backpack for the first time since our cross-country extravaganza. We’re going to our favorite local beach for a picnic. Jasper has never been to the beach – or on a picnic.

We’re going to eat yummy finger foods and feel warm sand beneath our toes. For once, I’m not bringing a playlist. Instead I want to listen to nature’s very own soundtrack as the waves break, the birds call, and my kid laughs.

Things are making sense again. I no longer feel like I’m constantly upside down or inside out, but my PTSD symptoms will always be one trigger away from the surface. So I’ll just keep on going. I’ll practice my coping skills. I’ll scream into the wind. I’ll take my family – pets and all – to the beach for a picnic. And when I want to pull the shades and crawl deep under the covers, desperate to forget, I’ll inhale the songs that fill my blood with the music that keeps me going.

Depression is real and it’s brutal. If you’re out there reading this and things aren’t making sense for you – if you don’t know how to keep going – please don’t give up. There are so many people out there who want to help you find your music.

Please check the resources page for help with PTSD and sexual assault/abuse. If you are depressed and considering self-harm, please contact one of these help lines. We need you to be ok and these people can help.

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-TALK (8255)

The Trevor Project: 866-488-7386 – LGBTQ Youth Hotline – 24 hour

The photos from today’s post are from a trip to Kauai when Mr. C was still pretty little. This may be our favorite beach, but it will not be the one we visit this week… too bad.