Just the other day, while Greg was at work, I was experiencing a severe emotional breakdown. There were no words to explain the ball of negativity forming inside my chest, so I sent him a link to Chopin's "Revolutionary Etude." He responded,
"That piece is amazing. I understand your feelings better now. So many quick thoughts with pain topping them over and over."When I begin a new composition, I usually cannot stop until I finish. Through my teen years, I would lock myself in my bedroom and experiment for hours until I found the right chord progression and melody to parallel my emotions. The lyrics would take shape naturally as the composition flourished. As an adult, that method has not been disturbed.
Two months ago, a friend of mine told me I should write a song about my rape. Stubborn as always I retorted, "What's the point, that is what Tori Amos is for!"
Ah, good ol' Tori. She got me through some trying times. Tori was introduced to me by a mentor, and now friend, in high school. We had many long conversations after school on days I just didn't feel like returning to reality. She was the first one to challenge my beliefs about life and how they were dictated by a tainted childhood.
I think that is when the first grain of empowerment was established inside of me, but instead of using it to analyze why I was in so much pain, I just siphoned it into a "bad-ass" persona. There are probably a handful of you who knew me in high school and saw this change my senior year. Consequences were of little concern to me because my mentality became, Who the hell cares what is right or wrong? No one cared what he did! No one thought he was wrong...
This recklessness is all part of the PTSD cycle I have looped through multiple times. Past starts creeping back, emotions get blocked, self-blame, drink, cut, sex, rinse, repeat. Somehow, music would throw itself into that cycle and force it into dormancy. I would be inspired by the torment inside of me, spend night and day writing music, then be too mentally and emotionally depleted to continue in my path of self-destruction. Today, I analyzed the lyrics from songs I wrote years ago and realized that I had been writing about my past all along. So why did I continue to fall back into that circle of depression?
It was because I was never honest in those previous songs. I managed to cover up the truth by weaving a complex tapestry of emotions, yet ending with a positive outlook never to reveal the knots beneath the beauty. My song Unredeemed starts gravely and ends with a false hope I never believed when composing it. I always thought, No one can know how I truly feel, because they will think I'm crazy!
Unredeemed
People say that I'm strong
But if they saw my heart,
They would know they were wrong
Deep into my eyes
Is a story of harm
Injected with lies
The past is the past
And we can't let it go
Because we are human
We reap what others sew
Even if it's not our issue
We still tend to care
We say, "Baby I'm sorry,
I know it's not fair"
The pain in our lives
Can be so intense
That we fight off our tears
With an invisible fence
Of the unredeemed...
Of lost hopes and dreams
As we wander down paths
Leading to different realms
Pieces of our stories
Turn us back around
Journeys morph into vendettas
Law becomes obsolete
The blood on our fingers
Is a worthless defeat
The pain in our lives
Can be so intense
That we fight off our tears
With an invisible fence
Of the unredeemed...
Of lost hopes and dreams
Well I've seen old ghosts
Eat at my very own heart
Yet I boast that I'm fine
When I'm falling apart...
The pain in our lives
Can be so intense
That we fight off our tears
With an invisible fence
Of the unredeemed...
Of lost hopes and dreams
People say that I'm strong
And if they saw my heart
They would know they weren't wrong
Deep into my eyes
Is a story of hope
Born into the skies
She builds her wall brick by brick
Until the thought of it just makes her sick
She can't block out all her fears
From being shackled to him many years
What does it matter?
It's in the past...
At least that's what they tell her
When the nightmares are coming fast
He holds her down and steals her youth
Her cries of pain become quickly mute
As his hand covers her mouth
He scares her into shame and doubt
What does it matter?
Just let it go...
That's what they keep telling her
As she screams no
Will they listen if she's gone?
Will they finally say he was wrong,
When he tore away her soul?
She has no where else to go...
She fights the urge to appear weak
But when in silence, the memories reek, so
She uses men to mop her tears
Before she puts away a few more beers
What does it matter?
Just let him win...
At least that's what she tells herself
As she washes down the pills with gin
Will they listen when she's gone?
Will they finally say he was wrong,
When he tore away her soul?
She had no where else to go...
Will you listen now that she's gone?
Will you finally say he was wrong,
When he tore away her soul?
You can't just let him go...
Well he grins with no remorse
As they beat him down with force
The game is up they said
As she wakes up in her bed...
Will she sing now that he's gone?
Will she stop saying she was wrong,
When he tore away her soul?
She can finally let him go
She can finally let him go
She might just let him go...
"Well...that was tough..."
"I can imagine, but you finally did it. I'm proud of you."
The week I wrote this song was the same week I stopped cutting and started to speak.
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