Taking Me Back

I love the visceral way that music can take me back to some moment of significance it played to in my life. I'm revisiting an album that's been with me in many parts of my life, but I haven't listened to in a while. The single from that album stopped me from what I was doing.

Immediately I'm transported back to being 19 and feeling youthful and hungry for life's adventure – alive. So alive. But it goes further back with me. 

17 years old, it was one of the lucky CDs on rotation in my 6-disc-changer, which was housed in the trunk of my car. I remember the car seemed so nice in comparison to my first one which had crank windows, no AC, and a loud muffler. This car had a 6-disc-changer and a stereo with great bass. Fake walnut accents on the dash. Most importantly: a moonroof. I felt like I was taking on the world, so independent and cruising around with the windows down, singing along. 

When the single came out, I was 15. I thought it was longer ago than that because that oldest memory, that version of me in my memory seems so young, so little just yet of who I am now. The single came on the radio as I was dropped off at the bus to go on my youth group's service project trip. Then it played over the headphones connected to my discman probably a hundred times on the long drive to West Virginia. On the bus ride home I sat beside my classmate since first grade who then became my lifelong best friend. 

All from one song, in a split second, the images and feelings from these different times in my life, really my adolescence came rushing in.  

The Strange Monster

Depression is a strange monster. 

There are things you can do to weaken it, but they're hard to do because of it. There are pills you can take to make you stronger than it, but just enough to survive. There are days you feel like it's finally gone, only for it to show up the next day, rearing its ugly head. And there are whole days lost to laying underneath its full weight. 

I don't have bad days all that often; depression hasn't been with me my whole life. In the pandemic my depression has felt more like an ever-present companion – at times it's more in my face than others. Perhaps there's some rhythm to the worst of it that I just haven't hacked yet. Today was one of those days. And sometimes it's kind to me and lines up with days I have nothing to do, maybe more the nothing to do invites it in, but today was not that day. 

Today was a draw a bath (well, that's every day in my house), bring the coffee up, and pour some salts in kind of depression day. Write some things, cry a bit, write some things, cry a bit... Sometimes I almost believe the monster needs to be tended to. It needs attention to stay away for a little while after. Which is what struck me today. I actually knew what to do when I realized it was not going to be a good day but that I didn't want to surrender to the monster's heaviness. 

I decided to drop the dog at daycare. I finished my long bath after really shaving my legs, and we got in the car. I had one of my favorite albums playing while I drove, and I didn't try but just thought, even though there are days like this when everything big feels hopeless, there's always this music. And I felt just a little better. When I got home, I thought since it was a balmy 10 degrees today, I should finally change the engine air filter in my car. I've never done it before, turns out it's insanely easy. Great! I got one little something done. Next, I made myself a delicious, quality meal and enjoyed it without anyone whining at me. Just before my first session, I put on some makeup to brighten up my not-so-cheerful face. And wouldn't you know: my last session of the night was a home run. 

When the dust settled, it's still one of those days; no simple magic had slain the dragon. But I found a little relief that if you care for the monster and meet its needs, it isn't quite as treacherous to have in your company. 

Worth & Hurt

I do want it again. The head over heels love. Gratefulness just to be near them in the day-to-day. The inability to imagine life without them. But I find myself wondering, do you get that more than once?

I know I can open my heart again, but won't anything else feel a little less sparkly? Or will my heart be resistant to feeling head over heels, grateful, and like something could possibly be forever? Logically, I think it's the latter, as I know my wary heart is fearful in resisting hope that there can be something sparkly again. I sit with a mixture of longing and fear; daunted and yet unable to let fear keep me from being seen. 

After my last relationship, I kept hearing this thing to me that drove me nuts: "it's not a reflection of your worth." I know rejection isn't a reflection of my worth, though it is my painful and perplexing reality nonetheless. When what you really want is to be seen for who you are and found captivating, inspiring to gratitude, and an undeniable fixture in one's life; for someone to recognize your worth and grab hold of the chance to share in life with you? Yeah, rejection of that very idea is painful. It feeds hopelessness. It bolsters fear. 

Yet the only reason I can dare to try to open my heart is because I know my worth. I value sharing life with others and find that the most fulfilling relationships are the most intimate ones, in which full selves commune. I know that what I have to bring to a relationship, especially a partnership is something worth having and being grateful for, committing to. But all of that doesn't mean I'm not scared to offer it because the last time I did it was rejected, and that hurt. I am not concerned that I'm unworthy, I am afraid of ever knowing that pain again.