Depression in the Time of Socializing: My Story (abbreviated)

Solitude. It’s the great equalizer when you’re feeling marginally better about things. It gives you the opportunity to reflect, which often brings back the feelings you fight over and over again. You want to be alone, but your thoughts are the old friend who drops in to say hello, then criticizes you incessantly. Being alone isn’t always so lovely. You’re now emotionally overwhelmed. Words fail. You go back to sleep.

This was me before music.

Sam Cooke and Etta James. These two musicians were my musical baptism. My parents held me over the holy water and prayed, off-tune, but with passion. My primary education was in the school of Motown and Stax, I stumbled through courses in 80s pop and dance, then dabbled in all kinds of rock music. I was content. I was entertained.

In the early days of this period, when depression arrived, the thought of finding my voice within music wasn’t an option. I let myself be overwhelmed by everything an 80s suburban kid could gather–world famine, the threat of nuclear annihilation, being overweight, not wearing the right clothes, etc.  I rode my bicycle, but I didn’t have adventures that led me to stranded aliens or the local crazies. In the vastness of solitude and overthinking, I discovered emotional insecurity and started to withdraw. I was 12.

By the time I was in my late-teens, I had gone through periods of immense depression. I was the fat kid who was liked just enough to feel insecure about not being invited to a party. I was lost, and music was not helping. People around attended the high-profile concerts and they created tribes–think Christian Death vs. Metallica vs. Bell Biv Devoe. I was a mess of everything, which sounds great when you’re 35, but you need to carve out a place when you’re 16. My place was to internalize everything, feel unwanted, and say absolutely nothing. I stayed that way for several years, through the remainder of high school and into my 20s. I battled panic attacks, a near-death experience with weight loss, losing my virginity in the most vile way, and still feeling like the kid who never got invited to the parties.

“When you decide that your life is a prize…”

I gave up on trying to speak about it.  And by “it,” I mean everything. My depression managed itself in horribly unhealthy and destructive ways. I was 22 and somehow managed to find love, but I was poor at expressing my feelings of inadequacy and dependence upon others, so I fell back on self-deprecating jokes and my budding relationship with an eating disorder. However, I also heard something in music that had previously been foreign–a hint of clarity in my thinking. It started with simple lines about love, which also happened to be quite messy. Leonard Cohen sounded as fucked up as me, but his expressions of grief, failed love, sexual ugliness, distress, and failure were delivered in a way that made sense. I couldn’t fully wrap my head around what was happening, but I knew one thing:  I wasn’t alone.

It took me several more years to fully embrace the potential of music, which became all about me. I began to attend more shows, which by now had become scheduled exorcisms. I fell at the feet of these spiritual giants in the hope that my demons would be cast away. However, it didn’t work out exactly as planned because these guides were telling me the same thing:  Embrace those demons, understand they are a part of you, and learn to live, despite them. Carla Bozulich was my high priestess on this journey.  Her band, the Geraldine Fibbers, offered me a new way to dissect lyrics and find emotional connection within them. These songs were not just narratives about people I’d never meet, they were also stories about me. I learned how I felt about love (not so great) and life (much better). The exact reason for being alive still wasn’t clear, but I knew this new experience with music provided me with an additional layer of emotional complexity that I didn’t want to lose. I could let someone else say the things I couldn’t express myself. This was the breakthrough I’d always wanted, so I let the story consume me. I began to seek out other voices to help me make sense of my own conflicts. The world of battered souls, misplaced love, substance abuse, parental neglect, disconnect, intense passion, and survival was now mine. This is where I would find salvation!

With this blog, I hope to share stories that resonate intensely with some and entertain others. While my own journey may have resulted in self-discovery, there’s beauty to be found in the simple act of enjoying music. Finding yourself in song is something I wouldn’t recommend for everyone, nor would I suggest that depression can be managed with lyrics, but when an opportunity to make sense of your own complicated emotions reveals itself, don’t hesitate to grab hold and understand it. That’s you.