The Song That Saved My Life

(Note: This piece contains mentions of suicide and sexual assault)

“The role of the artist is exactly the same as the role of the lover. If I love you, I have to make you conscious of the things you don’t see.”

-James Baldwin

i think it was Jesse Michaels (of the band Operation Ivy) who said that “Music is an indirect force for change, because it provides an anchor against human tragedy.” i can never understand when someone creates or interprets music to be ‘simply for entertainment’, when music has always been a tool to communicate the will and desire of the masses. Music has also been a key of expression and connection for those who may otherwise struggle with their feelings. Music has been known to save lives.

At this time, it was a little song about a bullet that saved mine.

i have listened to ‘Just A Bullet Away’ by the band Metallica (a band i have written about plenty of times on other sites) on many an occasion with no problems. i actually have a tattoo inspired by the song. On this occasion though, i happened to listen to it at the moment intrusive thoughts were occurring. As it played i continually thought to myself, ‘if i had a gun right now, i would use it.’ i thought about what else i could use. i mean, there were a lot of things i have done and used in my life during previous attempts (which i will not name here). i didn’t even think to stop the song; in fact, i ended up additionally watching someone do a cover of it. In the middle of the video though, right before the song’s bridge flashed the number for the suicide prevention hotline. Despite me calling this number various times over the years; and despite these incessant thoughts, i didn’t even think to call.

All roads they lead to shame
All drowning in the blame

All hide beneath a skin
A hope so paper thin
I’m at the door again

Redemption purify
Will nothing satisfy
The scars just multiply

Eternal borderline
All the faces intertwine
Oh God… now I see mine
In the shine of the midnight revolver

Even the promise of danger has gone dull
Staring down the barrel of a .45

Do all reflections look the same
In the shine of the midnight revolver

Just a bullet away
Just a bullet away from leavin’ you
Just a bullet away
Stop the voices in my head

Whether metaphorical or literal, whether about struggling with addiction or actual incessant ideation; the song certainly reflected how i was feeling in the moment. i wanted the voices to cease.

Still, not thinking, i decided to also listen to another song, ‘Screaming Suicide’, and i began to cry deeply. About the song, James Hetfield (vocalist and rhythm guitarist) says, “The intention is to communicate about the darkness we feel inside. It’s ridiculous to think we should deny that we have these thoughts. At one point or another, I believe most people have thought about it. To face it is to speak the unspoken. If it’s a human experience, we should be able to talk about it. You are not alone.”

Then my voice appears
Teaching you of fears
Are you good enough?
You don’t recognize
Head is full of lies
You should just give up

Curse another day
Spirit locked away
Punish and deprive
Hate to be awake
Living a mistake
More dead than alive

i almost did give up.

Then a voice appears
Whisper in your ears
“You are good enough”
Throwing down a rope
A lifeline of hope
Never give you up

i have spoken its name many times. Still, i ask myself almost daily, ‘Am i really good enough?’ i have trouble believing i am. The first voice fights with the second voice constantly- and the first voice always seems to win.

i am taking a risk making a huge generalization here, but most people who experience ideation (whether minimally or incessantly) or opt to attempt and/or end their lives do not necessarily want to do it. It’s just that life has become so unbearable, and (i can only speak for myself here) for whatever reason there’s the constant thought that life would be better off without us.

But… as the song ended, and i sat there in tears, i made the decision at three am to phone the hotline.

Metallica (and by extension Alex Young) saved my life.

“…not many people have ever died of love. But multitudes have perished, and are perishing every hour…–for the lack of it.” 

-James Baldwin

What does Metallica (or ending one’s life) have to do with work or jobs?

Both my critical/analytical and creative brain are constantly going, which means that sometimes some of the most pronounced ideas or thoughts i have in terms of writing happen at the least opportune of times- on the toilet, in the shower or as i am trying to get to bed.  These thoughts also happen during the late nights and early mornings, while most are in bed. 

But again, what does any of this have to do with this blog? Because a brain that never stops and wants to create at seemingly inopportune hours isn’t beneficial for living under capitalism.  Because spending time on this earth sometimes feels like a job.  And it is tiring.

The work we do on ourselves is severely undervalued; the action to what is usually seen as ‘resolving’ depression is work, but acknowledging a struggle with depression or ideation (and acknowledging you need help) is work as well.

We are conditioned to observe this work as a hindrance to everyone else around us. People speak of suicide as ‘selfish’, because it’s assumed they did not think of the loved ones they left behind. It’s seen as a ‘permanent solution to a temporary problem.’

However, the jobs we do to keep afloat are rewarded when we appease the managers of society, who are being paid to do the bidding by their bosses- who profit off of the same constant struggles we are encouraged to sweep away. We are rewarded when we smile, and only smile.

Music can be used as a mirror to confront the ills of the status quo (as Michaels alluded to). It can also be that reward for the mirror we hold to ourselves. In many cases a response to someone’s trauma, sadness or depression is to immediately send a message to cheer them up. Many of us who receive these messages do not feel heard. The need to always avoid the subject and respond with extreme positivity can be invalidating. Even if that is not the intent, it feels as if our struggle is a burden to those we have confided in. i just told you i am experiencing self-doubt and depression, or was about to end my life, and the immediate response is to send a cat picture. Just a cat picture. Or a comedic sketch. Some people suggest happy music. And most people’s response (in my experience) is no response at all.

We want to know we are heard and feel supported. Sometimes, people listen to ‘sad’ music during these times, because the music says, ‘I see you, and I hear you.’

As a human species, community and connection are important. Therapists are also important and serve a purpose; but therapists exist in a lot of ways, because capitalism has ensured isolation. It has idealized depending on ‘the one’ to save you, whether that’s a therapist, a romantic partner, or a friend. It has romanticized nuclear family structures, as opposed to espousing the benefits of consensual non-traditional relationships and chosen families. Also, not everyone has the economic ability to obtain regular therapy. We go throughout our day, not necessarily recognizing that the person right next to us needs community, connection and comfort. People may reach out in a text, or through a phone call, but we have become so busy that we miss the text or forget to call back. Reaching out appears to be a daunting task; we don’t feel we have the capacity to ‘do enough’ for someone, even when all they may need is something as simple as a hello, or a hug. It’s similar to how organizing is viewed- it’s always seen as a larger than life task, when organizing involves everything from making and folding flyers, to childcare, to cooking to being in the streets. This fear leads us to stop communicating when someone is experiencing intense trauma, because under a capitalist society we have never learned how to deal with trauma in humanistic ways.

In the thrall of internalized shame, one is gripped by the compulsion to hide his face from the world. One’s own thoughts and feeling seem a foul pestilence from which to flee.

Cue: Existential dread. We are approaching the endgame of (global) capitalism; the system is headed straight to the landfill (its own creation) of history (that is, if global, late stage capitalism doesn’t bury the human species first by means of ecocide). Therefore, it is imperative, as we move towards the future, that we straddle the past as we become attuned to the lamentation of the ghosts of memory, personal and collective.

Deep emotional scars can warp libido; thus, in our age of corporate state hyper-authoritarianism, obsessive materialism, and neo-puritan pathology, all too many people have become terrified of their own passion–from sweat plangent lust to incandescent enthusiasm, right down to even accepting the shadows and perfumes borne of an inner life–and have withdrawn into forms of self-exile such as addiction, alienation, depression, compulsive materialism, and narcissistic striving.

-Phil Rockstroh

Back to ‘permanent solutions’ as mentioned earlier: capitalism and neoliberalism consistently are at times sold as temporary solutions to what end up being permanent problems for many- a market-based economy itself (this and this), high-interest loans through the IMF; the right-wing Heritage Foundation also critiques the role the IMF has played), austerity, sanctions and blockades.

In Mental Health Challenges Related to Neoliberal Capitalism in the United States, Anna Ziera’s report states, “Neoliberalism encourages individualism, which has decreased emphasis on the need for community and social connection for fulfillment. Since individualism is viewed as a desirable moral characteristic, asking for help, especially financially, is frowned upon. With complete faith in the free market to provide for all who wish to work, people who do not achieve financial success are blamed for their misfortunes increasing the stigma of poverty.”

In thinking about what (and how) i was going to write, i hearkened back to Karl Marx’ essay on suicide, based on economist Jacques Peuchet’s writings (Du suicide et de ses causes). Marx’ essay was written in 1846, two years prior to his (and Frederick Engels’) oft-quoted (and many times misinterpreted) Communist Manifesto. Marx’ essay was one i purchased as a teenager, simultaneously experiencing ideation as well as exploring where my political ideologies lie- a search i began from the age of 14. This copy of the book is one i still physically have.

Marx (whom two of his daughters also ended their lives) added his interpretation (which is in bold lettering) of Peuchet’s writing by saying, “All that has been said against suicide stems from the same circle of ideas.  One condemns suicide with foregone conclusions. But, the very existence of suicide is an open protest against these unsophisticated conclusions. They speak of our duty to this society, but not of our right to expect explanations and actions by our society.  They endlessly exalt, as the infinitely higher virtue, overcoming suffering, rather than giving in to it.  Such a virtue is every bit as sad as the perspective it opens up.  In brief, one has made suicide an act of cowardice, a crime against law, society, and honor.”

Also, “A dull bourgeois, who places his soul in his business and his God in commerce, can find all this to be very romantic and refute the pain that he cannot understand with derisive laughter.  We are not surprised by his derision. What else to expect from three-percenters, who have no inkling that daily, hourly, bit by bit, they kill themselves, their human nature.  But, what is one to say of those good people who play the devout, the educated, and still repeat this nastiness?”

An unjust, inhumane environment where labor is exploited, mental health struggles are reduced to an unspoken burden (or a series of slogans), and those on the margins of society are further marginalized is going to continually produce a population of people who are going to question the existence of life.

In the Zeira report, it states: “Attitudes toward people who receive government financial assistance can elicit feelings of shame from those who receive benefits.” There’s such an emphasis on ‘picking oneself up by the bootstraps’, the ‘self-made man’, and becoming ‘high value’; however, in a system that is dependent on economic disparities in order to thrive, the paths in which to achieve this ideal are unsustainable. Most people who hope to achieve some modicum of a CEO-style upper-level income do not aspire to exploit. The reality is though, this is what one must do if they’re going to maintain that level of wealth. If one has any level of empathy; if one’s value is based on building substantial relationships based on mutual respect and collaboration (as opposed to capitol acquisition and exploitation); if one has any level of respect for humanity, they are going to experience a dilemma.

Even after all this, even as i consistently rail against capitalism i acknowledge that i still fall subject to its pull.

All roads they lead to shame.

There’s also a shame associated with desirability. i want to address two types of desirability under capitalism here- one that is structural, and one that is personal. The social model of disability (which was coined by professor and activist Mike Oliver, but was adopted early on by the Union of the Physically Impaired Against Segregation (UPIAS)) examines the systemic or structural obstacles which prevent disabled people from participating to their fullest capacity. On music, i used to constantly wonder why it was i rarely saw people in wheelchairs at shows. As a person who, at this point in my life spends most of my time in a wheelchair, venues do not make it easy to navigate. The house i live in, i have had to adapt; but it’s not ideally accessible. It costs money to make it so.

Under capitalism, the role is to ensure you’ve got as many bodies as possible to exploit. If a society is going to at least present the illusion that some humanity exists, you will have funds allocated to assist folks who are disabled. However, the caveat is the hour upon hour of dealing with paperwork, phone calls with people who just see you as a number, and the ‘promise’ that you will not earn over a certain amount if you are going to continue receiving disability, even if that amount is not enough to cover rent/mortgage, bills and food combined.

In How Capitalism Contributes to Ableism, Chris Costello (who has cerebral palsy) writes, “Not only does capitalism give rise to disability oppression, I believe it also perpetuates it. The capitalists have both an economic and ideological interest to exclude workers based on perceived disability… The capitalist needs the average worker to produce commodities — that is, goods and services to be sold on a market. The capitalist also needs the worker to produce these commodities to be produced in the average amount of socially-necessary labor time. If a worker is too slow and cannot meet these requirements, the capitalist loses time that could be adding more value for himself. If a worker is too slow, they earn less profits for the given capitalist. Thus, there are purely economic reasons for a capitalist system to reject disabled people as workers. These workers cost more and cut into profit.”

Also: “The oppression of the disabled does not depend on the individual will, good or bad, of any particular capitalists. The objective, systemic laws of capitalist production confront the capitalists as a coercive force external to them. Even the bosses are not in full control of the system: market forces are. It is not about a capitalist being good or bad, it is about the logic of the system.”

In How Capitalism Contributed to Modern Conceptions of Disability, Costello opts towards a solution. “I believe disability oppression will cease to exist when we can overcome production for the sake of profit. We currently exist in a society that values human beings in proportion to their capacity to contribute to the production of surplus value. But that is not the only way to produce things. We could just as easily organize the economy around meeting human needs, rather than profit. We would be able to slow down production so impaired people could keep up and contribute to society fully. Organizing production in an anti-capitalist/socialist direction would combat disability oppression.”

i now want to address the personal ways in which capitalism shapes desirability. Costello addresses further in the Ableism piece, the steps sometimes taken to ‘fix’ folks on the disability spectrum, similar to how well-meaning (and not-so well meaning) people singularly suggest or utilize positive thought to fix’ or ‘cure’ depression. “Parents are generally advised to take measures, whether medical or therapeutic, to make their child as “normal” as possible. They face tremendous pressure to pathologize their children instead of working to make their lives as meaningful as possible.”

Also: “Ableism in the United States promotes the idea that disability is a personal tragedy. As we have seen, nothing could be further from the truth. The personal tragedy narrative is about the idea of “overcoming” disability through rehab or surgery, or else acknowledging their impairment and bravely going on in spite of it. In both cases, we are encouraged to look at disability as simply a set of obstacles that inexplicably arise to thwart us, rather than examining the barriers capitalist society puts in front of us.”

Sounds patronizing, doesn’t it?

“(C)consider(ing) the economic and societal factors that promote ableism and oppression” are of utmost importance, if we as a people are genuine about solutions. If a child ‘lashes out’, there most likely is an underlying reason they are doing so. People lament the existence of crime without addressing class and social inequities, as well as the question of who is determining what crime is what. The factors that drive ableism are the same factors that drive the stigmas toward people experiencing and living with depression and/or ideation.

‘Cause you lied

Subconsciously, i still believe these lies, and project them onto myself.

i am a person with a disability- a very apparent one. i have no problem saying that, as it is a reality. While there are days i do struggle (basic things like chores and getting the mail are not necessarily the easiest), while leaving and returning to the house is a whole event, and while i have to physically adapt to every single thing in my life now; i am very grateful to be alive (despite the ideation and depression). Being an amputee has been an incredibly humbling experience.

That said, whatever anxieties i have had about my body have now been heightened. Prior to being an amputee there were particular parts of my body i was fixated on, to the point of dysmorphia. i don’t talk about it much at all. There are times- pretty much daily- that i feel relief in being an amputee in that it’s a little more of a struggle for me to get out of the house. If i don’t go out, the world doesn’t have to see me. Simultaneously i do want to leave the house, so i can just be outside… but i fear people looking at me.

For all reflections look the same
In the shine of the midnight revolver

It took me 38 years before i could even be okay with looking at my reflection in the mirror.

For years (since i was a teenager) i wanted to look like the front cover of Diana Ross’ first solo album in 1970: tiny, flat chested… She looked like a tiny child, despite having a whole adult romantic relationship with Motown CEO Berry Gordy, and giving birth to a child they both produced, in 1971. We could have debates all day about the moral or ethical nature of that relationship (due to the power imbalance), but i will save that for another time. One thing i do know is when i first saw that cover it encapsulated everything i wanted to be.

Invisible.

Despite the photo on the back of the album of the same person who was on the front; while i thought she was beautiful, that woman was not something i aspired to. She was womanly. She was going to be seen. And sexualized in some capacity.

i remember being 10 years old and going on a strictly tuna fish diet for a week. That was the beginning of a relationship with food, based on control. i aimed to do it not simply because i wanted to lose weight, but because that weight loss was tied to not being looked at. i always wanted to be as straight and slim as a board, so i wouldn’t be adultified or ogled by catcallers walking down the street. It is disgusting that i would even have to worry about that kind of thing as a child.

i never told anyone at this point that i was sexually assaulted on the back of a school bus at the age of 8, with onlookers laughing at me. i do not know if that moment triggered the relationship i developed with my body. i really cannot say. i briefly mentioned it in a poem i wrote when i was 15, but i finally told my story in my early 30s.

My fears about ‘growing in certain places’ got more pronounced as i hit puberty, and i saw my sister growing, and getting comments. She also liked boys though, and i did not desire that attention. i never developed anorexia or bulimia, but i became a vegetarian at 14 (and a vegan three years later- which i still am), and i was very active, so i stayed small enough. i was also a punk kid, so people thought i was weird enough to stay away from in that way- another reason why punk is a blessing.

As a teenager i started to develop feelings for a few people i considered friends; however, the feeling was never mutual. This was a pattern that repeated itself over the years, well into adulthood. The feelings were romantic, but a lot deeper than a focus on the physical. However, because i was raised in a society that equates/conflates romance with sex, even though i couldn’t see it i assumed my feelings or attractions were also physical or sexual, as opposed to simply aesthetic or emotional.

There have been times where i did binge eat as a means of control and hiding as well. If i hid behind food, then no one would pay attention to me.

It got to the point where there were a few people who were interested in me primarily in a physical way, and that scared me. i had moments where i was physical with others, but the first time i had what people usually define as ‘sex’ was at the age of 21. It was not exactly consensual as i did not say yes, nor did i say no. i was like a deer caught in headlights as it was happening. i didn’t have anyone to talk to when this happened to me, as this conversation wasn’t even in the public lexicon in the 1990s.

The sexual experiences i have had over the years have been with cis-hetero men who have been abusive (and coerced me into not using protection), or primarily wanted something physical, but not much beyond that. (Women and trans, asexual, pan or nonbinary folks don’t really approach me or show interest like that; i don’t know why.) There was something these men wanted from me (besides the sex)- either to exploit any low self esteem i may have had, or to (in retrospect) use me as a muse to access a connection to their own ‘Blackness’.

One of these men (who told me when i was laying there in the hospital that i was one of the bravest and most important people to him, but also eventually texted that he could no longer talk to me) asked me (again, as i was in pain in a hospital bed) if now being an amputee was going to make me fat.

While i could sit here all day and write a dissertation on how ableist and vain that question is- That is not a question i would ask someone who almost died but eventually survived being hit by a truck, and lost a leg- the one thing i was aware of was how fast any dysmorphia i had returned. As i lay there naked and completely vulnerable as nurses and techs cleaned and wiped me every single day; as i lost 20 pounds as my body worked on healing itself, and as i gained the weight back after i did heal… i maintained a fixation on wanting to still be invisible.

i worked really hard over the years to accept and love myself, and my body. It finally happened at the age of 42. i did jiu jitsu and striking/kickboxing. i was getting better at pullups. i loved riding my bicycle everywhere. Now i have to start over again; when i go outside everyone will see me with just one massively swollen foot and a skin grafted leg.

When i go out people are generally nice to me, but i don’t necessarily feel desired.

i feel like a giant blob with one leg. i dread the summer months, because i cannot be comforted with a sweater or hoodie, concealing my body.

Here is where my contradictions lie. i don’t necessarily feel infantilized when people see me, but at times i do feel patronized, when people tell me i’m brave, or that they wouldn’t know what to do if they became an amputee. Or when people stare at me as if i’m helpless. It is dehumanizing. i question if i was used/dehumanized in some capacity in my sexual experiences (pre-amputation) as well, because i ultimately was a means to a particular end- i’ve begun to question if any non-physical interaction was a calculated way to achieve whatever ends they had in mind. i honestly don’t know.

It comes around, back to desirability. Even as i talk about desire and being desired, i write about it with the understanding that it’s going to be interpreted in a particular way by people who view it with that particular lens. Desire tends to be observed in a specific way, with regards to physical/sexual attraction. If attraction is a reflection of the world around us, then systemically it would make sense why i have never been seen as desirable, in terms of a romantic relationship.

In the Book Sexed Up, Julia Serano discusses sexualization “as a more general tactic to delegitimize and dehumanize people.” If we fall outside of the socially accepted desired norms, people who have been marginalized by the expectations of the norms (whether it’s orientation, gender, ethnicity or disability, etc.) will be seen as “sexually deviant, or predatory, or hypersexual, or desperate, or undesirable, or exotic, or… a ‘fetish object.'”

i have never truly been desired in ways where i am seen as a full human. i recall being told more than a few times over the years that i’d be “a good wife and mother.” i’ve always been told that i’m a ‘nice person.’ i was never sure what any of that meant ultimately, especially as the people who tended to tell me that were married (sometimes with kids themselves), and they had no real interest in me romantically (fortunately).

On the surface, being told you’d make a good wife and/or mother may sound like a compliment; however, like a lot of things i’ve mentioned here it can also be pretty patronizing. Being a wife and/or mother is viewed as virtuous (as opposed to someone who makes the conscious decision to not be those things); it is something that is valued in a heteronormative/heterosexist society and yet mothers are devalued, because it is ‘unpaid work.’ You have to wonder if it’s assumed i’d be a ‘good wife and mother’ because women who are caretakers (or assumed to be so) are not seen as ‘desirable’. Was i often seen as being viewed as a potential ‘good wife/mother’, because it would be expected of me to produce constantly free emotional labor, in addition to a nurturing side that women are expected/assumed to have?

Who is going to care for me?

Anyone i had a real interest in did not reciprocate those feelings; so with what very well may be considered to be an aspect of compulsory sexuality, as mentioned, in order to know what it felt like to be with someone i did get with abusers, or those who had no interest in forming a substantial relationship with me. Had i not done those things, my guess is that at my current age (which is almost 50) i still may not have known what it was like to be with anyone.

i am not writing this for anyone to feel sorrow or pity for me. i learned a lot about myself in these experiences; and like everything else in life, i see these experiences as dialectical.

But we are still here, at the question of desirability. And capitalism.

There has been such a focus on ‘the loneliness of men’, or ‘How masculinity has failed’ as of late. Queries such as these (and there are many) are consistently (and at times, singularly) tied to the brokenness of men. Even if it’s being touted as a it’s a biting critique of ‘toxic masculinity and the manosphere’, there’s still an underlying heteronormativity in the critiques. And a overwhelming emphasis that it’s primarily men who are affected by feelings of rejection and loneliness. Some, but not all pieces on this touch on capitalist frameworks of masculinity being the primary contributor to this ‘epidemic’. Boys and men are being asked to perform tasks that are impossible to fulfill. Their desire to belong and be heard is not fulfilled, and they find someone (usually on the internet) who speaks to them.

Based on my experience of being rejected and being seen as ‘just a friend’ more times to the point where i’ve stopped counting, i could have just as easily fallen into one of these alternate universes. It may not make sense to some, but recognizing the importance of political education in identifying the ways in which we are systemically conditioned to view various types of relationships helps me to make sense of my own misery, which in turn prevents me from acting said misery out on others.

As a darker skinned, very openly anticapitalist, not traditionally feminine woman with a lot of tattoos (who has at some points semi-regularly been called ‘mister’ or ‘sir’ by adult strangers and asked if i was a boy or a girl by children), i’ve certainly over the years been (unfortunately) catcalled; but most (if not all) men who catcall are not looking for a meaningful companionship with you. Objectification more or less warrants a type of control, as opposed to a type of desire i am speaking of.

i live with the understanding that i may never have that experience of being desired, or be in a healthy (romantic) companionship. As i was not deemed desirable enough (beyond the physical) to have a healthy/non-toxic companionship with someone prior to being an amputee; as a woman who now has an apparent disability (in addition to all the other things) i have another set of anxieties, as i wonder if i am going to be fetishized by those who claim interest.

i have never been online to seek out a companion (nor do i ever intend to), but i do think of my own experiences offline, and the experiences of people who tend to not be seen, because the online world (just like music communities in general) is a reflection of what goes on in the ‘real world’.

Because of course, there’s also Satoshi Kanazawa. Remember him? Fortunately, this piece was heavily debunked and critiqued.

What happens to all the broken people in the end? They get thrown away, because they cannot function in a way capitalism needs them. So exploiters of a different kind become the new heroes.

See what i mean by all of this feeling like a job?

‘Cause you lied
Yes you lied

All the shame i feel about my body is a lie. Because someone created the lie.

i know this, and yet still…

i cannot stop the voices in my head.

i want to be desired, but not objectified. i want to be desired, but because i am not desired i want to disappear. i want to disappear because i don’t want to be looked at. i don’t want to be looked at because i have returned to hating my body. i am not even talking about my body being desired sexually. i just hate my body right now. i hate admitting that. And if i hate patriarchal notions and conditioning of how we view the body, why do i hate mine?

i hate that i have this contradiction. i hate it because the body i have now, it’s more likely to be objectified. It’s more likely to be attacked.

i want to be Diana Ross in 1970 (without the fame) so bad. i want to be invisible.

But i also want to be desired. And loved. i want to be held. i want intimacy.

i want to be and feel heard, and seen beyond my body.

When i go out into the world, that is the first thing you see.

All any of us want is to be and feel heard. It is, again, one of the reasons people look for connection wherever they can find it, whether that’s in a community, a writing or a song.

What i have written here hasn’t even scratched the surface of what is happening in my brain. i honestly don’t know where i fit in, when it comes to my life right now. i don’t know where i fit in with my body. i don’t know where i fit in with the people in my life. i feel out of place with everything, and overwhelmed.

Life feels like a job. But through it all, it was a song that saved my life.