They say pain is an illusion
This is just a bruise and
you are just confused but
I am only human– “Human” Krewella
I can feel the sweat dripping, but it feels good. The sun has long set, and the nights’ cooler air brushes against my skin. The night is almost over, and I’m with my best friend that two years prior was next to me on a night that almost was our last, that almost ended with the left turn of a Jetta and the heartbreaking, life-altering impact of a Mack truck. Yet, that night is far from my mind as I’m lost in a sea of people, and feeling anything but alone. The airy-sound of the synth floating around on what is just the cusp of summer, and the video-game like sounds begin. I am lost in the moment, and I don’t want this to end. The bass hits, and every part of my body is telling me to move to it. As the track moves up and down, I feel my heart move too. The beauty of the moment is probably best seen from the VIP stages, but the feeling of being apart of the crowd is priceless. I don’t know why, but I’m just losing myself to a state of electro-trance, and it feels right. The anxiety stops. I’m happy. I’m in another world, and it’s one that was made to play to my heart. Life just is as the crowd sings “let me float back to the place you found me,” it finally registers and I sing too; “I’ll be okay.”
The oft quoted Bob Marley once sang, “One good thing about music, when it hits you feel no pain.” Everyone has experienced pain – sadness, loneliness, grief, rejection, anxiety, heartbreak, disappointment- to varying degrees and lengths. It’s an essential part of the human condition, and for those who don’t spend their time reading almost any book ever written, the amount of uplifting quotes posted time and time again as Facebook statuses is enough evidence to conclude that when it comes down to it all, the battle we are all facing is one of perception, fighting to keep our spirits and thoughts high when the world at times crumbles around us, fighting to not let ourselves crumble too.
But sometimes, we do indeed crumble.
Almost exactly a year ago, at 22, I was diagnosed with clinical depression, general anxiety disorder, and post traumatic stress syndrome. A diagnosis which was several years in the making, one put off by my family’s resilience against the idea that what I was going through was nothing more than something I could just “snap out” of, and friends’ desperate pleas to just “get over it” and “be happy” again. I tried, believe me, I tried. I felt weak, pathetic, self-pitying, self-centered, and the more I felt this way, the more I hated myself for hating myself. The feeling the world was constantly imploding was not something I could shake, and before long it was coupled by nightmares, lack of eating, lack of sleeping for a few weeks, excessive sleeping for others, lack of focus, lack of enthusiasm for anything more than breathing, and a feeling that for the first time in my life I actually didn’t remember what it felt like to simply be “okay,” nevermind happy. I cried easily, more easily than I ever remembered crying ever before, and oh so so often. My grades fell, I lost interest in everything, I couldn’t dream of the future because I was simply trying to make it through the day. I wasn’t okay, things weren’t right, and I didn’t think they ever would be again. I remember talking to my school counselor, telling her how I hoped to God -any God- that these were not the best years of my life because if this was the best I’d feel, I certainly didn’t want to know the worst. And as much as it will break some family and friends’ hearts, I must be honest in telling you how there were times when death seemed viable, even appealing.
All of this isn’t to say that I didn’t have some degree of functionality, and there were times I even thought I was getting better and moving forward and being happy again, only to be set backwards. I finally decided to seek a doctor and treatment. This was the beginning of my recovery. It was perhaps one of the best decisions I ever made, and to any of you suffering in silence, please I beg you to seek help. I’ve stopped crying, I want to live again, I function profoundly better. But recovery can’t solely be found in an antidepressant or in therapy; it must be found in the soul, and that is what my story is about.
As a teenager, like almost every human being, I loved music. David Bowie, AC/DC, Aerosmith, I’ve seen the Stones, Led Zeppelin cover bands, all the way to the likes of Lady Gaga and Justin Timberlake, local punk bands to Stone Temple Pilots. However, it was something I listened to and something I was never fully apart of, if at all. I didn’t identify with a lot of it or the people at the shows, but I still loved many types of music and still do nevertheless. My twin brother, on the other hand, began bleaching his own band shirts and grew out a hairstyle that covered much of his face, being dubbed “bleach kid” as he entered a new musically-driven world apart from the suburban life of the South Shore of Massachusetts. Soon enough he became our towns’ resident hipster as he delved into the depths of Sonic Youth, Morrissey and basement shows in Allston. He graciously fell into a music scene and found an identity a few years before it would seemingly move its way up from a subculture. He met friends from all over the country, even resulting in a festival he organized in our own yard with the support of my parents, which featured bands coming all the way from Philadelphia and Indiana, uniting in their cut off shorts and distorted sounds that I still just felt like an observer to. But I watched it intently, and my brother found something more than Braid.
Before I sought treatment, I had lost interest in most things. Passionate is not a word to describe those who are depressed, which is why my dive into the electronic music community perhaps confused my family and friends. It had been years since I had shown a real unwavering interest in almost anything. The rave/EDM community is similar to other subcultures, as in those outside of it just never seem to fully get it. Some see it as a party, but it’s more than that to me, and more than that to my rave family and the vast majority. Some look for Molly, but I am just looking for myself, and I find it when the beat drops, the bass hits, the synths repeat, the vocalists coo, as the DJ I love plays a game with my mind and heart, one that is nearly impossible to not respond to. To anyone who knows and loves the EDM scene, DJs and producers aren’t merely people who hit buttons, but rather modern day composers who are aware of their talents, their control, and music’s power. A rave or a festival gives both the opportunity to feel connected to others and also just be lost and yet found in yourself.
The show isn’t about the DJs behind the booth, but it’s about ourselves no matter how big the stage or venue is. Even our scenes’ most reveled “stars” know perhaps more than anyone that it’s not about themselves. To quote Tiesto, “this scene is amazing because of the music and the people… Dance music is about celebrating life.” The people I’ve met, new friends and strangers, have given me hope, and I find it to be similar to my brother’s punk DIY community in many ways. There is a beautiful sense of community, connection, and acceptance. Depression and anxiety are struggles I still battle, though today I’ve been able to put up much more of a fight with the help of friends, family, doctors, and especially through a music scene that has helped heal the pain of the past, forget about fearing the future, and allowed me to live in the present.
In high-school, I did several science projects, and I was one of thirty students across New England chosen to present my project at a symposium. The keynote speaker is someone I will never forget. He was an engineer in the Air Force, and he spoke of the dreams he once had to be a poet. That is, until he decided that poets, writers, artists, everyone else besides scientists, according to him, don’t do anything of significance but instead just observe it. He perhaps thought everyone in the room, obviously excelling at science, would agree and relate to him. But what he said punched me in the gut and heart, and perhaps it has stuck with me more than any speech I’ve ever heard. A world without art, music, poetry is not a world I would want to know, and he was wrong. Artists are just as powerful as their scientific counterparts. Henry Miller once wrote: “Art teaches nothing, except the significance of life.” We all have different tastes, but I know that at the end of the day we’re all looking for the same things, and to any of you who are interested, you’re always welcome to come lose yourself with me in the darkness of the dance floor.
This has been a guest editorial written by Jennifer Curley. WRR thanks her for her candidness and honesty in writing this article.
Share On
jooouli