Tuesday, September 27, 2005

Papa Roach - "Last Resort"

I wish I could say that this song was chosen for the blog for purely unmotivated reasons. But if I said that, I'd be lying through my teeth. I didn't think of this song originally; I think it replaced the '80's angsty rock ballad "I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight" from the Cutting Crew. But I've shuffled the Songlist a few times since its inception, so I might be wrong. Point is, I didn't think of this song originally.

But after I found the music video on Yahoo! Music, I had to put it in.
The first hundred times I listened to this song as a teenager, I didn't pay too much attention to the words; they sounded angry, and that was all I really wanted. Ages eleven to fifteen weren't exactly nice happy times for yours truly. By the time I was sixteen or seventeen, I was just angry. Angry at myself, mostly--my rage against the world had already been expended (hate loses its efficiency when the people you hate don't notice).

It's somewhat ironic, I suppose, that I never paid attention to the lyrics--that's usually the main thing I listen to, and why I don't like a lot of pop rock. Because, scary as the thought is to contemplate, there are a lot of parallels between my life and what I've seen, felt, and done, and what's sung.

1)Losing my sight, losing my mind
Losing sight of reality? Check. Feeling like I've gone crazy? Check.


2)Suffocation, No breathing
Suffocation was my chosen method to end my life as a teenager--didn't want to use a gun, too easy for a stomach to be pumped so I didn't want to use pills, slit wrists are messy and I didn't know the proper way to cut so that I would actually die (which was the point of the entire exercise, after all). So suffocation it was.

3)This is my last resort
Suicide and depression/anxiety attacks/bipolar are never exactly anyone's first resorts, are they?

4)Don't give a fuck if I cut my arm bleeding
Yeah. The last time I hated myself with any real degree of passion was after I cut. For two hours or so, it helped with the pain. And then the guilt, shame, and self-loathing moved in, and I haven't been the same since. But at the time... at the time, all I wanted was "to bleed just to know" I was "alive" (as Goo Goo Dolls states in "Iris"). I wanted to hurt, I wanted to damage myself, and I didn't care how it happened, so long as it happened. If I bled in the endeavor, so much the better.

5)Would it be wrong, Would it be right If I took my life tonight
Suicidally depressed, dilemma of do or don't, hurt my family or suffer myself. Enough said.

6)Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine
I needed to be fine more than I needed somebody to lie to me, but maybe if someone had bothered to tell me enough that I could actually believe them it might have changed something crucial.

7)I never realized I was spread too thin Till it was too late And I was empty within
I really had no idea that I was so close to breaking until I had an emotional breakdown in 5th period during the third quarter of my junior year of high school. Less than a week later, I'd dabbled in cutting and self-mutilation. That was... the worst time of my life. Without question, the worst and ugliest time to live in my head was March 2004.

8)Downward spiral where do I begin
I get the feeling that I overwhelm people a lot--and I go to people who are trained to deal with these issues on a regular basis. There's just so much... ugliness... to go over, that I have to gloss over parts of it in order to get most of it out.

9)No love for myself And no love for another
I was a scary kid in junior high, because I hated myself so much (but lacked the combination of courage and cowardliness to actually do something about it) that I turned all my loathing and rage against the rest of the world. I frequently threatened my classmates with tortures I'd devised in my head when I couldn't sleep for dread and destructiveness flooding my system.

10)Searching to find a love up on a higher level Finding nothing but questions and devils
Life didn't get much easier when I figured out that I was talking to God, but no one really seemed to be listening. So I experimented with pagan religions--more gods, more chances to find somebody who might actually pay attention when I prayed. I've actually found one that works for me, which is soothing. But for a time, I was pretty much an atheist.

11)Nothing’s alright Nothing is fine I’m running and I’m crying I can’t go on living this way
Running from my problems, crying myself to sleep. Pretty much standard procedure from the fifth grade until freshman year. I couldn't go on living like that--I'd have succeeded in suicide one of those days, and in the back of my mind, I probably didn't want that to happen.

Just the fact that I've got eleven things that I can personally relate to in my life is a little scary. And I mean "a little scary" in the same way that I mean that the Atlantic Ocean is a little damp, a hurricane's a little messy, and Hell's a little warm.

So yeah. This is definitely going to the psychologist's with me. I'm much better at writing than I am at talking, and I figure a psychologist who's trying to treat me ought to know some of this stuff; probably more than an innocent bystander.

Cut my life into pieces
This is my last resort
Suffocation
No breathing
Don’t give a fuck if I cut my arm bleeding
This is my last resort
Cut my life into pieces
I’ve reached my last resort

Suffocation
No breathing
Don’t give a fuck if I cut my arm bleeding
Do you even care if I die bleeding
Would it be wrong
Would it be right
If I took my life tonight
Chances are that I might
Mutilation outta sight
And I’m contemplating suicide

'Cause I’m losing my sight
Losing my mind
Wish somebody would tell me I’m fine
Losing my sight
Losing my mind
Wish somebody would tell me I’m fine

I never realized I was spread too thin
Till it was too late
And I was empty within
Hungry
Feeding on chaos
And living in sin
Downward spiral where do I begin
It all started when I lost my mother
No love for myself
And no love for another
Searching to find a love up on a higher level
Finding nothing but questions and devils

'Cause I’m losing my sight
Losing my mind
Wish somebody would tell me in fine
Losing my sight
Losing my mind
Wish somebody would tell me I’m fine
Nothing’s alright
Nothing is fine
I’m running and I’m crying
I’m crying
I’m crying
I’m crying
I’m crying

I can’t go on living this way

Cut my life into pieces
This is my last resort
Suffocation
No breathing
Don’t give a fuck if I cut my arm bleeding
Would it be wrong
Would it be right
If I took my life tonight
Chances are that I might
Mutilation outta sight
And I’m contemplating suicide

'Cause I’m losing my sight
Losing my mind
Wish somebody would tell me I’m fine
Losing my sight
Losing my mind
Wish somebody would tell me I’m fine
Nothing’s alright
Nothing is fine
I’m running and I’m crying

I can’t go on living this way
Can’t go on
Living this way
Nothing’s alright

Tuesday, September 20, 2005

Jonatha Brooke - "In The Gloaming"

This song is actually a folk song, a Scottish-influenced dirge of lost love. Having never been in love (and therefore, having never had that sort of love to lose), I find it easier to apply it to something I have lost; namely, friendship.

When the trees are sobbing faintly
With a gentle unknown woe

My best friend in grade school (and really, my best friend for most of my childhood) was a girl named Bridgette. She and I were special, I thought. She lived next door to my grandma, and when we visited Grandma Newton, I always managed to sneak over and play at her house. Her parents were tolerant of my presence; a bit of a scaredy cat, I helped keep Bridgette from going too far, too fast. And my parents liked Bridgette, who helped me be braver by the virtue of running ahead of me. (Despite all my dad’s best efforts to teach me, it was Bridgette who finally convinced me to ride a bike without training wheels when she learned.)
After school, I’d sneak over as often as possible—if my parents couldn’t find me, they could call Bridgette’s and 9 times out of 10, they’d find me there. We had other friends—Bridgette was a veritable social butterfly in grade school, and I hadn’t yet learned just how mean children could be—but my best friend was always Bridgette.
In fifth grade, something about my friend changed. The girl who lived so loudly, bravely, and honestly became alternately moody, rebellious, and timid as time passed. She wasn’t interested in talking, or playing cards, or listening to the same music that she’d enjoyed before. She didn’t laugh as much as she had before; in fact, she hardly laughed at all. Days would go by with the two of us only talking about something we were learning, and she stopped sharing details with me. (Older and wiser now, I know that these are classic symptoms of depression. At the time, I had no idea what was going on.) I tried to compensate by talking more, but I’m not a natural conversationalist, and I faltered when she confessed that she’d hidden pills in her room and given serious thought to swallowing all of them.
I didn’t just falter; I failed. She asked me to keep her secret, and I did. As a consequence, I went to sleep every night wondering if I’d have a best friend in the morning, and woke up every morning terrified that my mom would hug me and cry a little as she told me that Bridgette had been taken to the hospital, or worse, was dead. I cried a lot, and woke up from horrible nightmares where I’d found her body or sat through her funeral.

In the gloaming, oh my darling

When the lights are soft and low
And the quiet shadows falling
Softly come and softly go
In the last months of our friendship, Bridgette and I ran out of things to say to one another. The loss of the greatest friendship I’d had in my life didn’t go out with a scream and a crash; it slunk out the door with its tail between its legs, as if it were ashamed. Secrets crept between us; I didn’t know that she’d started experimenting with pot, she didn’t know that I’d stopped talking to my family and sometimes slept in the unfinished basement to get away from them. “The quiet shadows” came, but never really went away.

In the gloaming, oh my darling

Think not bitterly of me
Though I've passed away in silence
Left you lonely, set you free
For my heart was tossed with longing;
What had been could never be
It was best to leave you thus, dear
Best for you and best for me
Bridgette didn’t only leave me behind; she left behind all those things that made her my friend. The child-like wonder and sense of adventure were gone, replaced by sarcasm and cynicism in a girl too young to feel so old. While anger and desperation filled me up, Bridgette’s passions dried up and went away. We could never go back to the way things were; both of us had changed too much. And we continued to change. I made new friends, learned to talk to people besides Bridgette; Bridgette made new friends as well, learned to hide her pain so well that I only guessed at its massive weight when she left for good.
I’d always suspected it would happen eventually, really. She grew to hate her parents too much for not seeing what she was going through to be willing to stay with them any longer than necessary. So as soon as she turned 18, Bridge left home for good, and moved to Indiana to be with people who, if they didn’t see her pain, at least had the excuse of not knowing her before it existed.

Will you think of me and love me

As you did once long ago?
I held on for an embarrassingly long time. And I still think back with achingly sweet memories of the girls we were, back when depression wasn’t real, and suicide was a foreign word. Such a big part of my life was invested in loving Bridgette, needing Bridgette, and being protected by her bright spirit and easy bravery. An equal amount of time has been spent wishing that I could have done something different, could have made a difference, because maybe then she wouldn’t be gone so far away, beyond my reach as she never was when she ran ahead.

In the gloaming, oh my darling
When the lights are soft and low
And the quiet shadows falling
Softly come and softly go

When the trees are sobbing faintly
With a gentle unknown woe
Will you think of me and love me
As you did once long ago?

In the gloaming, oh my darling
Think not bitterly of me
Though I've passed away in silence
Left you lonely, set you free

For my heart was tossed with longing;
What had been could never be
It was best to leave you thus, dear
Best for you and best for me

In the gloaming, oh my darling
When the lights are soft and low
Will you think of me and love me
As you did once long ago?

Tuesday, September 13, 2005

Evanescence - "Breathe No More"

For the Elektra soundtrack, Evanescence produced a hauntingly beautiful song that sticks in my brain everytime I remember the movie, or the last few months of my senior year when I downloaded this song and listened to it until I could sing it (off key and out of tune) in my sleep. I love it because of those memories, and also because of the lyrics and melody.
Mirrors are reflections; they show us the outside of ourselves, reversed and sometimes exaggerated. But the mirror can't show us everything. Our reflections bear no evidence of our sense of humor, our intelligence, our faith, our disbelief, all of those things which make us into the people we are... are hidden from the mirror.

I've been looking in the mirror for so long
That I've come to believe my soul's on the other side.

There is nothing in a reflection that can actually fulfill our needs and desires. When I look into a mirror, there is nothing in my reflection to suggest intelligence, or loyalty, or a quiet anger that simmers underneath every action, a driving need to protect my friends and family, or that I would rather avoid confrontation than engage someone in aggression. The only thing visible in my reflection is a round face, with blue eyes, brown hair, glasses, and a mouth that smiles and frowns with equal regularity. This isn't a fantasy novel, where mirrors can trap souls.

But I say that, and yet I've seen it happen. I've seen girls driven by the demons in the mirror--too fat, too skinny, too tall, too short to feel like they're lovable. And so the girls starve, binge, slouch, or wear shoes that kill their knees and backs, just to be appealing to the masses. Because they see what's reflected on the outside, and if the body is the temple for the spirit, then their spirit must be withered and ugly, because that's what they see. The mirror doesn't steal their soul; they give it away, or allow it to be taken from them, until all that's left is the reflection, and they aren't sure where they leave off and the image begins; unsure of whether it's themselves or their mirror selves who are worthy (or unworthy) of love and kindness.



I've been looking in the mirror for so long
That I've come to believe my soul's on the other side.
All the little pieces falling, shatter.
Shards of me,
Too sharp to put back together.
Too small to matter,
But big enough to cut me into so many little pieces
If I try to touch her,

And I bleed,
I bleed,
And I breathe,
I breathe no more.

Take a breath and I try to draw from my spirit's well.
Yet again you refuse to drink like a stubborn child.
Lie to me,
Convince me that I've been sick forever.
And all of this
Will make sense when I get better.
But I know the difference
Between myself and my reflection.
I just can't help but to wonder,
Which of us do you love?

So I bleed,
I bleed,
And I breathe,
I breathe no...
Bleed,
I bleed,
And I breathe,
I breathe,
I breathe-
I breathe no more.

Tuesday, September 06, 2005

Seether - "Truth"

Powerful lyrics and an aggressive beat are what draw me to this song. My best friend found it while she was looking for a theme song for a character she writes; after she forwarded it to me, I put it on almost constant play for a month straight, which drove my mother absolutely insane. (Another benefit to the song; my "teenage rebellion" consisted almost entirely of playing my favorite songs on repeat almost constantly while I was in my room at home.)

Most people--and by most people, I mean all of my friends who don't listen to hard rock--don't realize that the genre is filled with just as much meaning and insight as any emo indie rock. But if you read the lyrics or listen to the song, you realize that what the singer is talking about is what just about everyone faces. In a world with no real moral absolutes, people are equally as far from wrong as they are to right, and sometimes, the truth doesn't set you free.

I've loved hard rock and grunge for as long as I can remember, practically. When I was seven years old, I knew all the words to Nirvana's songs, because my older sister indoctrinated my other sister and I into the world of Kurt Cobain (minus the hard drugs). I've spent my entire life listening to rock music, with occasional breaks for country and pop... that never seem to last very long, because there's a passion and a sense of emotion and destruction just beneath the surface in my favorite rock music that other genres lack. I'm not fulfilled unless I'm listening to rock. Even the names of the bands draw me in... Nirvana, Metallica, Seether, Seven Mary Three, Smile Empty Soul... and bands like Styx and Led Zeppelin and Lynrd Skynrd are part of my past as well.

So back to Seether's "Truth" which was the original purpose of the blog. This song is almost my theme song; for a long time there were people who demanded the truth, but didn't actually want to hear what I tried to tell them. So I learned lessons that kept me going, kept me sane, kept me strong: don't ask, don't tell. It's a stupid rule in the military, but if I didn't ask for the truth, and didn't tell anyone the whole truth, everything worked out fine and they could go on pretending that I was the girl they'd known for so long.

I'm sure I'm not the only one who's experienced the sensation of the authority figures in their life giving conflicting and contradictory messages. You have to behave a certain way around certain people, and then you have to change yourself around a different group of people, until finally you get sick of it and demand when you get to be yourself for every group of people. And you wonder when they'll finally accept that just because you don't tell them everything doesn't mean that you don't tell the truth when you tell them something. The truth won't set you free, or keep you alive. And you still wait for the ones who won't ask you to be anything other than what you are, because somewhere, there's a part of you that thinks that you could save them if they'd just listen to the right words at the right time.

If I gave you the truth, would it keep you alive?

If I gave you the truth, would it keep you alive?
Though I'm closer to wrong
I'm no further from right
And now I'm convinced on the inside that something's wrong with me
Convinced on the inside, you're so much more than me, yeah

No there's nothing you say that can salvage the lie
But I'm trying to keep my intentions disguised
And now I'm deprived of my conscience and something's got to give
Deprived of my conscience
This all belongs to me, yeah

I'm beaten down again,
I belong to them
Beaten down again,
I've failed you
I'm weaker now my friend,
I belong to them
Beaten down again,
I've failed you

The deception you show is your own parasite
Just a word of advice you can heed if you like
And now I'm convinced on the inside that something's wrong with me
Convinced on the inside you're so much more than me, yeah

I'm beaten down again,
I belong to them
Beaten down again,
I've failed you
I'm weaker now my friend,
I belong to them
Beaten down again,
I've failed you (2x)

I'm beaten down
I'm beaten down
I'm beaten down
I'm beaten down