I am so in love with this song. (Am I allowed to say that?) I wrote it very soon after the Presidential election in 2016. It was one of those songs that came out very quickly – the whole thing probably wrote itself in like 15 minutes.
I was never taught to be brave. To my recollection.
It was more the opposite. Not cowardly, but timid. Don’t raise your voice, don’t handle things yourself. Always ask for help. Defer to men. Defer to adults. Don’t draw attention to yourself. Be a polite quiet lady. Demure. Graceful. I was taught to stand up straight, how to choose the correct china patterns, correctly set the table. How to correctly clean the house, and fold laundry. I was taught how to dress appropriately for specific occasions. How to place my hands and feet just so when having my portrait taken.
“Burst” was released to the world as a music video yesterday – this song is very near to my heart and I’ve been feeling super vulnerable for the last two weeks gearing up for it.
I wrote this song when I was at my most raw and I wanted to capture what was going on inside my head.
I want to talk about therapy. As of 2018, I have collectively been in therapy for 13 years.
You’re welcome, Earth.
I have a history of severe depression, anxiety, and a delightful sprinkling of suicidal tendencies, a.k.a. MENTAL ILLNESS. (Insert dramatic music and crowds running away in black and white b-movie terror). When it first showed up so many years ago I was very blessed that I had friends in my life who insisted I wasn’t okay and pointed me in the direction of getting professional help. I send them little prayers every day.
I’ve wanted to write this blog for about a year. I’ve been trying to come up with the right word. That’s what’s been slowing me down. After all that I went through from 2014-2017 (which I’m now coining “The Business”) I’ve been lacking the right…word…for what it is I’m doing with myself now after such extreme change.
That fucking word. I swear to Christ.
It haunts us with things left undone. With potential. An endless stream of what-ifs, could-haves, and maybes that meld into a theatrical chorus of “You are not good enough as you are”.
I’m not talking about positive self-improvement. I’m talking about those twisted voices whose only purpose is to torment. We all have them.