September 25, 2018

heartbeat

I was all set to write a post about how music is medicine.  We heard the Kruger Brothers twice this past weekend, at a huge festival with a commensurately massive sound system on the stage.  We were in the third row and the bass was so close it was muddy-sounding, but strong.  I was about to write about how Joel Landsberg's bass sets the beat in all of the parts of my heart that aren't the physical organ, because of how the bass travels through the concrete and up through my feet, my plastic chair, and seems to settle right in my chest with an arresting rhythm.

I even went so far as to pull out some paper and a pen from my backpack and scratch out the notes for this post, most of which I didn't use because they sounded perfect in the moment but ridiculous an hour later, and also because P.J. had commandeered my phone for its camera (her phone camera is crap) and I couldn't pull up Blogger.  P.J. asked me what I was doing, and I said a blog post was writing itself and I couldn't keep up.

But that was then.  Half an hour later, heart still bass-beating, banjo still mesmerizing, I suddenly went numb.  The music stopped reaching me and became a collection of sounds that my ears were hearing, which is not music at all.  I tried to act normal because P.J. was having a wonderful time and I didn't want her to worry.  I'm not sure how successful I was.  Sometimes she caught me staring at the back of the chair of the person in front of me, instead of watching the magic happening on the stage.  Just ... a bunch of sounds.

It's not numbness now, three days later; it's pain, and the sudden return of suicidal ideation, an overused villain in a movie franchise sequel.  It's as though a switch was flipped, I wrote to The Monk earlier, and I don't understand why the lithium made the villain go away and it somehow found its way back after it was banished/blown to bits/stripped of its power.

The Monk just wrote me back.  He's calling in an increase in the lithium, temporarily, to get me through this.

Is that like giving the hero of the movie franchise a new weapon or power?

These thoughts aren't like the usual ones.  They're worse.  They pretend to be rational.  They have a life of their own and I can put them inside a bubble, but I can't make the bubble float away.  I have to sit here and look at it.  I can make a list around it of all of the reasons I need to be reaching out for help (I am) and reciting to myself why I can't consider the thoughts (my wonderful family and all that love brings).  It's a good list and it's growing every minute.

There is no reason for the thoughts to be in my brain.  There was no reason for my heart to stop hearing the beat, taking the medicine of music.  There are no reasons to die and many, many reasons to live.  There is every reason to write this post.

1 comment:

  1. Keep writing, Lille! So glad that you're getting help with the meds! Hold on tight to that list and then just hold on tight!
    Mona

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