Where did the music go?

Posted on by estlh

Where did the music go?
Music was always a part of my life. I grew up in house where people sang. My parents were both in an amateur operatic society, and later in a choir which I also joined in my teens. I started piano lessons at 4, I learnt the violin at primary school, and at high school switched to the oboe, which I played in the church worship band. I did dance lessons for a while. In my teens I had a record player in my room, and eventually a CD player. I listened, I played, I sang, I danced. Music was everywhere, adding colour and extra flavour to my life.
Somewhere along the way I lost it.
A friend on Facebook recently asked people to post which songs they listened to for different moods. I was stumped. I realised I couldn’t remember the last time I actually bought any music. My life hasn’t been silent. It’s just that none of the music I’ve listened to for a long time has been of my choosing. When the kids wanted to choose the music it was easier to just let them, especially on long car journeys and I just sort of gradually forgot that I had a choice too. That might sound silly, but I think one of the characteristics of depression is a sense of unworthiness. Why would anybody want to speak to me, spend time with me, listen to me, or to my choice of music? So I got used to listening to the kids choice and my husbands choice, and kind of forgot about the music that I would choose.
Also, as seems to be the way lately, my phone had it’s part to play too. Previously there were times, especially when I had the house to myself, that I would have put on some music and danced or sang around the house. Maybe doing a bit of housework as I went, but enjoying the music, feeling it. Now I can’t help myself, my phone demands my attention, and once I give it I am drawn in, and have no concept of passing time.
When the post came up on Facebook the first thing I did was to open up Spotify on my phone and look at the music I had downloaded. Most of it, un-surprisingly, was stuff I had downloaded for the kids, some of which I do quite like, but I am unlikely to listen to the soundtrack of Mary Poppins Returns or Trolls when they’re not around. I also had a couple of my husbands playlists and the song list for the choir I sing in. The only thing I had downloaded because I actually wanted to listen to it was the soundtrack to the True Detective series and a Sia album from 2014. I listened to both that day. I sang along and got nothing else done. And then I was sad that something that had previously been a big part of my life had been so constricted.
I am apt to brood on things and not actually do anything to improve them, but I am in a better place currently, so I have been trying to rectify this. I was already on the path – having joined a gospel choir in September, I am at least singing again. But I have been choosing to listen to music this week, when I might otherwise have scrolled through my phone. And, when the chance arises I am choosing to just listen. To let the music wash over me, and to hear the melody, the harmonies and allow myself to feel the music. There is great power in music, and I could really do with some of that in my life!

I didn’t realise that you’d gone
I don’t know when you went
I am sorry that I let you go
Un-noticed

You crept away so slowly
You stole such pleasure away
You left a hole so glaring
Un-noticed

It is only in hindsight that
I realise what joy and beauty
You took with you

Just let me sleep!

Posted on by estlh
https://www.deviantart.com/nakovalnya-artist/art/Insomnia-718713095

One of the things I struggle with most about depression is the effect it has on my sleep. As if my emotions weren’t already all over the place, everything seems worse when I’m tired, especially when I’m exhausted. My energy levels are lowered anyway, and then lack of sleep sends them to rock bottom. Trying to motivate myself to do anything seems nigh on impossible, even if my mind is willing, my flesh is certainly not up to the task. It can feel like I am trying to swim through treacle. Retaining information becomes troublesome – I am usually a quick learner, but in the middle of a period of insomnia I struggle to hold on to anything new. I forget what people tell me and can seem uncaring if I fail to remember something a friend has told me. Work can be challenging as getting my head around some of the maths and frequencies required can be an uphill struggle, when ordinarily they would all just slot into place.

But the worst thing is the irritability. Every. Little. Thing. Is .SO. annoying. I forget where I’ve put something down and get all snappy and accuse people of moving it. Strangers step in front of me in the street, How dare they! I can’t get something to work properly and it ends up flung down in anger! I can almost shake with the adrenalin pumping through me at the slightest provocation. At home is where it hurts most though, my husband is a saint for putting up with me. But it is when I find myself snapping at the kids for doing nothing more than being kids that the guilt starts. I hug them, I apologise and then I worry. Worry about the effect this is having on them, worry that I should be better able to control my irritation around them, and worry again about how this is all effecting them. The kind of worrying that keeps me awake at night . . .
And so the circle continues.

Thankfully, these periods don’t last forever. There are periods when I do get some sleep. There are also some nights when I am assisted by a small pill, although this can result in severe grogginess the next day, and induced sleep does not refresh in the same way as natural sleep.
I have just had to accept that this is something that will happen from time to time. Nights spent tossing and turning with a brain that just won’t switch off can be painfully long, and what helps me one night can have no effect the next. Sometimes getting up and doing something other then trying to fall asleep can help, other times I sit up all night writing poetry . 

I'm currently excelling at insomnia.
 I've got to say I really am the best
 When it comes to lying fretful in the darkness
 While everybody else is getting rest.
 Some would say they do not understand it –
 I really do not need to worry yet,
 About the problem that I'll have a week next Tuesday
 With somebody that I haven’t thus far met.

 I'm currently excelling at insomnia.
 It’s great to say it really is a strength.
 When it comes to stopping me from ever sleeping
 My brain will really go to any length
 Even though my body is exhausted
 My brain, it seems, would like to tell a tail
 About everything and anything and nothing,
 The narrative I just cannot curtail.

 I'm currently excelling at insomnia.
 It's something that I really do quite well
 While everybody else is deep in slumber
 I'm fretting in my own personal hell.
 I don't think this can go on for much longer
 Another night I really can't endure.
 I've spent the week resembling a zombie
 A good night's sleep I really must procure.

 I'm currently excelling at insomnia …

What problem?

Posted on by estlh

It’s been quite a while since I last posted. For a while I just did not know what to write. I had no words. I was feeling a bit overwhelmed so I did what I always do, my best ostrich impression. I am very good at sticking my head in the sand; if i can’t see or hear something I don’t like, then clearly it’s not there. If only it actually worked like that. The difference between me and an ostrich though, is the lack of any sand. Not physically being able to bury my head I do my best to bury myself in my phone instead. I put my headphones on so I can listen to one thing while at the same time I am reading or watching something completely different. I scroll through endless social media and live vicariously through friends and acquaintances whose filtered life I can aspire to. Recently I have discovered Facebook groups as well. I am able to feel connected to people who have similar interests and tastes as me, even though I know nothing of them in real life. But that is ultimately the problem. No matter how many on line conversations I have, or how much advice I offer to online friends; however needed and known this makes me feel, it is not real life. It is me drowning out the noise of my real life. The trouble is the noise is not going anywhere, it’s not going to stop. I just need to drag my head out of my phone long enough to find where the volume control is . . .

Anyway, as it turns out, Ostriches don’t actually bury there heads to hide from danger or predators. Generally if an ostrich has it’s head in the sand it is in fact turning it’s eggs, which they lay in small holes in the sand. So maybe I would do better trying to copy a real ostrich than a mytholgoical one and focus on trying to grow something rather than hiding away and getting nothing done.

I will not quake at the sound of the tempest
 If my ears are deaf to it's rumble
 My eyes will not widen in fearful disbelief
 If I do not behold what is to come
 I will not be troubled by the smell of fear
 If I deny myself the breath of an anxious moment
 I will not taste the salt of my tears 
 If I mix them with the poison of denial
 I will not shrink at the clammy chill of troubles touch
 If I hide beyond it's reach

 And as I cease to exist outside
 My own destructive oblivion . . .

 My ears will no longer hear 
 The joyful music of your voice
 My eyes will no longer delight in
 The beauty of you
 I will not inhale the fragrant
 Reassurance of your embrace
 I will no longer taste
 The love in your kiss
 Nor be comforted by
 Your tender hand on my skin

 Far too high a price is demanded
 For a life free from acknowledged tribulation.

Spring clean

Posted on by estlh

The sun outside is shining brightly in the clear blue sky. A bit of sunshine always boosts my mood, and somehow I feel more awake and enlivened on a sunny day. As I sit here though, I am also aware how the sun shows up all the dust – shining into all the shadows and revealing what had previously been hidden. Catching the dancing specks in the beam of light through the window. Time for a spot of spring cleaning I feel, but not just in the physical sense. It it time to take a look at those things that lurk in the shadows of my conscience. The things that chip away at my confidence and steal my contentment. Things whose prescence I am largely unaware of, even if their effects are felt all too painfully. Time to do what I can to sweep them all out and get rid!

Vernal

 It is time to brush off the cobwebs 
 To throw wide open the door 
 It is time to clear out the rubbish 
 And sweep up the dust from the floor.

 As we purge of what is now stagnant 
 And bid past remains an adieu 
 We turn from the comforts of winter
 And look to beginning anew.

 It is time to step out of the darkness 
 And know we are where we belong 
 It is time to recapture our freedom
 To rise up and sing our new song.

Cumulus

Posted on by estlh

I have a tendency to overthink, especially when it comes to things concerning myself. Especially when it comes to how others perceive me. I know full well that how people see me is often not at all how I assume they see me, and yet still it is something that preoccupies far more of my thoughts than it should. I am getting better. But sometimes I cannot help myself. So I am trying to be more deliberate with focusing on others and trying to be more present. Enjoying each moment for what it is rather than trying to analyse everything for subtle hints and clues that mean nothing like what I think they do. Some times I can do this with great success, but other times . . . 

Everything is fogged
 It is as though I exist in my own cloud –
 Carrying it with me wherever I go.
 So everywhere I am present, yet detached not involved
 All time is passed in this manner
 I bear my cloud which excludes me from all I crave
 Take it. Please.
 For though there is comfort in it’s familiarity,
 I do not want it any longer.
 I wish to free myself
 For when the sun, on occasion, forces it’s way through
 I feel for a fleeting moment it’s warmth on my skin.
 Yet even before my smile is complete it is 
snatched away from me
 And the mist envelopes me once more.
 How I long to be free of 
 This unyielding cloud of
 self obsession.

Chameleon

Posted on by estlh
Chameleon

For years I was something of a chameleon. Not having the self confidence to just be myself I tried too hard to fit in. Depending on where I was going and in particular who I would see, I would adapt. I would wear different clothing, act differently, talk about different things. I could even enjoy things in one situation that I would then ridicule in another. I was simultaneously a goth, a rock chick and a Brossette! In the morning I could spend hours staring into the wardrobe choosing what to wear while I worried about who I would see that day, and if there was any likelihood of me bumping into someone who knew me as someone else. Gradually I became so used to camourflaging myself that I forgot who the real me was, I just knew that I was not quite comfortable being me. It’s been hard work finding myself again, and I am still not quite there, but for now I am content to be on the right path to my true self.

I am not who you think I am
 I do not intend to be
 Whatever you may think of this
 I will be true to me.
 I have to find the truth myself
 Of who I really am
 Or face the consequence of always 
 Feeling I'm a sham.
 The truth of me has gotten lost
 Through the passing of the years 
 But now it’s time to seek it out
 No more useless tears.
 I know it is no easy task that
 I have set my soul
 And yet it is essential now
 So I may become whole.
 Too much time and energy
 I've wasted on this scheme
 I am, I can, I will be
 So much more than I ever dreamed.

The power of words

Posted on by estlh

I do not remember the first time I wrote. It is something I have been doing as long as I can remember. At primary school I remember writing adventure stories, which were probably inspired by my love of the Famous Five and Secret Seven books. I remember one story I wrote about a hidden cave with a tunnel to an island and the smugglers who used it – inspired by Kirrin Island no doubt.

It was in my teens that I started writing poetry. Obviously for school work to start with, but I was soon hooked. At the time I didn’t know why I loved it so much, but looking back I think it was the freedom it gave me to express myself, especially as someone who was so painfully shy. I wrote a whole series of poems entitled “Adolescence” covering such topics as boys, exams, identity and annoying parents. Typical teenage issues, but I would have struggled to convey my feelings about these vocally, and writing poetry helped me to not bottle things up or dwell on them too much.

In adulthood I have written a lot of poetry inspired by life events and big emotions; love, birth, death; joy and sorrow. But a significant amount of my poems have been written when I was at my lowest ebb. I was 16 when I was first diagnosed with depression. It was to be the first of several bouts, including 2 lots of post-natal depression. When I am depressed there are times when the words just flow out of me, but they are not always pretty! I have written some very dark verses during these times, but they have been a way of getting it out, helping me make sense of the turmoil in my head. A release. Writing at these times can be cathartic, but also quite revealing, as I get to know myself a little bit better through the words I string together.

Sitting bent over my notebook.
Scribbling, scrawling,
words flowing from my mind.
An unending stream 
of verbs, adjectives, nouns.
Telling their story.
Sharing their knowledge,
their understanding,
their insight.
Opening to the world
my innermost secrets.
Displaying
my private pleasures
and pains
for all to see.
Once started they spill on out 
a continual cascade,
try as I might to catch 
them with my hands.
So slippery,
they slide through my fingers
onto the page,
and I am forced to confront
this truth 
in black and white before me.

Just get on with it!

Posted on by estlh

I am starting to realise more and more, that I am my own worst enemy. I have had issues with self confidence/ self doubt for most of my life, but i am only now realising how much I have allowed these to control and restrict me. For a long time I was confused with confidence. I felt almost guilty if I thought I was good at something, as though I thought it was not up to me to decide what I was good at – I had to wait until somebody else told me I had done something well or that they liked something I had written or created, and even then I would be coy and dismissive of compliments. I thought I was being humble, but this is not humility. I have a book on my bookshelf entitled ‘A Humble Confidence’. Although it is years since I read the book, it has taken until now for me to really grasp what it says, and to truely understand it. A humble confidence might initially sound like a contradiction, but in truth it is what we all need. Humility is not false modesty. It is not being self-effacing, or self-doubting. To be truely humble means to have a realistic appreciation, not just of your weaknesses, but also your great strengths. This allows us to use our gifts and talents in amazing ways, but also to step aside and let someone else to the fore when they are better suited to what is required. It enables us to do this without feeling we are in any way lacking or failing. We are all unique. We are all gifted are competent in different areas. We can all do incredible things, if we just get on with it!

I have put it off too long. 
 Allowed myself to be shackled by a lack of self belief.
 But if this is what I want then I must step out
 Take the risk and expose myself
 To the possibility of ridicule as well as the possibility of success.
 Yet these bounds are tight and as I strain against them i entangle myself
 It is too easy to give up, to just stop struggling against
 These constraints of my own creation.
 But only I can bring them down.
 I alone have the power to crumple and destroy them
 If I am not too afraid to use it.

Coffee & Conversation

Posted on by estlh

Today I am meeting my son for coffee for the first time. I mean, we’ve been out to coffee shops and the like before as a family, but today I am sitting in one of a national chain of coffee shops waiting for him to make his own way here from school. (Tram and a short walk). My son is 13. He is much like many 13 year old boys I imagine i.e. has to be surgically removed from his phone and thinks playing on the X-box is a daily right. Lately it seemed to me that we weren’t really talking too much. Except at bedtime. Bedtime is when he tells me a bit about his day, when he asks me questions about when I was his age, and when he sometimes asks some very deep philosophical questions. The problem is I am always conscious that it is bedtime, that this is the time he should be going to sleep, so I often find myself cutting the conversation short, because I know if I don’t watch out I will be chatting with him into the wee small hours. He is also master of the Bedtime question; “Mu-um,” he asked once, just as I was turning to leave the room “What’s the Patriachy?” How could I just say goodnight and walk away?
So I asked him if he would meet me for coffee after school, in the understanding that neither of us would get out our phones. Instead I am looking forward to an engaging conversation with my favourite teenager. An intelligent, funny, all round amazing wee man, that I am hugely proud of, and love overwhelmingly.

I wrote this for him just as he was starting high school

Time will march on
Though I wish that it would not.
However I implore them to cease
The hours do not heed me.
I could as likely turn the tide
As stop the hands of time.
But still I would cling to what is
Ignoring the promise of what is to come.
How long can I deceive myself?
If I do not let go all will be prised painfully
From my unyielding grasp.

Change is uncomfortable;
The familiar is dependable.
So please forgive me if I cling a little too tight
For a little too long.
I am learning;
Learning how to love with equal strength yet looser grip.
It feels unnatural
And at first I am uncertain.
Yet as time will march on
I must allow you the space
To try your wings.

Just know this -
I will always catch you when you fall,
And all too soon you will learn to soar
While I gaze pride-fully heavenward.
For now, be patient with me
And just know how very loved you are

How is it?

Posted on by estlh

Something I have been thinking about a lot lately, is how it is possible for people who seem so similar to have such widely different opinions. Friends and colleagues who I have assumed were like-minded, say or do something that makes me stop and go ‘wait . . . what?’. I have been guilty of assuming that because I have something in common with someone that we think the same about everything, but this is just not true. I live life viewing it through the lens of my personal experiences, my up-bringing, my education. Even today is colouring tomorrow. When I look around me I see such divisions in our society, and rather than have civilised debate people throw insults and abuse, and do not even try to understand each other. It is hard when discussing emotive issues to remember that none of us can see the whole picture, and what I can see may bear no resemblance to what the person beside me sees. I may argue that everything is blue and that they’re stupid to believe that everything is green, when in truth if I took the time to look I would realise that while i am gazing at the sky their head is bent and they are staring at the grass. So, with this in my mind I wrote a poem.

How is it as we look on this, I do not see as you
How is it as we look on this, we see a different true
Why is it when our hearts are moved we do not feel the same
Why is it when we rage at this we disagree on blame

Why is it when we look on this hearts breaking at the wrong,
that even as we rail at this we do not get along
We see guilt spring from different roots  and do not understand
That if we are to change this, it must be hand in hand.

Is it then, when we look on this and feel a different rage
the stories of our lives are written on a different page
I do not see as one whose life has not been lived as mine
You do not see through eyes like mine however I opine

Why is it as we look on this I cannot see as you?
Why is it as we look on this, I crave a different true.