Emotional Context

Tonight I decided to watch a film that I hadn't seen since I went to see it in theaters.  It was called It's Kind of a Funny Story.  The movie is about a boy who feels depressed and suicidal and how he checks himself into a mental hospital for five days.  While there, he learns about himself through the people that he meets, and ultimately learns how to deal with his problems.  For those of us who live in the world that is less fictional, this is a hard thing to accomplish.

I'm not afraid to say it.  I have had suicidal thoughts in the past.  Things have been to the point where I thought I'd hit rock bottom and there would be no way to bounce back from all of the world's pressures.  It took my a long time to realize that this is not the case.  Actually, it's far from the case.  I have a family that loves me, friends that like to hang out with me, and while I may be in a very considerable amount of debt, it seems like things could be a hell of a lot worse for me.  It's just that I feel overwhelmed easily and there's not much I can do about it except to tell myself that it will all work out in the end.

One of the things that has helped me through my many bouts of depression over the years has always been my love for music and song.  The kind of music I listen to always depends on what emotion I am experiencing at that point in time.  Sometimes I pick a song or a group and listen to them constantly to help make myself feel better.  Unfortunately, I usually end up picking songs that convey what I'm feeling at that moment in time instead of how I want to feel.  For instance, I'll be feeling very sad and decide to put on "The Drugs Don't Work" by the Verve.  Not in my top ten songs to make someone feel better when they're depressed.  And If I'm listening to strictly Townes Van Zandt and Lightnin' Hopkins, forget it.  You've lost me, and I won't be back to my chipper self any time soon.

One thing I noticed throughout the film I was watching today was that the songs that the filmmakers chose to include during the different scenes fit the mood of the film perfectly.  They conveyed which emotions it seemed Craig (the main character) was feeling at that point in the movie.  The scene that most vividly comes to mind is when Craig takes Noelle (another patient around the same age as Craig, who becomes his girlfriend) on a "tour" of the hospital.  They're running about trying not to get caught by the various doctors on staff in a scene that reminds me of The Breakfast Club when the students run about the school and try to avoid the principal.  Eventually Craig and Noelle end up on the roof and look out into a beautiful panoramic view of Brooklyn in New York City.  The song that plays during this scene is called "Blood."  It happens to be one of my favorite songs and is performed by this band called The Middle East.  The song's tune is light and happy and evokes a happy emotion in me (the listener).

While songs like this can instill happy emotions, there are just some songs and artists that I, personally, cannot stand because they instill bad memories.  While Neil Young's tune "Old King" is a happy tune about a man's dog ("the best old hound dog I ever did know"), I played it on repeat when my dog, Tornado, died.  I haven't been able to listen to the song the way I used to ever since that event in my life.

You ever have one of your favorite songs ruined?  It really sucks.  I've had a few of mine absolutely ruined.  Fortunately, the feeling isn't permanent and I got over it, but as I have stated, certain songs evoke certain feelings and memories.  One of my all-time favorite songs happens to be "Thunder Road," which is the lead off track to Bruce Springsteen's seminal album Born to Run.  While the luster of the song has returned, there was a time when it just reminded me of a girl.  I know.  Doesn't it always come down to a member of the opposite sex?

It was the memory of a certain event that made me just not want to listen to that song anymore.  There was a girl whose company I had grown to enjoy quite a bit over a few months.  We were sharing a late night subway ride from Coney Island, and if anyone has ever taken the subway from Coney Island back to Manhattan, you know it's a loooooong one.  We were the only one's on the train, which isn't surprising for a 2:38 am train ride.  All I had to occupy our minds was my iPhone, and the music on it.  We must have listened to and talked about "Thunder Road" for the whole train ride.  I'll never forget the bright idea she had... "Oh my god!  We should get tattoos.  Mine could say 'Roll down the windows and let the breeze blow back your hair' and yours could say 'The night's busted open.  These two lanes'll take us anywhere."  The thoughts that pop into someone's head that early in the morning.

I know what you're thinking... why would this memory be bad.  It sounds sweet.  I'll agree.  It is a sweet memory.  At least when I tell the story it is.  For me it was bittersweet, because I knew that I wanted more out of her than she wanted out of me.  It was hard for me to take, but things happen.  I'm in a better place now than I was then.  I took that news hard and broke out the Townes and Lightnin' playlist.  For about a straight month.  Eventually, I was able to put on Born to Run without problems.  Hell... now that album just makes me want to be a better songwriter.

But it's funny how some music just fits our emotions.  And it's funny how we tend to pick songs in which to listen to reflect the moods we feel.  This may not apply to everyone, but it certainly applies to me.  Lately, I've been listening to a lot of Imagine Dragons and Walk the Moon.  What does this mean?  That might be a good topic for a later blog post.

I Don't Mean to Get Philosophical...

DISCLAIMER: I am not trying to make anyone mad with this post.  This is just a personal experience. I am not trying to impose my views upon anyone else.

     I've always struggled with the idea of religion.  When I was a young boy, being brought up by an Italian Roman Catholic family, I never questioned anything.  My parents raised me in that tradition, my grand parents raised them in the same tradition, the Catholic guilt never ceased, and finally I made up my own mind and decided to just not bother with religion anymore.  I was confirmed, and my grandfather was proud to be my sponsor.  He was honored, in fact.  He was even glad that I kept my father's name as my middle/confirmation name.  Once I hit high school, though, it was hard for me to keep a hold on the whole idea of a God.

     College was the worst for me.  I was free to do as I wished and I lived in sin.  I hardly ever attended religious services, I'd get shit-faced every weekend, and I'd hit on the drunkest girls at the frat parties.  It was a me of that I am now kind of ashamed.  During my junior year of college, the shit really hit the fan for me.  In order to explain how, we need to rewind to the previous summer.

     My maternal grandmother moved back to Connecticut for a few years, plagued with a mild form of Alzheimer's.  It was heart-breaking to watch her mind go from as sharp as a tack to her repeating every story she ever told me.  One night, I received a phone call from my mother.  Grammy was in the hospital after suffering a stroke.  I stayed by her bedside until the very end, holding her frail hand in mine as the monitors flatlined.  Tears flooded from my eyes and my whole world laid on the ground, shattered into pieces.

     The following Christmas Eve, my paternal grandmother went to the hospital after experiencing a dizzy spell and falling.  She walked in the door and immediately ran to my grandfather.  "It's back," she said through bursts of tears.  I had never seen this woman cry before in my life.  She remains one of the strongest people I have ever known.  And to see her in tears was devastating to my psyche.  She was diagnosed with breast cancer when I was younger and had been in remission for quite some time.  This time, to make matters worse, she had a brain tumor along with the return of the breast cancer.  While everyone around me (my uncles, my father, and my grandfather) was sad and trying to take in it all.  I repressed the whole situation, walked into the kitchen and quietly told myself "She'll be fine."

     Nothing hit me until the end of the spring semester, when it felt like brain exploded with emotion.  I was dumped by my girlfriend for another guy (great for my self-esteem, right?), and every one of my emotions came flooding back.  What a monumental past six months!  One grandmother died, the other re-diagnosed with brain cancer, my girlfriend deciding I wasn't goo enough.  It all left me wondering... Is there a God?  Why was he doing this to me?  Was he punishing me?  Was there even a God?

     My grandmothers are/were good people.  I couldn't understand why God would let bad things happen to them.  So I gave up on God and searched for meaning in different ways.  With my depression in full swing, my grades suffered and I decided to take the following semester off from school.  I replaced God with a Husky.  The UConn Huskies to be exact.  I went to all the home football games, I went up every weekend to party with my friends.  Even the following semester, I would drive the 7 hours up to the school for the weekend just to spend it with friends.  But any time UConn wasn't there, I felt empty inside.

     It took a man from Malawi to change that.  My senior year at Gettysburg College was one I will never forget and helped me to become a better person.  How?  Well let me tell you.  My roommate was an international student named Allan.  He was involved in a club on campus called DiscipleMakers Christian Fellowship.  Through that club, I was able to get my life back on track and find Jesus again.  I began to go to a bible study on a regular basis, I started to go to church on a regular basis again, and all while making friends.  It was an enjoyable time for me.  It was nice to learn lessons on how we should act toward one another through the teachings of Jesus.  While it may not have given me the answers to why bad things happen to good people, it did teach me that God works in mysterious ways, and he has his reasons for doing so.

     The entire experience has taught me a lot of things about myself.  I can be strong when I want to be. And in times of need, I am strong through the grace of God.  I know that I am still a sinner, but God will forgive me through prayer.  It's nice to have something to believe in again.  Whenever I don't feel like I can get through something by myself, all I have to do is remember that God is always there and he will be with me any time I need him.

(For the record, I no longer identify myself as a Roman Catholic.  I find the Church hypocritical in their teachings.  I also find that many of the teachings and doctrines are not biblically based, which makes it hard for me to take it seriously anymore.  I now identify myself as a Southern Baptist, and will probably always be learning how to better myself and the world through Him.)