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Missing Pieces, a Naked, Raw Truth: A Tale from the Vodka Diaries

3/22/2019

In those quiet, dark moments, where nothing distracts my poor battered brain, I remember that once I had a voice. A powerful, strong, and musical voice.

Don't get me wrong - I never mastered breath control. I strained the shit out of my vocal cords. I wasn't an A-list chanteuse, or a belting diva, but I had something.

Voice lessons confirmed that I could make a pretty sound, and I was in several choirs throughout my school years. Once, a friend remarked that he could hear me clearly among the chorus - which, honestly, may not have been a good thing (perhaps I was out of tune)....or, maybe - just maybe - I just had strength.

At the very least, I had my own voice. And, I was good enough to be part of a select ensemble that toured England & Scotland. Maybe I was....SOMEBODY.

...until that day it was taken from me.

Adding to the list of medical maladies, ITP was introduced into my world during my 20s. One of the treatments was the drug Danazol: a male hormone that was meant to dumb down my immune system so it would stop attacking my platelet cells (male hormones to dumb anything always tickles me). My doctor assured me that my voice would go back to normal after I was off the drug. Unfortunately, the ENT disagreed - and was correct. My vocal cords were permanently altered. Much like a 13-year-old boy, I went from squeaking voice breaks to a deeper register than I'd been born to have.

This is a subject I've touched upon before, but one that's never gone away. Almost 20 years later, I'm still not 'over it'. I'm haunted daily by the reminder of what I once had - and who I was. I am constantly choked (sometimes literally) and stifled by the changes that this drug catalyzed. My vocal cords irreparably changed, and a piece of me disappeared in their scarred wake.

After several years of heartbreaking, painful vocalizations, I got to a point where I took on vocal therapy. Exercises and practice took me as far as escaping the gravelly, strained conversational speech I'd fallen into. But, my singing voice was never the same.

I have unusual breaks in my singing voice, and can seem to get out the 'difficult' head-voice after some warm-up. But, the 'natural' chest-voice breaks and cuts off with rude finality. It kills me every time it happens. I retreat back inside myself, and quiet the melodies that are bursting to be free.

Growing up, I sang all the time. It was one of few things that made me feel better in the wake of a wicked, cruel world. I'd sing while doing homework, while learning the words to my favorite musicians' cassettes, then CDs, or as part of various ensembles.

You see, I think I figured out something early on: Music is one of the few true magics in the universe. Music is truth. Music literally sings the heart's desires, pain, and beauty. It expresses every notch on the spectrum of human emotion. My favorite type I deemed 'spaz singing' - the most powerful, raw emoting of the singer/songwriter's words. It's a shouting expression of a moment of truth. Of Beauty. Of uninhibited power.

Music, nature, and love. These three things are the most raw, naked truths that have ever, and will ever, exist.

Don't believe me? Take a walk in a forest, or on a beach. Do you feel the sense of calm? Wonder? Watch a musical - where the most vulnerable and true feelings of the characters are shared through powerful, and utterly beautiful words & melodies. And, it all revolves around love. And, in its many forms, MUSIC is the one that is most far-reaching and inclusive.

Music, nature, and love - they change you & they are all parts of a whole. We need them, and we live them. And, when one or more of these are taken from you, the void is never truly filled.

In the figurative sense, I've always maintained my own voice. My mind truly works like no other. My personal viewpoint, twisted sense of humor, and ability to see many sides of any issue come out naturally. I've been told I have a memory like a computer, that my ideas and understandings are unique, and I read people pretty easily (unless, of course, they seem to be paying attention to me in a romantic sense, then I am the greatest fool). But, that's another story....

But, in the moments where my mind is quiet, there is no denying the pain of my heart's void. The gutting moments where I attempt to sing & everything is choked and suppressed. I think I got to a point where I began to naturally try to make myself smaller, pull everything inside myself - and my voice was the biggest part of the collateral damage. I don't know how to reverse it, but I feel like all my creative ventures have followed suit.

I shrink, and take everything that's wonderful with me. I choke, and freeze, and only have brief moments where I am to free myself from my own restraints. In those moments, I enjoy freedom...from myself.

The funny thing is, my second feature film WILL be a musical. It is planned, and the pieces are in motion. Like most things in my world, it has met with my own resistance. I feel like I can not truly write it until I can free my own voice - literally. To be able to sing the parts, and create the music. I know, in my heart, that this is the only way I can truly move forward.

And, it is fucking terrifying.

"What if" is the blessing & curse of my existence. It is a breeding ground of the most wonderful and out-there ideas and flashes of inspiration.

But, it is also the most paralyzing force in my life. Because, honestly, I could give a flying fuck if you like me, my thoughts, or my face. (Honestly, we know that's not completely true, but just roll with it).

Of all the 'what if's in my life, I think "What if I never got my voice back"? is the one that guts me to the core. My voice is truly the only thing I have. That I've ever had. But, and here's the stupid human bit - I haven't done jack shit about getting it back. I got myself back to speaking (mostly) without grit or strain, but, the ONE FUCKING THING that was "ME" - well, it's been in purgatory for almost 2 decades.

What a piece of work is man....

I've worked through some of my blocks - told my practical conscious mind to fuck off while I made a feature film. While I learned new skills & met wonderful mentors, friends, and co-conspirators to delightfully demented feats of folly.

But, this ONE thing. This ONE super important thing - and, quite possibly, the root of every other mental/creative/emotional block I face... I let it starve. I learned to inhale my song instead of setting it free. I mean this quite literally - I find myself breathing in a melody or conversation instead of exhaling & getting it out. I catch myself, but don't know how to stop it.

Funny thing is - I know my true voice is there. I can feel its presence behind my eyes, and in my heart. It fills both, with this angsty, potential energy that makes me want to cry. To scream. To run. To beat my head against a wall until I feel something - or to punish myself for...punishing myself? And, then, to run again. It is a real energy that I can feel pulsating, and held back within the constraints of my mind and body. Sometimes, I can visualize its struggle, bouncing upon the balls of its/my feet - ready to GO!!!!! And, I tame it again. Hold it back. Sigh it away.

Wow, fucked up, eh?

I have been stuck for a long time now. At times, this truth attacks - then retreats. I've allowed myself furloughs, and very brief encounters with the greatness I could achieve (not ego - but, greatness in the limited capability of my singular person).
Call it anxiety, or depression, or the quicksand of "What If"...or the knowledge that I am missing... No... Lost.

My "me" has been lost for quite a while. Of course, it didn't help that my work life took another piece of my identity recently - but, again, a story for another time.
It's been a year+ of direct blows - from many directions and ventures, and this has brought me to some hard revelations that I can no longer ignore. But, the hardest of all is facing the fact that I've been lost. Locked away. Muted. Subdued. Halted. Fighting own damned self. And, missing....for a long time.

Thankfully, I have so many friends extending hands. I've pushed, denied, whined, angsted, and otherwise procrastinated reaching back to them. I've become that unworthy, ungrateful, unbelieving rock, unyielding to the possibilities of...possibility. I've continued to lock myself away, in the 'comfort' of my mind's purgatorial prison.

But, now, it's time to get my 'self' back. Seriously, my life is wasting away, and before I'm too old/decrepit to enjoy it, I need to just cut the crap. (I also need to stop thinking of myself as a worthless lump wasting time if I'm not being productive. The hardest 'task' I have is to find myself again - and that's not a physical activity, measurable by progress metrics. I think I really need to just BE for a while, and that's fucking difficult - truth be told, I know, somewhere within my suppressed psyche that I've been avoiding the quiet time that reintroduces me to myself & my needs).

Cut the crap, Pep.

Step 1: Get my fucking voice back. It's time I sang again - or at least reached the full potential of what my truth is. Maybe I won't be able to unleash my true voice, or have the power I once owned, but I won't know until I get some goddamned guidance. Voice lessons on the way.

Step 2: Thank & honor all those who have extended the hands I've ignored or slapped away. Thank you for your patience and continued support while I farmed & cultivated my own bullshit. It's a fertile garden, but nothing grows there.

It's time I cut the crap. Fer realz.

It's easy to hide. To procrastinate. To deny. To destroy - by action or neglect. The really difficult part is to TRY. To BELIEVE.

Magic is real. Love is real. I am surrounded by it every fucking day. When I allow myself the luxury of walking in nature, of listening to melodies, I can't deny its truth. It's about fucking time I created my own.

And, with that, it's time to end this ramble & move forward.

Thank you for sharing the journey with me.

Peace & Love,

Laura

PS: This dark stroll has been brought to you by "The Greatest Showman" with a side of Vodka & Castelvetrano olives.

After-the-Fact Bonus: What brought on this particular post? Watching the Greatest Showman. It is inspirational but also a reminder of a pattern: I watch movies with really talented casts, sing these heart-wrenching, beautiful songs, and I am in awe and admiration of the talent, at the same time I mourn the loss of my own. It is one of the most visceral and powerful responses I feel to ANY stimulus in my life. I can not shake it, nor do I want to. But, today, it makes me want to DO something about it. Hopefully, it doesn't fade by tomorrow...

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Missing Pieces, a Naked, Raw Truth: A Tale from the Vodka Diaries

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