Sincerely yours: Music with hopeful messages

I fiddle with the volume as my dad’s BMW slides toward the 110 South on-ramp. My black leggings are covered in dusty paw prints and white fur, remnants of Finley, the therapy cat. Of course, Finley doesn’t have a degree, and I wouldn’t suggest full-time use of his tiny little ears in place of a therapist. Rather, he’s my sister’s three-and-a-half month old kitten who was thrust into the job of calming me down as I bawled my eyes out.

Music blares through the  speakers and guttural noises from my throat puncture the last word of each line. As the most relevant lines come, my voice gets louder, and I begin to unravel into a mess once again. We’re on our way to the movies, hoping that two hours of a kid’s film will keep me calm enough to catch my breath.

I can’t remember a time in my life before I struggled with depression and anxiety. It’s a battle I fought with a small army of friends, my parents and most importantly, music.

I’m a huge proponent of all music being important. All music having a time and a place. But for me, music with sincere messages of hope and strength have always been closest to my heart.

When I lived in New York freshman year, my struggle was at its peak. Rather than an hour-and-a-half drive, my parents had a costly five-hour plane ride to reach me, and I was often left on my own during the worst episodes — or at least physically alone. With a pair of white headphones and a fully charged phone, I always found my army behind me. I would set out with nothing in my pockets but my phone and my keys for a daily walk that would last over 100 blocks (stupid, as I’d always need a drink or a bathroom but never had the money). I would switch on Spotify, choose my album, and march like an 18th-century army nearing the battleground.

I would be lost in a sea of strangers surrounded by concrete buildings and way too much scaffolding. There was something comforting about being in the most populated city in the nation, out in the open, crying and struggling to breathe, without a single person noticing or stopping to look. For that year, music became quite literally my only solace. When my depression told me the only thing I could do was hide in my bed in the dark and my anxiety told me the only thing I could do was be out with my friends trying to function, I was pulled apart by this contradiction. Somehow, walking from tip to tip of Manhattan with my music at full volume satisfied both demons on my shoulder.

While things haven’t been quite as bad as New York since I left, I’ve had to draft my soldiers throughout the past two years. This past month, it all culminated once more when I saw fences rise around me trapping me where I once was. As it all hit me, I realized that this time. There was no city to blame; it was me. I didn’t know if I could call on my army. There seemed to be no external enemy to fight. I had created my own problems this time when I didn’t trust someone close to me, I put myself in a professional position that was exhausting me and I became someone I wasn’t — a fragile thing dependent on others. Could music still help me when I was what I needed to fight against? I became scared. It ate at me. I didn’t know how to fight as a one-man army.

But as I put on my normal playlist for anxiety, I realized that music is a versatile thing. It adapts just like I needed to. My army was still there and just as ready to fight as always. So now as I return to being the quick-witted, clever girl able to make anyone feel better by embarrassing myself and ready to be trusted, my soundtrack of soldiers fight beside me. Just as they will you, if you ever need them.

 

Recommended Playlist:

“Battle Cry”

– Angel Haze

“Save Rock ‘N’ Roll”

– Fall Out Boy

“Cardboard Castles”

– Watsky

“Holes”

– Passenger

“I Am Somebody (ft. Nas)”

– Bliss N Eso

“Weapon (Bastille vs. Angel Haze vs. F-U-G-Z vs Braque)”

– Bastille

“People Like Us”

– Kelly Clarkson

“Try Everything”

– Shakira

“I Am Not A Robot”

– Marina and the Diamonds

“Change”

– Taylor Swift

Malorie McCall is a junior majoring in philosophy.  Her column, “Mal’s Mix,” runs on Fridays.