The first day on that stimulant was the night I became furious with myself in a conservatory practice room, blacked out (also known as having a dissociative fugue) and walked several miles out of town. When I came to, I called campus Safety and Security officers to drive out and pick me up. I got back to the dorm, popped two hydrocodone (my first attempt at self-medication), and stood outside of my room looking at the doorknob, feeling like there was a pane of glass between my outstretched hand and the door that I couldn’t possibly penetrate.
I know I’m not alone when I say I don’t like the holidays. Everyone has their reasons. Family gatherings always reminded me of or created more bad memories.
Music has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. From the baroque era to black metal, I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t … Continue reading Music and the Memories of Depression
Memories—some I cherish and want to remember forever and some I want to forget. A memory is the faculty by which the mind stores and remembers information. I wish we could … Continue reading PTSD is Like the Overdraft Fee in My Memory Bank