Keeping the Demons at Bay

August 27, 2008
When I reflect on my life, I don’t think of years of abuse, overcoming diversity, or rising above a disorder. No. Instead, my life has been constantly perpetuated by the one force that seems to make any sense in this world: Music. Music, in every sense of the word, is my sanctuary. It is the wall I build and the barriers I break. It is a constant inspiration and motivation in everything I do. I am quite simply a mind enveloped by it’s rapture. From childhood, I’ve been hypnotized by the beauty of music. As I slowly make my way from day to day, letting the hours slip between my fingers like grains of sand, I find myself loving and cherishing the life I live.

I consider myself one of the luckiest kids I know. Since day one, I’ve had this world placed at my feet. I can still recall my subliminal childhood. There was no thought of the years to come or even the life I was going to lead. Being caught up in those smiles and those bursts of laughter is what got me from day to day. I had to be at least seven years old when that Metallica album was placed in my hands. It was my dad’s dream come true and my mom’s worst nightmare as I spent my days sending the heavy metal reverberating through out our home. As my mind began to develop, so did my love for music.

My opus came in the form of a Composition Notebook at about age eleven. It became a “safe haven” for all of my thoughts, rhymes, and even my darkest secrets. It was a diary for lack or better words, but I was far to manly to have one of those, so I’ll just stick with “safe haven”.

It escorted me to school and rarely left my side. I filled its pages with childish lyrics, cheesy love stories, and tales of knights storming castles. So I threw music into the equation and it became a catalyst for an imagination destined for greatness. I still to this day, constantly listen to music and utilize it as a soundtrack to my life. When I lost my middle school girlfriend, I would lie awake at night listening to the musical angst that suited my feelings and thoughts. Somehow, these simple notes and chords became the elixir to every sickness that ever fell upon me.

High school hit me like a ton of bricks as I quickly fell into the drug scene. I lost concern for others and myself, and I lost sight of everything that was beautiful in my life. I crippled at mom’s tears and dad’s silent treatments until my life came to a standstill. I sat alone facing the brutal blade of disappointment and an inevitable future of nothing. One night, while fumbling through my closet, glancing at the memories of a life that once showed such promise, I came across a beaten and battered Composition notebook. I flipped through its decrepit pages in awe. I curled up in my bed, “safe haven” in hand, and stumbled down Memory Lane. I spent the whole night draining my tear ducts and reminiscing on being caught up in those smiles and those bursts of laughter.

I started the next day with a new found faith. I dusted off my old six string and began a sequal to the Composition notebook. I look at life with the perspective I once had as a child, taking each day one at a time with a sense of optimism. Music has become my therapy. Better yet, music has become my weapon, and my mind is simply ammunition. I have a lot to offer this world, and enough integrity to circle the world once over. So who am I? I’m simply a musician, a poet, and an artist. And this life that I live and love, is simply my symphony, my sonnet, my masterpiece, waiting to be mastered.

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