How my Soul Bleeds

Music is one of the only things that truly makes me feel alive. It nourishes my soul much like the rain nourishes a flower, allowing me to bloom with joy and understand my own unspoken feelings. Without it, I fear I would lose myself, forgetting who I am and becoming a hollow shell with no memory of who I once was.

Growing up, there was always music in my life, whether it was booming from the speakers of my mother's car or streaming down to me as I performed a ballet solo, it was always there. Sounding off like the beat of the host drum at the powwows I grew up dancing in. I think it was from this love of music, of the connectedness it brings, that I first found my voice as a baby and learned to sing.

Oh, how I love to sing! It's the most exhilarating and dopamine-inducing feeling I know. Dancing is great and all, but the feeling of connecting with others through my voice, harmonizing my voice with theirs, of making their hair stand up with an involuntary kinesthetic energy. It is unlike anything else, and I know in my heart that I am always most happy when I get to sing.

Singing isn't about competition, at least not to me. First place is nice and all that, but it gets lonely if you hold yourself on such a high pedestal. At that point, your gift of song will dry up and become a barren desert that nobody really cares to visit. People can always tell if you don't sing with your heart because they don't feel connected to you by an invisible force that makes them want to stop and listen.

I try very hard to sing with both skill and heart, equally balanced, and free of greed. Simply feeling the music as I sing, and whatever emotions arise within me. I have finished songs with tears and laughter, and melancholic joy, but I wouldn't have it any other way. I feel that I am most human in these moments, like I belong, and that the cracks in my surface aren't so bad after all.

I am grown now. No longer a child chasing after whimsical fairytails and dreams, the adult world has been too cruel, forcing me into a mould. Trying to kill my spirit, but I have clawed my way out with a song on my tongue, soaring to new heights and holding on to the few dreams I have left. They did not break me then, not while I could still sing freely.

To sing is a daily habit for me; it brings me joy and relieves stress and anxiety, and all matters of grief that hang upon my shoulders after a day of work. I find I can still be happy, still feel whole, so long as I am still able to sing. However, people have a way of taking even the purest of joys from others.

I have not been able to sing much as of late, and it is killing me, because I can no longer defend myself against my own monsters. Anger, anxiety, stress, and depression; demons that have followed me all my life. Hiding in the closets, and pulling on the covers of my mind. My daily habit, no, my daily ritual. My cleansing spell is no longer present to protect me, to shelter me from myself.

I am strong, but even the strong will fall wounded on the battlefield of life if they forgo all shield and weapons of defence. I won't die, but my soul still bleeds every time the neighbour in the apartment above me stomps on the floor. It bleeds for every unfinished song, every ballad cut short, every string not quite strung because they won't allow it to be done. One song can bring me joy, two songs can bring me life, but one stomp from up above is like a knife cutting deep into my soul, creating cracks. Cracks that bleed out my happiness, my serenity, my freedom, and once it's all gone, and I have been shattered, you will find me. A voiceless songbird in a cage, as society would want me to be.

I will not give up, I will find ways to sing, for I fear imprisonment in my own mind more than the reprimands of a stranger. I will not fade, I will allow my songs to burst forth, to take flight like birds in the night. I will shine brighter than the moon and rival the sun. I will not die, because then my demons will have won. I will outlast this apartment and malicious neighbours, I will sing until my days on earth are done. I will rise, and someday, I won't have to worry if others hear me sing because they will join in and appreciate the gift of song just like me.

So, I will find ways to sing, searching every pamphlet and website until I find the right place for me. A month has gone by, and my vocal chords feel tight, like the bow of a violin waiting to play. The only difference is that the violin bow needs to be tight to play, whereas my vocal chords should be loose and flexible. I worry that I will lose my voice, my talent, my gift of song, but I refuse to give up. I will find my musical sanctuary and sing to my heart's content.

After countless hours of searching and reviewing different musical groups, I finally found it. The place for me, my salvation. A woman's choir, not far from me, away from angry neighbours, and the worries that have consumed me. Free to join, and full of wonderful people. It's a place where I can thrive, learn and grow. A community that will understand me, and a place where I can belong.

I finally made it to one of the practices, and the joy I felt was almost unbearable. I felt my broken shell piece itself back together bit by bit, my soul no longer bleeding as I sang alongside a group of amazing women. I guess City living isn't so bad after all, now that I can sing once more.