I have this recurring daydream, and it always proceeds in the same manner…
I am drenched in gossamer and tulle and kissed by two bubbling puff sleeves. An enchanted gown, white and bouncy. My skirt ends just before my feet begin and it encircles me perfectly. It gallops when I do, and it pools when I fall. At my waist sits a bow to tie me together and it slumps gently on my lower back. My hair is coily and wet and is dripping in argan oil sitting in tight kinks just above my brows and ears. It is dark and glistening. My eyebrows are uneven and new hairs are halfway sprouting from my brow bone. My skin is uneven and I am bare-faced and bare-footed. I am unapologetically me. I am sprinting on grass greener than March clover. It is tall and it is soft, it sways to meet my feet as it yearns for me. I am delighted. I am tossing the sides of my gown up and down. Above me, the sky’s the most violent blue, bioluminescent in day, it flaunts over me. Music plays, yet the world is so quiet. It’s almost eerie I always recognize, but before I can linger on the silence and its secrets, the music takes over. The piano introduces itself to me in excitement and my body is eager to get to know it. A pipe organ shouts. There are no lyrics, my movements map the melody, guide the rhythm, and narrate the beat. Though it’s not what you think, it’s not exactly a lively tune — it’s gruesome. This is melancholy, but it juxtaposes the scene so perfectly. The song is classical, it’s loud, and it’s almost damning. Repeatedly the cymbals clash and I stomp, the chorus rings and I leap! Gladly, the sun stands over me like a proud mother, so up to her I beam back and my arms raise. The clouds hide, but I have friends still. Beside me, they gather. There are ladybugs bugging and bees bumbling and buzzing and butterflies fluttering and yet…
I am the one flying.
I take a big breath; the air feels as crisp as the first breath after winter snowfall. As I dance, I can’t help but chuckle. No, this is existence, not just dance. Unadulterated life. Time is of the essence. It goes on. Along with my stomping, yelling, and crying, my dress seems to emote too. I am so devastatingly happy. The kind of happy so pure and romantic to watch that you wish it on even your worst enemy. This is a joy you let even the devil feel for just a second, a pleasure that redefines deserving.
Then there was a tingle. I can feel my left cheek growing hot. I realize I am not wearing sunscreen, and now I am scorned by the sun, her rays searing my skin. The oil in my hair starts to trickle and soak into my eyes, which sizzle when I blink. How could I forget to do my hair? As I’m preoccupied, clouds start to loom and threaten. The insects are now fleeing away. With every stride I take, the grass turns yellow and shrivels. My bow is undone by the wind, and the satin ribbon floats away on its flow. The shoulders of my dress droop frantically off me, causing it to slip and fall at my feet. I should’ve been prepared, I should’ve worn extra layers, I can’t help but stress. I now bare it all, but I am not free, I feel caged all the more. Ultimately, the music crescendos and a violin vibratos.
Once, it gives a monstrous ring, and I hastily wrap my arms around myself.
Twice, it gives a hearty wail, and my eyes close.
Finally, the violin whispers my name and I kneel.
At this moment I am naked, and I shiver and rock. I can hear my own heartbeat, I can hear everything all at once. Now I remember what my breaths sound like, and now I am alive. What was I just moments ago? And how do I beg for it back?
I dream this at least once a day, every day — I’m never asleep when I do. This is what my anxiety feels like. And living with it is learning what to do when the music stops. One of the first recommendations they will make when you seek therapy is to find what helps, and do it as needed. No one talks about the codependency you may develop with your coping techniques. Do you own headphones of any kind? Do you have songs for every mood? Playlists for any vibe? I do. When you meet me, you’ll almost always find wires twisted at my chest and headphones stuffed in my ears. They hang out of my pockets like a sword just waiting to be drawn. There must be a tune playing while I sit or stroll. The TV must be on when I concentrate on my assignments, and I must listen to soothing music while I wash in the shower. I stocked shelves at a grocery store last summer and had to listen to my favorite audiobook. Why does silence scare me so much? Because in it, I’m forced to hear myself.
I’ve come to realize, it’s a coping mechanism for my anxiety. It’s true, I am afraid of the quiet because that is when the noise I don’t like trickles in. It never stops. My brain constantly tosses everything in at once, as if it were playing dodgeball with me. It makes it difficult to relax, breathe correctly, and fall asleep. It can be difficult to control. I believe anxiety is greater than fear because it knows you. Fear is foreign, it alarms you. This feeling, however, is a part of you, it lays dormant and awaits its reprise. How do you defeat something that matches your strength and your mind? How do you overcome yourself?
The solution, friends, is to collaborate rather than to conquer. To work with your anxiety, not try to overcome it too vigorously. I was diagnosed with an anxiety disorder when I was 16-years-old, experienced it as early as 13, and I’m still working on it. It is never too late for you to learn yourself. Like new cars, we grow into different versions of ourselves, and we must learn to drive in a new environment. I used to feel so negatively about my anxiety, but you are not alone in this feeling of alienation. Art in many forms changed my perspective on this. It’s why I sometimes hide behind my headphones. It’s why music is my guard. As helpful as it is to escape, I sometimes get lost in the art and use it to avoid my problems entirely. Still, it is unquestionably helpful. Alice in Wonderland is my favorite film because of this. In the movie, Alice Liddell finds herself in Wonderland. The first impression of this surreal country is one of total backwardness and absurdity. This realm is a personification of her mental insanity; it is a visual portrayal of her reality and thoughts. When Alice first arrives in Wonderland, she is questioned by everyone and told that she is not the “real Alice.” Using whimsy, her mind is working against her and degrading her unique existence. I think this is a really inventive approach to world-building various mindsets. The White Rabbit symbolizes anxiety and time constraints; the Cheshire Cat represents mysterious thoughts and the subconscious; the Queen of Hearts represents tyranny and anger; Alice herself represents an inquisitive and questioning young mind exploring the unknown, anxious all the same. Characters in Alice in Wonderland frequently symbolize characteristics of growing up, negotiating the limitations of society, and navigating the intricacies of adulthood (Culture Frontier). In every aspect, this exotic location and its inhabitants are relatable. Do you ever think yourself into a stupor? Mouth proclamations and speeches to your shadow? Sob your shirt soaking? Even after you’ve composed yourself in these situations, embarrassment might occasionally linger. The way I convince myself in my mind is so silly, yet so reassuring…
“Have I gone mad?”
“I’m afraid so, you’re entirely bonkers. But I’ll tell you a secret. All the best people are.”
This I repeat over and over again. Just like they do in the movies. I’ve had these thoughts for as long as I can remember. Oftentimes I think back to my boisterous childhood, the remnants of which are still a distinct loudness and obnoxiousness, but in the end, I’ve realized that it was all a front concealing the chaos inside. To find more certainty in my identity, I just needed to comprehend and work with myself and my anxiety. This is a journey Alice and I take together. At the end of the movie, after she’s defeated her demons and whatnot, she knows she is the real Alice. Her strength and her resilience proved triumphant to best her anxiety, her mind, and herself. Most beautifully, she doesn’t frantically try to silence every negative thought and emotion, she calculates and works within. This is an extraordinary gem in children’s media. Alice triumphs over a string of frabjous and dramatic challenges that are presented as more significant than they are. The best part about Lewis Carroll’s work is that it convinced me. I am no different than you, nor you I. We’re all “mad” here, in perfectly normal ways. I hope I have extended the courtesy and shared the wisdom. Let us forever bathe in the mundane, and bask in the bizarre. Let us seek refuge in any form of art we see refreshing, for that’s all we have. The ability to seek comfort in creation is a universal therapy free to all and free of charge. My mistake was using it all as concealment rather than solace. It is possible to abuse your escapes.
Learning to work with my anxiety has been the most important learning process of my life. I have often been saved by everything I have studied and been taught. But I’m not here today to give you advice you’ve heard many times. Still, work on your de-escalation and breathing methods. Nevertheless, take your medication and consult your therapists. Please listen to your tunes while you paint and dance. And always, journal on. Yet, I’d like to add and suggest a reminder. Don’t forget to put down the paintbrush, silence the music, and create your escape from escapism. The secret within the silence is to identify its root and follow its seed, rather than to snip the weed.
It took me nearly 20 years, but I’ve learned something significant. You cannot flee from your thoughts, nor can you drown them out. We must use our methods of distraction as tools, not as tents.
Now I know when the music stops, that’s when I begin.
Believe me, when the music stops, you mustn’t.