We'll take our hearts outside...I'll watch the stars go out...

(Mark your calenders, for this is the day that I, for once, post an almost-serious, non-random blog here!  Hehehe...This is an essay I'm doing for my English class.  I have until Monday morning to revise it, so any suggestions/opinions on it right now would be greatly appreciated!  Just remember, if you're going to tell me that a certain part of it is awesome...or if a certain part of it sucks arse, please elaborate and tell me WHY you think so!  One of my greatest pet peeves are people who don't back up their opinions.  Anyway...it's really freaking long, so happy reading!)

     Music follows me everywhere, whether I like it or not.  I oftentimes have multiple songs simultaneously playing in my head, and, unfortunately, it tends to distract me from whatever it is I'm doing.  However, there is a part of me that always wants to hum along with every tune that pops into my head and appreciate it before it fades away and another song takes its place. Whether I'm listening to my iPod, singing in choir, writing a song, or just listening to a song playing on loop in my head, music always manages to find me at some point during the day, and I always welcome it.  My love of music is, in a way, like any stereotypical "obsession."  However, contrary to popular opinion, I believe that a little obsessing can be healthy.  Having an obsession provides one with both comfort during unpleasant times and relief when anxiety strikes.  One is able to set goals for both oneself and their obsession, and, when they achieve these goals, a sense of fulfillment is felt - a sense that one has accomplished something worthwhile.  My obsession with music comforts me, relieves my anxiety, and gives my life a purpose. 

            When I moved here four-and-a-half years ago, I was going through a phase that many a person goes through at some point during their adolescence - a phase where one feels purposeless, misunderstood, and evanescent.  I had no idea what I wanted, nor what others expected of me.  I was utterly confused when, upon entering the counselor's office the week before school started, I was presented with a schedule that contained six openings - for each of these openings, I was expected to pick a class.  After filling these openings with all of the classes I was required to take that semester, the first opening on the schedule was still empty.  According to the counselor, the only first hour class with room left for another student was choir - if I didn't want to be in choir, I would have to redo my entire schedule.  I decided that I didn't need any more confusion - as I printed "Symphonic Choir" in the remaining opening, the pencil seemed to want to fly out of my hand and save me from the unnecessary humiliation into which I was putting myself.  Images of Sister Mary, the music teacher at the small, rural Catholic school which I previously attended, plagued my mind, her mouth forming yellow-toothed grin as she made me sing scale after scale after scale.  Sure enough, when I walked into the choir room on the first day of ninth grade, my baggy clothes and long, never-cut hair hanging off of me, I could immediately tell that I was different from the rest of the people there.  However, when we started singing, I felt the clashing contrast between the other students and myself dissolve in the harmony, and, for the first time, I truly enjoyed music. 

               Once in a while, I think about what might have happened if I hadn't signed up for choir that semester, if I felt up to changing around that schedule.  What would my life revolve around today?  Would I look and act the same as I do now?  Would I be just as happy as I am now? 

            Today, music is a vital part of my life.  I am still in choir, and I am studying Italian opera as well.  Many of my friends are in bands, and I hope to be in one soon as well.  Whenever I sing, and whenever I listen to the music of one of my favorite bands, I feel a sense of happiness which I cannot seem to experience in any other situation.  As the melodies and harmonies seep inside me, they brush up against feelings, and untie emotions.  As different as every song I hear makes me feel, I know that each one reflects a separate component of myself.  I believe that, since that nerve-racking morning nearly half a decade ago, my purpose in life has been defined by the dynamic quality of music.  Both it and myself are ever-changing creatures.  We have bipolar tendencies; each of us are able to go from an upbeat rhythm to a minor key within seconds.  We can be forte and powerful one moment, but slow, meandering, and pianissimo the next.  It's impossible to define either of us with a single label or genre, because each of us is made up of countless components, disguised as a single entity. 

            I believe that music is able to help many a person and treat many an ailment.  Along with relieving depression and anxiety, certain studies have shown that music is capable of curing certain neurological conditions - this is known as music therapy.  Incorporating music into therapy for patients suffering from conditions such as Alzheimer's, dementia, and Parkinson's disease is a fairly new concept; "...[It] has been an established medical practice since the 1950s...within the last ten years, three schools have been established to train and certify musicians to play therapeutic music" (Richards, Johnson, Sparks, and Emerson).  According to body-mind-skills specialist Shirley Archer, "Music therapy works by stimulating parts of the brain that are associated with music...For example, in a person with Alzheimer's disease...Listening to music...can indirectly stimulate the recall of memory fragments that otherwise could not be retrieved."  Seeing that music has earned itself a place in the medical field, I believe that more people will be able to appreciate the importance of it as I do.

            My strong appreciation for/obsession with music has kept me grounded in these recent years.  It pulled me out of a sea of incomprehensible depression and abstract wishes, and gave me a purpose, a passion, and a way in which to define myself.  Whether it surrounds me or is confined to the back of my mind, it is always there for me, ready to give me confidence and motivation.  I hope it follows me through the rest of my life.