It was a few months after college graduation. I was listening to music while I packed everything—after just unpacking.
Not long before, my mom had told me I had two weeks to get out.
It was just me, a bass line, my worldly possessions, and empty boxes. The loneliness suited me. I could blast the radio as loud as I wanted.
The song changed, and “Head Like A Hole” came on.
Until that day, the song had repulsed me. I didn’t like the raw scream of the singer’s voice. I didn’t like the menace of the lyrics. I expected songs to make me feel good.
But the jagged edge of the music caught me at the right moment. It said everything I was feeling.
The radio was over by the mirrored closet door, so I moved over to it, cranked the volume up and then stood up. I started jumping, less a dance than an attempt to pound the floor to pieces. I glanced up and saw myself scream, my face contorted, my dirty hair flying, my pajamas still on, and I wondered, with shock, who I’d become.
I’m at SheLoves Magazine today, talking about the blessing that came from a really dark piece of music. Won’t you join me?
Image credit: Porche Brosseau (with modifications from SheLoves)