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megrsco-blog · 6 years ago

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July 3

It’s been a long time since I have felt its presence, but today, as I was driving home, I felt a familiar weight on the back of my neck.

My depression, which I named Patricia about a year ago, paid me another visit tonight. I haven’t heard from her in a while. My anxiety has paid me many visits, some even as recent as a few days ago, but my old shadow of depression has been quiet for many months. She crawled back out again, though.

As I was driving down the road that I’ve driven down countless times before, I began to feel a strange sadness creep in from the corners of my mind. It was not a sadness that made me want to cry; rather it was a soft sadness that didn’t have a reason for being there - it just was. This sadness is Patricia. If I am not careful, she can completely shut me down to the point where I am nothing but an empty shell of a human. She has done that to me before, many times.

I’ve been in a good place recently. My relationship with my dad has finally come full circle, after about five years of turmoil. My creativity has been flourishing, and my career is beginning to bloom. I’ve accomplished a lot this last year and I’ve earned respect from my peers. I have a sense of direction in my life, and a strong sense of who I am. I am in a healthy relationship with a wonderful person. I have some close friends who I really like. I’m in a good place. So, why does Patricia decide to visit me now?

I remember, years ago when my depression was really bad, I would just get sad for no certain reason. I would shut down and cave in on myself and I was unable to explain what upset me. Patricia would take over my mind and sadness would overwhelm me to the point where I wouldn’t feel anything. She was less and less in control of me as I got older, as I started my medication, and as I went to therapy. Then, as my life started to get better, she would only come out once in a blue moon. I remember that for a long time, even now perhaps, I was so concerned with getting rid of my depression - I wanted to banish Patricia once and for all and never have her come back again.

But as she visited me again tonight, I had a thought. She felt sad, yes - but she felt familiar, too. Like she was an old friend. I know that depression is not my friend, but perhaps it is not really the enemy either. What if Patricia just wants to be heard and understood?

I always thought that the stories that made you see things from the villain’s perspective were the best of stories. As I said, I’ve always been so determined to get rid of Patricia forever. But what if that’s not the right way to handle things, and that’s why she’s still here? Perhaps Patricia is not an innately evil force. Perhaps she has a story to her, too. I never stopped to ask Patricia why it is that she feels so empty.

Of course, I know that Patricia is not real - that my depression is just a chemical imbalance in my mind. But I realized that when I talk about my depression and about Patricia, I’m really just talking about myself. Whether I like it or not, Patricia has become a part of me, because she was born inside my mind. Whatever circumstances I was in at whatever developmental point of my life caused there to be a chemical imbalance in my mind, which caused the creation of Patricia. And instead of her being the bad guy, she is just… me. She’s a little girl, asking why things had to be the way that they were. Asking why my brother had to run away to try and commit suicide. Asking why my parents got divorced. Asking why my friends never really cared deeply for me.

Patricia is just a part of me that I never took the time to understand or figure out. I never asked Patricia why she is so sad. I just wanted to get rid of her. But I can’t get rid of something that is part of me. So maybe whenever Patricia pays me a visit, instead of trying to push her away, I should ask her what’s wrong. Maybe instead of letting time bury the scars that my past inflicted on me, I should explore what really happened and try to come to an understanding.

Perhaps my depression will never go away, and that’s something that I’m going to have to be okay with. Perhaps I will always get random visits of my sadness on random night when I’m driving home, even when I have absolutely nothing to be sad about. Perhaps I should forget trying to get rid of Patricia. Maybe instead I should greet Patricia whenever she comes out of hiding and try to understand what she’s trying to say. Maybe I should try to accept this part of me, for all of its darkness and all of its pain, and let it live until it decides that it’s time to rest. I always told my friends that I was afraid that I’ll always be like this, but maybe I shouldn’t be so afraid. Maybe it isn’t such a bad thing - it’s just different. And different is okay.

I can listen to this part of me whenever it comes out and try to understand where it all comes from. It doesn’t have to be a bad thing. It can be part of me, and I can still be happy and I can still thrive. I realized tonight that I’ve been going about this all the wrong way. So, next time I feel Patricia’s presence, maybe I will actually try to listen to her and reason with her instead of just trying to ignore her.

In a way, it’s like I’m being there for myself. And you know what? I’m really the only person who’s ever been there for myself at all times. So that’s not such a bad thing at all.

If anyone out there is coping with something like this, I hope this helped you see your situation in a new light. It’s not easy, but it doesn’t have to be a bad thing. It’s just different. And different is okay.

-MRS

#depression #anxiety #mental health #mental illness #depressed #therapy #coping with depression #coping with anxiety #encouragement #different

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megrsco-blog · 7 years ago

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Imposter Syndrome

I didn’t always know growing up that I wanted to be a composer. I was always artistic in some sort of way-- always trying to tell stories and express myself, or escape reality. I started writing from a very young age, and by the time I was only 13, I had already won a writing contest and written around 16-20 short stories. When I was in middle school, I tried out visual art-- animation, studio art, drawing, etc. I especially liked animation because I would get my inspiration from music. In fact, all of my inspiration came from listening to music. So, it was only natural that I started to compose. I didn’t know how desperately I would fall in love with the art until my sanity depended on it.

In high school, I developed depression. Not awful depression, but bad enough that I would cry all the time, skip school, stare at nothing for hours, and fantasize about death. Words failed me. I felt empty, so there was no way to fill a blank page. I would only draw shadows. I didn’t have the energy to animate. But music found me.

I always loved to listen to music to cope with my feelings. But when I started writing music, I discovered something deeper. I experienced healing, at least to some degree. Music kept me alive. It was my only outlet to express my feelings of pain and brokenness. It was highly personal to me, and it took me years to let people hear what I wrote. But, once I did, I wanted to share it more. It became the only pure art form in which I could communicate. Words were never enough. I had to tell my stories through notes, through pitches, through the ebbing and flowing of the harmonies. Through the expressive vibrato of a bowed string, or through the lonely plinks of a solo piano. Music became the only thing that I could rely on to comfort me, and in my writing, I realized that I could also comfort other people. That’s when I decided I wanted to write music for the rest of my life.

I am not and I never have been a traditional musician. At my audition to get into music school, I sang a contemporary song, to which one professor said, “we don’t have a degree in pop music”. My professor and mentor, who seemed to be the only one who believed in me, fought on my behalf, and thanks to him, I got into the music school. But, of course, the imposter syndrome set in.

I started college with hundreds of classically trained musicians. I hid the fact that I was self-taught, and that I didn’t know what I was doing. I was in composition with two other freshmen who had been writing classical music for years. I was primarily an electronic musician, and I was nowhere near their level of skill or knowledge. Determined, I doubled down and worked extremely hard. I didn’t have the respect of most of my peers and I didn’t have the respect of half of the composition faculty. One of them even said that I wasn’t good enough. Not to my face, but to my mentor, who was once again arguing on my behalf. I was seriously disheartened, because I was working harder than everyone around me. I just wanted to be good enough. I wanted to be seen as a great composer, not just a girl who got into the music school because of one guy.

My freshman year I spent learning as much as I could, and I excelled in my classes. But, I was still not as skilled as I “should have” been, and I suffered from it. I wanted to change my degree plan from BA to BM, but I was rejected due to my lack of traditional knowledge. At this point, my mentor said, “fuck them. We’re going to write some badass music”. He didn’t give up on me, thank god. He worked with me through this.

Over the summer between my freshman and sophomore years, I started writing a piece of music. It started out to be just a simple strings and brass piece, but it evolved into a 10 minute long full orchestral suite. My professor was really proud of me, and we decided together that I should try and get it performed at the Fall Composer’s concert. The only catch was I had to get the whole ensemble together on my own, and I had to direct the piece.

I worked really hard for weeks to get twenty-seven musicians, the most musicians any composer has ever rounded up on their own. I got told many times by so many people-- my own classmates included-- that there was no way I’d be able to get all of those parts together. I was determined to prove them wrong. I made flyers. I talked to all of my classes. I emailed more people that I care to mention. I talked to professors. I went in and talked to ensembles. As a back-up plan, I even talked to one of my friend’s sisters, who had a lot of band friends.

And I succeeded in getting everyone together.

The next challenge was rehearsing the piece before the recital. The thing about music majors is we’re all incredibly busy. By the time I had gotten everyone together, it was only a week before the concert. I set up three rehearsal times and asked everyone to come to the ones they could come to. We didn’t get to rehearse as a complete ensemble until one hour before the concert.

But you know what? They played beautifully. And that concert was what I considered to be proof I belonged.

I had set the record for ensemble size in the history of the composer’s concert, and people had nothing but nice things to say to me. And you know what else? That professor who said I wasn’t good enough came up to me after the concert and shook my hand. That was the moment that I remember most.

This wasn’t the end of my journey-- of course not. The imposter syndrome is a persistent demon in every artist, I think. Even though I “proved” myself with this orchestra piece, people are always looking for what’s next. I became anxious because I had set the bar high for myself, and people were expecting more great things from me, but my ideas were small at best. I decided that the best thing for me was to apply to workshops and camps for the summer so that I could learn more and increase my knowledge. I felt that I was still lacking in a lot of ways, and I wanted to do something to enhance my professional development.

I applied to many, many programs, not expecting to get into any of them. But, to my surprise, a film scoring workshop in California accepted me. They only accepted fourteen people across the country and internationally, so I thought for sure that it must have either been a mistake or there must not have been very many applicants. However, when my professor took a look at it, he said, “wow, this is legit!” and he told me I should be proud.

My biggest fear going to this workshop was that I wasn’t going to be as good as everyone else. I was afraid of the imposter syndrome again. I tried my best to calm that thought, but it was always in the back of my head. They shouldn’t have picked you. Why would they choose you? You’re not good enough. You’re not going to be like they are. I tried to silence that voice in my head, and I actually succeeded for the most part.

It definitely helped that the people at the workshop were incredibly encouraging, and everyone offered constructive criticism. Everyone seemed committed to creating a safe, comfortable environment. It was the most beautiful thing. After that workshop, I started to think that maybe I really am good enough.

Fast-forward to now. I’m the president of the composer’s club at my college. I’m scoring two films. My professor is proud of me, and my friends and family think I’m amazing.

Yet, I still feel like an imposter.

You might ask how? It seems like I have plenty of accomplishments, and plenty of affirmation. The answer is, I don’t know how. I don’t know why. I think part of it has to do with the fact that we are our own worst critics, but I also think part of it has to do with the fact that I had to work so hard to earn respect. And the thing is, I still don’t feel like I’ve earned it. Not completely. As a non-traditional musician and writer, I typically compose things that music theory fanatics would label as “simple”. But isn’t there beauty in simplicity? Don’t people want to listen to something that makes them feel something or think something, not just something that has a lot of notes and is super complex? My style of simple writing is tied back to where it all started. In the midst of the chaos on my mind, I was rooted to simple melodies. While I had a lot to say, I veiled it under the layers of my simple harmonies. While my music isn’t theoretically complex, it does have layers and layers to it, and it has lots to say. But the biggest thing I want to say to people is: YOU ARE NOT ALONE. I AM HERE. And I don’t say that with a long string of chromatic notes. I say that with ebbing harmonies and flowing passages. I say that with quiet sounds and simple statements. I say that with patterns and loops and dissonances and resolutions. I don’t put a science to my music. Music has always been a form of emotional communication, and I want it to always be that way.

So there are still professors and peers and people who don’t believe in me. They think I don’t belong here. They think I’m too simple, they think I’m not skilled. And sometimes, I believe them. It almost breaks me. It makes me feel like I’m losing who I am, because my music has become such a vital part of me. For someone to look at what is at the core of my soul and say, “I think that’s weird, why did you do that?” is for them to punch me in the gut. I think I probably will always feel like an imposter simply because I’ve had to work too hard to gain respect. But I also learned something despite all of this. There will always be people who tell me I’m not good enough. And I will always strive to prove them wrong. But, in the midst of doing that, I shouldn’t become so consumed with what they all think of me. Because what really matters is how I see myself. If I am proud of what I’ve done, then I can wear that like armor, and anyone who tells me I’m not good enough will simply bounce off of my chest. Instead of working so hard to prove these people wrong, I should work more on being proud in what I’ve accomplished. Instead of asking, “Do they think I’m good enough?” I should say, “I AM enough.” Instead of being afraid to show my music to my colleagues because of what they might say, I should be confident in what I’ve written and show it to the world. There are always going to be people who don’t like my stuff, and I will probably always be too hard on myself. But that’s at least a start.

Imposter syndrome is a difficult thing, and I’m far from working through it myself. However, I at least know what I’m going to try to do. And if there’s anything you’ve learned about me while reading this, it’s that I’m determined as hell. So if I’m determined to work through the imposter syndrome and become more secure in who I am and what I do… you bet your sweet ass I will.

#imposter syndrome

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