Slow blogging ahead

Sorry for the slow blogging yesterday, but it's probably going to be slow for the next few days. Yesterday was my birthday and my parents got me a copy of Neil Peart's book "Ghost Rider" - a chronicle of time he spent riding a motorcycle around Canada, parts of the western US, down into Mexico and back again while trying to heal from the double blow he suffered when his daughter and wife died within 10 months of each other.

Peart is best known as the drummer for the rock group Rush, so the book has a special poignancy for me. I've been a die-hard fan of the band for almost 25 years now, and many of their songs have a very special meaning to me. One in particular has had a significant impact in my life.

Back in January of 1990, I became suicidal after a relationship ended and I found myself almost entirely isolated. I'd met the guy shortly after moving back to Kansas City from Seattle, and he'd been letting me borrow a computer of his, through which I'd been slowly making friends at the various local BBSes (this was before the Internet was so readily available for non-collegiate types). I'd also made a few friends in a club we'd belonged to together. When he broke up with me, he took with him his computer - and my only link to those friends, and he also seemed to get custody of the club friends as well - except for two who stood by me. I'm now married to one of them, but at the time, we were just getting to be friends.

At any rate, as I've mentioned before, I've been clinically depressed for years, and it's only been in the last decade or so I've been able to get properly medicated for that, so the loss of my boyfriend and the near total loss of my social structure sent me reeling. I landed in the psych ward of one of the local hospitals. I wasn't allowed to bring much with me, but one of the things I brought was Rush's new "Presto" album. There's on song on there called "The Pass" which is about suicide. Peart - who wrote the book I'm now reading - is the band's lyricist, and lying there in my hospital bed, trying to figure anything out, I let myself really listen to it for the first time:

proud swagger out of the schoolyard
waiting for the world's applause
rebel without a conscience
martyr without a cause

static on your frequency
electrical storm in your veins
raging at unreachable glory
straining at invisible chains

and now you're trembling on a rocky ledge
staring down into a heartless sea
can't face life on a razor's edge
nothing's what you thought it would be

All of us get lost in the darkness
Dreamers learn to steer by the stars
All of us do time in the gutter
Dreamers turn to look at the cars
turn around and turn around and turn around
Turn around and walk the razor's edge
Don't turn your back
And slam the door on me

it's not as if this barricade
blocks the only road
it's not as if you're all alone
in wanting to explode

someone set a bad example
made surrender seem all right
the act of a noble warrior
who lost the will to fight

and now you're trembling on a rocky ledge
staring down into a heartless sea
done with life on a razor's edge
nothing's what you thought it would be

no hero in your tragedy
no daring in your escape
no salutes for your surrender
nothing noble in your fate
Christ, what have you done?

Those words hit something inside me, [and the music they're set to could not have been better for setting the mood and atmosphere needed for the full weight of meaning to come through] and more than any of the therapy the hospital gave me over the next two weeks, thinking about what the song was saying and the stark truth behind it - in particular "it's not as if this barricade blocks the only road / it's not as if you're all alone in wanting to explode / someone set a bad example made surrender seem all right / the act of a noble warrior who lost the will to fight" really resonated with me, and helped me be able to start thinking again with my rational mind instead of my depressed mind.

Maybe it seems weird, but to a great extent, that song is why I'm still here. Over the years, I've had a number of times when I can start feeling that crushing sadness - especially in the last several years since I've been homebound - and if I put the song on, it triggers a near-conditioned response in me - and it helps me pull myself back from that brink a bit. And with that little kick start, I can refocus myself, pull out the other techniques I've learned for dealing with depression when it gets bad and eventually get back on an even keel again. The song doesn't magically "fix" me, but it's very much like a little flicker of hope that helps me remember which way is "up".

At any rate, when someone's written words that have such a profound impact on your life, you tend to have something of a fondness for that person - whether you know them or not. Well, at least I do. So when I first heard about the tragedies that Neil had thrown at him, I felt genuinely sad for him, and hoped he'd find his way through it all ok. Thankfully, he did - but it was extremely difficult. This man, who is considered one of the finest rock drummers - if not one of the best drummers overall - and who has made his living for over 2 decades as a working musician was so devastated by his loss that for nearly 5 years, he couldn't play at all. There was no indication if the band would ever make a new album or even play together again. [In one of the better displays of loyalty and true friendship that I've seen in the rock world, his band mates had decided that it simply didn't matter if the band ever worked together again or not - they only concern was that Neil get through this, and to be there as his friends. They left it up to him to let them know when - if ever - he was ready to work again, and worked on their own projects in the meantime. As good of musicians as they all are, it's unlikely either of them would have had nearly as much success with a solo project as the three of them have had as Rush - but they were willing to just let that all go if that's what was needed.]

With this book, Neil shares the story of how he made it through. I'm only about 2 and half chapters into it, and I can tell already that it's going to be very hard to put down. It's also difficult to read on an emotional level - probably more so for someone like me who's been a fan for so long and has a strong connection to the music he and his band mates have made over the years - but the way he's written it, you don't have to be a fan of Rush - or even know who the hell the band is, for that matter - to enjoy it. He writes about the places he sees, the things that happen to him on "the healing road" as he calls it, and about the memories he has of his wife and daughter and how he learns to deal with that being all he has left of either of them.

So I'm not likely to be blogging much the next couple of days. I've read just over 50 pages so far, and cried through about a third of them. It doesn't leave a lot of room to want to read about how much worse things are getting in Iraq, or which civil liberties are being trampled on next. I'm not really up to listen to the faux outrage of the Limbaughs, Brooks', O'Reilly's and so on, as they ignore things being done by conservatives that they'd be calling for heads-on-pikes over were a liberal involved. In a way, I think I kind of need a bit of a break from the craziness that passes for politics right now. Not a long one - just a couple days to catch my breath, think about something totally different, and maybe get reminded that there are people who've had to deal with things that are considerably worse than anything I've faced on a personal level, and they've not only survived, but they've come all the way back to where they started from. You know - all that neat hope and inspiration stuff. So don't worry if you don't see anything for a few days. I'm still here, and I'll be back.

Posted by thorswitch at November 17, 2003 05:52 AM | TrackBack