Spotlight on Symptoms: Music and Movement.

Music has always been able to change, enhance, or express my mood.

I remember being ten or so when my mom told me that my dad and I have the same experience with music. "You want to get inside it," she said. My dad and I have bonded over music for most of my life. I sang along in the car. He bought me the CD (showtunes) when I'd only saved enough for the tape. He played his keyboard for me. We've gone to many concerts.

Music may seep into my mind or knock me flat. I can become painful when I'm manic. I have musical collages in my mind. A playlist tells a story. I have a Spotify playlist can "This Thorn" (referencing the new testament's Paul and his unspecified suffering), which tells a mental illness story.

When I am even a little manic, I feel especially drawn to music. I sing and dance more. I have to keep moving, either in a cerebral or a physical way. My own music videos play out with colors and images. I usually want to listen to the music on my own--I don't want distraction, and I'm especially vulnerable to any criticism or teasing. Often, I'll wear headphones to keep everything in my head.

Some songs become jars in which I can store my feelings or experiences, so they don't torment me when I can't handle them.

I tend to walk, sometimes outside but mostly in the living room and kitchen, when I listen to music. I walked all over my parents' house when I lived there.

I remember wearing earbuds and pacing around my friend's dining room table when I was 13, trying to calm a crushing crush. Nobody really acted like it was strange. But then that friend, Hannah, did tend to be tuned into my moods.

I see music and pacing as symptom and treatment. If you see me pacing with music, I'm probably having a mood swing. It can hurt, but it usually helps. I navigate between songs that are too much and songs that are just right. But music can also become accompaniment to dark thoughts when depression closes in and I'm suspended between moods. Too much Evanescence, too much Air Supply, too much Sunset Boulevard.

I listen. I pace. The other noises in my mind (especially the voice that tells me I'm always doing something wrong) clear out or at least get quieter. The burns on my brain stop sizzling. Life might be livable. I keep moving. I keep listening.