Blues, classical, pop, and any other kind of music that caught my attention filled my head with notes of strife and peace, with passion and apathy, with every other emotion imaginable running amuck through the mind of a seventh grader. Noise filled the empty hours of everyday, and kept my mind occupied, which was my sole defense against the depressive thoughts trying to leach their cold fingers through my mind. Music started as an innocent hobby, but soon crept throughout my whole life. My first season with the Waterford Wildcat Pride Marching Band was doomed for failure from month one. Unknown to my mother and Mr. Laswell, the director, an eavesdropper listened to their private conversation. “How is Tiffany doing? I mean this is her first
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Taunts of “you’re what 's preventing us from making state,” and “if you could actually play, maybe we would stand a chance, Tiffany,” rang through my mind, even when I was away from practice. Searching for a way to escape the continued dissonance in my life, I threw myself into music. Proving the older band members was all I cared about, anything to achieve harmony with the other members like the rest of the rookies had achieved. Music became my love, my art, my controled part of my life, and it snaked its way into every aspect of life. Argument with a family member? Listen to music. Bad day at school? Practice my horn. Disappointed or upset? Listen to music. Music became the answer to every disappoint. Music was a drug, and I was the eager addict waiting for the next dose to enter my system. The next high that would dull the pain my life seemed to be holding out like an endless fermata. The season ended no better than it began, and yet music keep it’s stanzas embedded in my mind. Music swirled around my body before each individual note burrowed its way deep into my mind. As long as my mind remained filled with notes, the depression, the constant “nobody cares, Tiffany”, and the abuse could not come to mind if there was constant noise buzzing
Taunts of “you’re what 's preventing us from making state,” and “if you could actually play, maybe we would stand a chance, Tiffany,” rang through my mind, even when I was away from practice. Searching for a way to escape the continued dissonance in my life, I threw myself into music. Proving the older band members was all I cared about, anything to achieve harmony with the other members like the rest of the rookies had achieved. Music became my love, my art, my controled part of my life, and it snaked its way into every aspect of life. Argument with a family member? Listen to music. Bad day at school? Practice my horn. Disappointed or upset? Listen to music. Music became the answer to every disappoint. Music was a drug, and I was the eager addict waiting for the next dose to enter my system. The next high that would dull the pain my life seemed to be holding out like an endless fermata. The season ended no better than it began, and yet music keep it’s stanzas embedded in my mind. Music swirled around my body before each individual note burrowed its way deep into my mind. As long as my mind remained filled with notes, the depression, the constant “nobody cares, Tiffany”, and the abuse could not come to mind if there was constant noise buzzing