WHAT 's MY STORY?

There are so many aspects, ways to look at things and I never know what to leave out when telling a story. Am I primarily a musician, a mother, a yogini, a woman, a friend, a sister, a daughter…. Am I really the story I tell and who will be judging me? Will I be able to handle that? Usually I get overwhelmed and then close the book of my life immediately. But isn’t it that in telling a story, we leave it behind and get bigger than that? There’s a storyline, a thread that runs through the whole picture and has shaped my path in a way that I cannot deny or neglect. I think I’m ready to share it, at least with myself and go from there. I was a happy kid. Cheeky and always ready to fool around. I remember making everyone laugh and I absolutely loved to be fun. And then that changed. I wouldn’t say that it happened suddenly. More like when the sun goes down. The colors change, and the darkness sets in almost unnoticed. I couldn’t connect to anyone anymore. The laughter was gone. Normal things started to be extremely difficult. Talking was extremely difficult. I would go through phrases hundreds of times before speaking them. And when I heard myself say them, it sounded completely ridiculous. So, I spoke only when I really had to. But my thoughts multiplied by a million. Anxiety set in. Eating or not eating became a constant worry. I was scared to be isolated and alone. That no one would love me. I didn’t know that I was suffering from depression. I thought everyone else also thinks about jumping off high buildings and the relief that would set in with the silence of the fall. These thoughts were the best ones to have, because they gave me peace of my busy mind. One fine day I discovered alcohol. It was like a magic potion making me normal. I was able to speak and connect with others. I had fun. Friends laughed at my jokes. But the next day I woke up and I was in my usual state of distress and anxiety. Nothing had really changed. Deep down I knew that I wasn’t ok and that I had to find another way of dealing with things. But how? One day I was on the edge of sanity, wanting to end my life and in the last moment thinking: Maybe the part of myself that wants to die, can die? And I can live my life? I started going to therapy. The lady called me wise beyond my years and made me feel like I belong. I talked my heart out and waited for the healing. I had no idea that there was no such thing like healing from a mental disorder. All you can do is make it your best friend. And then the mental disorder sits back, happy to have a seat in the front row. But the therapist told me: “You are one of those who will make it.” I didn’t even ask: “Make what?” Her believing in me felt like a miracle. When I heard about Yoga, I was fascinated with the fact that there was a path to liberation from that crazy mind of mine. I enrolled in Sanskrit at university to study everything about it. I practiced regularly, but so much garbage came up. Lots of emotions overwhelming me, many times too hard to handle. I cried and there was so much pain in my body and mind. I didn’t even understand what was going on. I went to art therapy and realized that we are much bigger than we think. So connected to our family and our ancestors. What we are dealing with is usually not our own stuff, instead coming from many generations before us. Constellation work was powerful, with the right people leading it. This life is such a mystery.

The thoughts were still overwhelming me, and I realized that with Mantras I could give them food that was actually nourishing. When I went into anxiety mode, I started repeating a Mantra, sometimes like a robot, silently inside my mind. And my mind would calm down, calm down, calm down softly and then go back to unhealthy judgment “quack quack quack quack… you are not good enough …. You sound so silly when you speak …. You don’t belong ….. ” and I started repeating again “Om mani padme hum, om mani padme hum, om mani padme hum …… “ And that would be my program of the day, going from one mode to the other, being patient and kind with myself. Thoughts of dying still came, sometimes appearing randomly out of nowhere. And again, I started repeating Mantras, many times crying at the same time. I kept repeating them as if my life depended on that. Because it did. And that’s my story, I guess. Making music is not a choice I can take or not take. It's essential for me to stay sane and to function as a human being. To keep my mental friend in the front row entertained for the good. People sometimes tell me: “Oh you are so gifted.” And I have to laugh, because some gifts grow from a huge burden.