Alive, At Last
Cutler’s Ascending Optimism Provides Refuge for the Past, Looks Toward the Future
“If I could I’d wake myself up when I am somebody that I’m proud of,” sings contemporary alt-pop star, Chelsea Cutler.
Distinguishing between elements of dissociative existing and purposeful living, 2023’s, “I Don’t Feel Alive” captures the bitter phenomenon familiar to those who’ve struggled with depression. Known for her danceability and lighthearted synth-pop infusions, Cutler’s Stellaria track pairs a fun, cadenced rhythm with remnants of attempted happiness.
Having also yearned for an incomprehensible passing of time, I too can relate. In my grandmother’s kitchen, I used to wish for old age so I wouldn’t have to suffer the pains of growing up.
“Skin and bones, stomach aches, lucid dreams hold my breath, when I'm wide awake”
Cemented in the present yet weighed down by her past, Cutler resurfaces memories viscerally, and with an undeniable heaviness. Surpassing cognition, she finds herself at a standstill, seeking fulfillment beyond her wordly disconnect.
While dissociation, physical discomfort, and apprehension comprise her wade through strife, recollections of powerlessness, loss of control, and cyclic bouts of numbness comprised mine.
For a long time, I identified with the kind of lifelessness only depression brings. Coasting through each moment both mindlessly and separate from my body — it was as if I didn’t exist at all.
Experiencing time as either right now or not at all, my subconscious played tricks on my body — wreaking lasting havoc in the hopes of finding safety.
At its peak, I avoided mirrors. I drowned myself in fantasy, clinging to the novelty each new romance novel, TV show, or movie had to offer.
If I could help it, I refrained from looking at pictures of myself. Nothing brought more agony than the reminder of my earliest desertion.
I took refuge in denial. I took refuge in pretending.
“The water goes downhill, and still, I swim against the current with two arms that cannot fly”
It did, and sometimes still does. Am I flying, yet? Did I make it?
Caught in the undertow of life, Cutler summarizes the free fall of emotional turmoil. Resting somewhere between a cry for help and an ardent bid for relief, music became a similar outlet of mine, echoing one truth after the other. Embedded in the silence, it became the unforeseen weapon in an arsenal of otherwise useless information.
“I don’t feel alive”
I truly didn’t.
Momentarily my greatest protector, I leaned into the nothingness as if I’d always belonged there. In its inevitable wake, all that remained were hollowed bits and broken pieces, fragments of a self not quite whole — and not at all put together.
Optimistically enmeshed in the present, it’s almost strange to exist on the other side.
I feel like such an impostor.
When adversity precedes identity, authenticity gets lost in the recesses of uncharted water. Straddling what once was with what will be, each new step becomes a risk you’re forced to take.
What’s the alternative?
“I’m writing feelings in a journal, cause that’s what people who have their shit together seem to do”
Every day. If I think it, it must be written. If I feel it, it must be expressed.
Sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn’t. Tools are tools, nonetheless.
How unusual is it when tragedy outweighs triumph — leaving joy to float in the minority? How unsettling is it when heaviness is your earliest legacy, before light peers beyond the surface?
Long bent to the will of authoritative uncertainty, self-fulfilling prophecies, and years-long one-sided devotions, my once-impressionable mind is faced with the question — who am I, now that I’m actually alive?
“I’m learning how to set my boundaries, how to have compassion for myself and for my mind”
Exactly.
I am…human. I am learning. I always was.
Clinging to the markings of my own lifeboat, I now swim alongside the currents, rather than against them. Much like Cutler and her spirited craving to live, I shed the soggy skins of my past. Laying down my armor, I see what I couldn’t before.
The battle is over, I remind myself. There is no war left to wage.
Best efforts and all, it’s as if I’m shaking a bad habit that doesn’t know how to exist without me.
Leaping toward new paths, I’m left to thwart decades’ worth of evidence.
Crashing into me all at once and then a little at a time, still — I carry on.
Everything is okay, now.
“I keep coming up for air —”
“I keep coming up for air, and ending up with water in my —(I don’t feel alive)”
“I keep coming up for air, and ending up with water in my lungs.”
Not anymore.
Here are ten things that make me feel alive:
Laughing
Rollerskating
Hiking
Swimming (bonus points if its the ocean)
Playing fetch/being silly with dogs
Dancing around my living room to music that makes me feel
Scenic drives through the country with the window down, belting out lyrics at the top of my lungs
Walking with purpose, to the beat of a mental soundtrack (EDM & metalcore are great for this)
Getting dressed up for no reason, just because
Writing
