METANOIA: an open letter by Leezy
Photo credit: Shervin Lainez
With great love often comes great pain. Music was my first great love, and our romance has been quite the dramatic affair. It always begins with magic– butterflies and stolen kisses, the excitement of discovering such a new-ness. However, a wandering eye can easily sentence love to death. For a while, I thought it might, but I was lucky to be granted a second chance with my first love… Let’s start at the beginning.
I have a vivid memory of visiting my great-grandfather’s home; the whole family was there. They all gathered around the player-piano, and sang through the entire soundtrack from “The Sound of Music”. I must have only been 8 years old, but I remember feeling like music was magic. I thought, Oh my gosh, the piano is playing by itself! And it was inspiring to see that everyone was connected– improvising harmonies, and assuming the roles of the various characters. I was impressed by the singers in my family; I wanted to be like them. I want to be a part of the magic.
I grew up in a household with great music taste–my parents were young– my mom was a raver and my dad was a punk rocker, so I was destined to be super cool at the very least. Before the age of 10, I had already been exposed to some seriously epic artists from Daft Punk to Elliott Smith… Nirvana, Radiohead, Deftones, Mazzy Star, and Portishead. Baby Leezy was always singing along and rocking out in the backseat of the car.
I was also in the school choir, and I remember it being my favorite class. I liked that everyone had a part, and when we put the parts together, we could make something beautiful. In the 4th grade, I was chosen to do a solo for the winter concert. This is the first memory I have of feeling special. I had been recognized for being good at something–better than everyone else even. The next year was the first of many times I sang in the school talent show.
Another good memory was the musical theater camp I went to every summer. Ah the stage– I loved the costumes, and the rush of opening night. I continued to do theater in school. It wasn’t cool though, everyone thought it was strange that I did it. I even had a boyfriend once who tried to convince me not to audition, but that’s a whole other story.
In high school I found a new great love– drugs, and I lost my way for a while. My love for singing grew quieter as my relationship with drugs became the loudest thing about me. I retreated into myself– into my journal. I wrote every single day for many years. High school was a trainwreck… friend drama, a toxic relationship, an abnormally high dose of teen angst, lots of weed and lots of drunk driving. Not totally unique, but it was totally not okay. And it only got worse as people started noticing. My family was concerned, my friends were disapproving. I had one enabler, and that’s all I needed. I clung to him, and I clung to my highs. I now know that I have what they call “the allergy”– so I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to. To seek help was to accept defeat. To try was to conform. So angsty.
When my mother gifted me a piano for my 16th birthday, I was confused. I don’t know how to play the piano. It turned out not to be so hard. I started learning how to play all of my favorite songs, and I would sing them to myself. I learned a few chords, and as I played them, I sang a little something I had written in my journal– which some may now know to be ‘Stargazer.’ My first song was born. I recorded it in a voice note, and it sat there for about a year.
When it came to deciding a major for college, I chose the Theater Arts program because I thought to pursue music alone is to take a risk. And to fail or to, WORSE, not love it … would be too devastating a loss. So Theater felt safe. But I didn’t even do it. I didn’t read the plays, I didn’t participate in productions, but I did utilize the pianos in the student practice rooms–I did continue to secretly write and record my songs. It was the “side hoe” to my “main hoe,” if you will, which was getting fucked up on drugs.
A little while into that first year at school, I met a friend who was a musician. I showed him my recording of ‘Stargazer’, and he said, “We have to get you in the studio.” And so we went. I remember feeling so high after my first session. (I was also high on drugs, but) I listened to my song on repeat for hours, all week.. I made this, and I like it. I wanted to make more. I had a lot more to say… a lot more I was feeling that I needed to let out. And so I kept going back to the studio.
All the while, I was also hitting rock bottom. Anyone who has juggled two relationships before knows that it’s not sustainable. Music and drugs– how was I to choose? I started releasing my music for fun, with no goals or expectations. With no care really, because all I cared for was my high. I had no control, no motivation, no goals, no hope for a future, no plans. And I thought, when I fail, it won’t hurt as badly because I never really tried. I was failing my classes, failing at friendships and relationships, failing to take care of myself, to eat, to sleep, to write, to feel. I tried to cut back on the drugs–A small part of me knew that’s what it was. Shame. Denial.
I finally reached out for help, STILL in denial. I thought, I’m going away for a while to get my mental health sorted… and, sure, it will be a nice tolerance break. It wasn’t until after I had done intake at Sierra Tucson, and they put me in the addiction program, that I “accepted defeat.” Fuck. I’m an addict.
In treatment, they held a talent show every Friday. And so I performed my original songs– hands shaking at the piano, heart beating out of my chest, my voice quiet and shy, and yet, the response was all positive. Everyone asked me why I wasn’t a singer. And then I asked myself why I wasn’t a singer. I mean, I was, but not really. I hadn’t allowed myself to fully pursue it yet because of all of the fear that came with that–fear of vulnerability, of failure, of rejection. But as I sobered up and began to heal, I also began to realize that music had been the only constant throughout my life. No matter how quiet a love it was, the love was always there. So I took some time, and did some really hard work to mend what had been broken.
METANOIA – the journey of changing your mind, heart, self, and way of life. It was the perfect name for my debut album. Sometimes I still can’t believe I made it here–3 years clean off of drugs and alcohol, and deeply committed to my love of music. We’re super monogamous now.
So why should you care? Why should you listen to my music? Odds are you have felt it before, everyone has. Loneliness, longing, heartache, nostalgia, euphoria, love… feel it harder. Let yourself relish in the pain and beauty of it all. Allow yourself to transform as you move through the feelings, and keep moving. It’s certainly helped me.