I don’t know how to talk about suicide yet.
I know how to talk about sexual assault—it’s part of my daily life and has been for as long as I can remember. I can clearly articulate my feelings about the predators that go bump in the night and the consequences of their actions. But suicide is a different thing. I’ve been fortunate in that my assault and suicidal ideation have never been directly linked in my mind, but part of my hesitation to tackle the subject spawns from the fact that every person who’s dealt with suicidal ideation got to that point via a different route. Everyone processes it differently, too, and because I try to let each person’s life experiences stand on their own, I’d never planned on talking about suicide in my work.
And then I dreamed my own death. I’ve never been the person who can lucid dream or who has any control over the mental gymnastics that occur while asleep, so like countless others, this dream was entirely unexpected. But I woke up, and instead of turning into the shaky, anxious mess I could have devolved into, my brain said the same thing that got me started creating music about my assault: “write it down.”
So I wrote it down, and a month later, I was staring at a finished piece tackling a topic I thought I’d never address. call it an accident is a new adventure for me, and I encourage each of my performers (and audience members) to keep in mind that your own self-care during this piece and its preparation is of the utmost importance. Be kind to yourselves, please.
See the perusal score here. (Run time: approx. 3′.)
call it an accident is still awaiting its world premiere. Pick up a PDF copy for $35.00 or a hard copy for $45.00.
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