I don't want to leave the familiarity of my music, but it's the familiarity that's driving me absolutely insane.

As long as I've been alive, music has been a huge part of my life. Anytime I can recall being sad or upset, I can also recall the song I had playing to comfort myself. Songs are always there, they never change. Sure, new songs come out, but the songs that were there before always stay there.

It's almost like an ever-present comfort mechanism, when you think about it. That sounds like an amazing thought, that no matter what, music can always comfort you. The thought that no matter how mean, or unreliable a person can be towards you, music will always be dependable, music will always be able to heal you.

That is, until you realize that you're always playing music.

The mere thought doesn't actually sound bad. What's wrong with always playing music? There's nothing wrong with enjoying some tunes, right? Ultimately, the problem isn't within the ever-present music, but the ever-present need for comfort within music. The problem lies within the fact that if the music wasn't playing at any given moment, you might have to begin talking yourself off a ledge. The realization that music is always there to comfort you may be a great thing if it's not a crutch.

But, I, am not one of the lucky few that belong to music in moments, rather than in days or months, or even years.

I am one of the unlucky many that cannot coexist with silence.

I am also one of the even unluckier few have realized the fault in ever-present music. The fault, of course, tells me there's something wrong, and the fault makes me wonder whether or not music truly is dependable, but most of all, the fault tells me just how damaged I am. When I realize the fault, that the universal, ever-present healer no longer heals me because I know all the songs, I know all the words, my world begins to fail.

It's almost like when you're a kid, and for the first 7 years of your life, you wrote letters to Santa, and waited on the stairs Christmas Eve, but fell asleep before you could catch Santa coming down the chimney. And then, one year while you're waiting on the steps, you see mommy and daddy playing the part of Santa and your whole mindset tips, because the happiest parts of your childhood were based on lies.

Realizing the fault of music makes my mindset tip because I no longer know whether or not I love the music, or the peace it tries to give me. I no longer know, if I'm even okay. Because, before, I could always pay attention to the music, but now, it's almost like being lonely in a crowded room.

It's like hearing the silence in a noisy house.

Yes, you acknowledge that there's music playing, but the music is familiar, and you know it's not going anywhere, so you no longer need to pay attention. So, simply, you don't.

And at that point, you've found the silence in a noisy house, and you have to begin talking yourself off the damn, now ever-present, ledge.