I have loved music for as long as my mind can recall. Whether I was singing and dancing as a toddler or banging at the keys as a preschooler, the very core of who I am has been solidified with musical building blocks.
My mother had me in dance at 3 years old; and I was a cute little ballerina :) I started piano lessons at 6 years old and thus my musical life began. When my parents died 3 years later I don't remember continuing lessons, but I definitely kept playing. Though in my 25 1/2 years of life I've only had 7 years of lessons, I've always been a persistent learner of my instrument. I believe being self-taught has given me skills and insights that I would not otherwise have had.
The thought of making music a career didn't even cross my mind until my senior year of high school. Even then I entered the University of Nebraska-Lincoln as a nursing major and didn't get into the music education program until my sophomore year. 2008 ranks pretty high on the "most difficult years of my life" chart. That year started with the end of a 3 year relationship that we both believed was going to end in marriage. In school, I had difficult classes, I was in several campus activity groups, I was active in my church, and decided with everything else... that I should put together a memorized 45 minute solo piano recital of all my music I had been working on the past 3 semesters. Everything seemed to be going very well for me, the one who never learned the concept of free time and relaxation. I say 2008 was particularly difficult for one main reason...this was the year I was diagnosed bipolar. For those who knew me high school, I'm sure you can guess I lean towards the manic spectrum of this disorder. Both were present though.
In the weeks leading up to my diagnosis, my close friends and family could tell something was not right, but I don't think anyone could really put their finger on it. In preparation for my piano recital I would practice 4-5 hours straight with only breaks to put my wrists under the water fountain to chill them out. Didn't really eat much. Then I became obsessive about working out at UNL's recreation center. Lost about 15 pounds in 3 weeks. I came to believe I no longer needed sleep to function. 2-3 hours was about my max for those 3 weeks. That should've been a clue; anyone will go crazy without sleep. But I didn't share my sleep habits, or lack thereof, with anyone. To add to the madness, I started reading Ruth, Isaiah, and Ezekiel through my sleepless nights. I was convinced I was a prophet of God and it was my duty to the world to tell my friends and family what they were suppose to do and how to obey the word of the LORD (that I was proclaiming). I was convinced I was suppose to reenact the book of Ruth. And I didn't keep this to myself, I remember having lunch with one of my best friend's mom's and telling her my destiny to be Ruth in modern day. I told one of my friends that she was suppose to conceive the second coming messiah. I haven't talked in depth with any of these people about how what I was saying made them felt, but from my recollection they were either going along with what I was saying to prevent any hysterical outbreaks, or I think some of my friends may have slightly given credence to the heretical words I was speaking. If there is any truth to demonic possession in the present day, I do not doubt that's what that was. I remember having an old bulletin to my church and calling the head of the prayer chain at 3am one morning. I have no idea what I said, but I was gone, lost my mind to never be found again gone.
After finals and my piano performance I went back home for the semester. I don't remember much except for my obsession with flora. I was planting things and cutting down existing plants like I was God himself ordaining what should live and die. After nearly destroying a palm tree in our backyard, my family made the decision to take me to the doctor. Dr. "Shoal Creek" sucks. I remember telling the social worker "There's nothing wrong with me! I was homecoming queen, everyone loves me. I promise all I need to love, sleep and chocolate" I refused to take the medication the nurses gave me every night and no one told me that was the only way to get out. After I finally decided to be medically compliant I was released to go home with a strict order to see a psychiatrist and therapist on a weekly basis until I could be fully stabilized. In that summer alone, I went thru at least a half dozen medication changes. All of them made me gain weight. By the next year I had gained 40 lbs (which I still have) :(
In 2009 I was able to reinstate my full tuition scholarship from UNL with written consent from my doctor that I was stable enough to attend school. Saying that didn't go well would be a great understatement. What my family and doctors didn't know was by the time I had returned to school that fall, I had been off my prescribed meds for 9 months. Guess I was a really good faker. But what was I suppose to do, the meds I was on made me suicidal and I had a doctor who refused to listen to my complaints and just gave me higher dosages of what I was already on. Just thinking about that I'm furious for her lack of care for me, as a psych patient, complaining of suicidal ideations...ugh whatever.
This psychotic relapse landed me in a treatment facility for 4 months in Lincoln, NE. I can't even describe the hell that was. And the 30 more pounds I gained there...yeah, that alone is just depressing. What did result from that was coming home to find the best doctors EVER. In February of 2014 it will be 4 years since I've been in a hospital and that is hugely due to the fact that my therapist is available at the drop of a hat via email or text for whatever may be going wrong and my psychiatrist is from Venezuela. There's just something about her accent that puts a warmth in my heart every time I see her. They genuinely care for me as a patient, and a newlywed, and a music teacher. They help me to be productive in every area of my life.
Though I've finally accepted the idea that I can no longer mentally function, and participate in society, without my prescribed meds....there are days when I wonder. I wonder if fully detoxed I could regulate my chemical imbalance with more natural methods. Man, some of my most creative and productive times, at least musically, were when I was manic. I could play anything. I could compose anything. When I left one of the highest ranking choirs at my university, I was gonna sing a solo in which I sang the high C above the staff. If you know music, you know that's high. I feel like my potential has been damaged. I feel like my sole purpose in life is to make music. Part of me wonders if being bipolar is a curse or a punishment for my pride. I'll admit it, I was pretty damn proud of the things I had accomplished musically and I made sure everyone else knew that too. Compared to other musicians at UNL, I wasn't that important...but at home, I thought I was God's gift to the world. I remember asking my worship pastor at the time if I could play on stage and he firmly said that I had too much arrogance. I was furious; I didn't get it. I just wanted everyone to see how good I was...
I see it now.
Life is interesting though. Always keeps you guessing. Not in a million years did I think I'd be where I am today. Though I've had my setbacks, I am blessed beyond belief. I am married to an incredible man who has the heart of an angel. We have a home with no mortgage, he has a good job that provides insurance for both of us. I am fulfilling part of my dream by having my own music studio (15 students!). But I truly believe there's more. I know God has put these desires in my heart, and I know if we are faithful to seek Him and His will for out life, God is faithful to give us the desires of our heart. There's so many things I want to do!
For Christmas, I had wanted to talk to nursing homes about playing a Christmas set for the residents. I wanted to play in a department store, and at home Christmas parties. I want to play for weddings. But not only solo performances, I wish I had a group of friends to sit and make music together. I want to create songs, instrumental, vocal, anything. My heart beats music!
It's not just what I do...It's who I believe God created me to be!
When I was deeply studying the Hebrew scriptures, I said that I was from the line of David because my last name, Benavidez sounds like ben David, son of David. Well if that holds any credence, he is of the tribe of Judah which is who God called to praise and lead the 12 tribes in worship.
So my prayer is that my pride and arrogance would never again get in the way for God to use the gift and love of music He put in my heart to bring joy and peace to others. I also pray that pouring my heart out and intimate details of my mental recovery do not bring further judgement upon me than I already feel.
Thank you friends for sharing this life by my side whether just online or in person. Every person in my sphere of influence is important to me. I pray everyone has a blessed week celebrating the birth of our Messiah.
