When I was a little girl, maybe around five or six years old, I had a battery powered radio–remember the big, round C batteries? It held four of those. I don’t remember how it became mine but I’m pretty sure it was a hand me down from my older sister.
On boring, quiet Sunday mornings, I’d sit on the floor with that radio and marvel at the voices, the harmony, the deep man voice, the trill voice, the canned laughter. Inside of the radio there were several tiny people. One had an old-fashioned microphone and did all of the announcing. Then there was a full band; drummer, a few guitarists, three lady background singers, a couple people sitting around on set. I knew they were in there. I heard them and could practically see them! I needed to see them! I would not hurt them!
So, I’d ever-so-carefully pry off the battery cover and slowly begin to remove the batteries. I would prove their existence. They would be my new friends! Here was the problem: EVERY time I removed the batteries, they would run away and hide! The music would stop.
I finally quit doing this a couple of years (I’m in my 40s) ago but am convinced they are still in there, defying age. That’s a joke—the still believing part.
Really, this story reminds me of ME. I can’t stop looking for a cure no matter how deafening the silence. Sometimes I fumble with all of the pieces, sometimes I’m more patient than others but I ALWAYS know that something is in there and together, myself and the ME community, will find out where the music comes from and how to keep it playing.