And 10% Sia, because that woman sings like she’s been through some sht too.*
People picture healing as a damn yoga studio.
Sound bath. Flutes. A lavender candle named “Emotional Clarity.”
Meanwhile, my healing sounds like this:
🌀 A raccoon fight.
🌀 Inside a garbage disposal.
🌀 Scored by Evanescence.
Volume: max.
Setting: unhinged.
Because healing—real healing—
Isn’t “Find your center.”
It’s “Find your charger. You’re gonna need it.”
It’s rage-humming “Chandelier” in the shower while replaying every red flag you folded into origami and called love.
It’s crying in the CVS parking lot,
only to be jump-scared by your own playlist when the Bluetooth connects and Sia screams,
“I’m unstoppable—”
and you whisper,
“B*tch, are you sure?”
Track list?
Let me break it down:
🎧 Track 1: “Gaslight This, B*tch” – an original freestyle recorded in the voice memo app
🎧 Track 2: Lo-fi beats to disassociate and avoid bills to
🎧 Track 3: Goat Screams (Remix) ft. Panic Breaths
🎧 Track 4: “Alive” by Sia, on loop, until I believe her or collapse trying
🎧 Track 5: The sound of me realizing that surviving doesn’t mean I’m done healing—it means I’m warmed up
Spotify sent me a message:
“We noticed you’ve played ‘Breathe Me’ 472 times this week. Everything okay?”
No, Spotify.
But at least you checked in.
My aunt Cheryl hasn’t even liked my meme since 2022.
This isn’t a playlist.
It’s a battle cry in shuffle mode.
A mood ring with a Bluetooth speaker.
A testimony wrapped in trap beats, trauma, and Sia’s high notes like angelic war cries.
And when I dance to it?
It ain’t pretty.
It’s elbows.
It’s eyeliner streaks.
It’s rage and release and one triumphant hair flip at the climax of a meltdown.
So yeah—
90% screaming.
10% Sia.
And somewhere in between?
I found a rhythm.
A f*ck-you beat I could move to.
And a reason to keep pressing play.
Healing Has a Playlist — Mine’s 90% Screaming Into the Void
Screamed in minor, wailed in B,
Therapy sounds like screamo to me.
My playlist heals with curse and clatter—
Who needs calm when chaos matters?
I rage-drive with windows down,
Sing grief like it just won a crown.
Don’t send me spa waves, I want drums—
Because healing’s loud when the silence numbs.
—The Funny Phoenix, headbanging through heartbreak
