Bruce Springsteen's Music: Inspiring Many Generations

I returned recently to Forest Park in Queens and stood in the same spot where, on a hot August day in 1982, I was ready to plunge a knife into my heart. 

I remember the day so clearly. Two weeks before, I had watched my mother lie in her bed motionless, the ravages and wounds evident from her two-year long battle with breast cancer. The dreaded disease had not only paralyzed her, but taken her eyesight as well. I remember touching her leg through the blanket one afternoon, only to feel bone. I jumped back in horror and stared, wondering why she had to suffer so much.

I retreated many times to my attic bedroom that summer, where I would shut the door tightly and listen endlessly to Bruce Springsteen’s song, “Badlands.” On good days, I felt energetic and strong. It was my shield against the anger in our household.

My mom passed away at the age of 48. She had been my protector for as long as I could remember, keeping my dad composed more often than not. He yelled mostly while I surrendered in silence. His rage was fierce, especially during this emotionally distraught time. I always wondered how he could stay so strong while watching his young wife wilt away, pound by pound. His anger was unyielding, too, and was directed at me at every opportunity.

Eventually it got to the point where I questioned my value as a human being. Why was I here? Why me and not my mother? In desperation one afternoon, I grabbed a steak knife from a kitchen drawer. I tucked it in the pocket of my sweatpants and walked, crying, a couple of miles to Forest Park. My plan was to kill myself in the bushes and hope no one ever found me. I wanted to die the way that I felt – all alone. I found plenty of brush for cover, away from the many joggers running in the street. I pulled the knife from my pocket and held it a foot away from my chest. I looked up one more time at the blue sky and closed my eyes, anticipating the pain of the knife plunging into my heart.

But the words to my favorite song kept playing in my head, especially the last verse. That it ain’t no sin to be glad you’re alive…I want to spit in the face of these Badlands. 

I dropped the knife.

Well, I looked for that knife when I returned to Forest Park. Perhaps I was looking to bury it so no one ever thought the same dreaded idea. I walked around for several minutes, hoping I could locate it and bury it deep into the ground. But I couldn’t find it. 

I sat on a nearby bench for almost thirty minutes. I looked at the beauty of the park and gorgeous surroundings. I eventually lowered my head and reflected and cried. I cried first in shame and then in remorse that I had ever contemplated such an act. I also thought about others who have fallen into that same black hole – where nothing in life makes sense, where you feel you have no worth. I thought of those who couldn’t drop their knife and I prayed for their souls.

Most importantly, I forgave myself on that bench. I looked at the pictures of my two daughters on my phone and wept some more, grateful I dropped that knife on that August day, thankful I heard that last verse from the song, “Badlands.”

I wonder why it took me so long to try and find this moment of peace, why so much time has gone by while I allowed it to torture my soul, why I allowed this one incident to overwhelm the many positive parts of my life. I think often of young people, those who are driven to their knees and bullied. Perhaps someday we will remember words are as harmful as a punch to the gut.

I am thankful that the last verse of Badlands went through my mind that day while standing in the brush holding a knife. It’s the song I sing the loudest when I hear it on the car radio or at a Springsteen concert. It makes me even happier when my 18-year and 14-year-old daughters sing it with me, too. I'm sure the song has a different meaning for many people. For me, it was the motivation to drop my suicide knife. If I didn’t hear those words, I might not have the chance to sing them again with my daughters when we go to see Springsteen in concert come September.

Music can be the means of strength for many of us, it can inspire, it can fill us with joy, it can motivate us to dance. I hope you have a song that lifts your spirit when life feels most bleak.

Michael John Sullivan is the author of Everybody’s Daughter and Necessary Heartbreak: A Novel of Faith and Forgiveness. He lives on Long Island with his family. He has written for The Washington Post, CNN.com, and The Huffington Post about the issue of homelessness and is a board member of the Long Island Coalition of the Homeless. He can be reached at michaeljohnsullivan.com.