How Bach helped me survive childhood sexual abuse
When I found a cassette tape of the Bach–Busoni Chaconne at seven, it felt like seeing Messi play and knowing: I have to do that with my life. By then I had already been sexually abused by a teacher for two years. Despite night terrors, twitching, bedwetting and constant stomach aches, I kept his secret.
Alone in my bedroom with that music, I found a little light that was just for me; hearing it for the first time was almost a religious experience. People think classical music is dry, but Bach was anything but. Half of his 20 children died in infancy, and he composed the Chaconne after his wife died suddenly, unable even to say goodbye or go to the funeral.
That knowledge—that when you think it’s over the music keeps going—felt like having one more thing to say to someone who’s gone. I became obsessed: every night I listened to Bach, then Horowitz and Ashkenazy, pretending to play along. It was pure escape.