No. 012 - Kid Cudi’s "Immortal" changed my life
A moment on a park bench, shifting perspectives, and the song that helped Delia Hernandez find the light within
This Song Changed My Life is an independent music publication featuring essays from people all around the world about the songs that mean the most to them. Created by Grace Lilly, supported by readers.
• 5 min read •
In 2018, I was no stranger to Kid Cudi’s music. Man on the Moon I + II were woven through my late teens and early twenties.
Cudi shared his darkness with the world and it validated the darkness that exists within so many others. Somehow, a history of pain and struggles with mental illness became a means to connect instead of isolate.
There’s safety in Cudi’s melodic hums that nestles in the parts of you that you’re afraid to show. While I hold immense gratitude for the reflection of my deep rooted pain, what changed me was when I was reminded of my light.
Music has a divine way of finding you – sometimes it’s blaring from a car down the street, or subtly filling the tense silence in the doctor’s office.
Kid Cudi’s “Immortal” found me on a park bench in the fall of 2018, as I was pulling myself out of a dissociative haze. This wasn’t the first time I heard the song. This was the first time I felt it.
I was in my second year of graduate school trying to acclimate to overwhelming 13 hour days, fend off imposter syndrome, and grieve a failed relationship. I have a propensity to doubt my entire being – choices, desires, abilities. You name it, I’ve critiqued it.
The rigor of academia coupled with self-doubt made me question whether I was built to be a school psychologist. How could I possibly help others when I was drowning in my own insecurities?
The clarity came in the form of therapeutic intervention. There was something fascinating about learning theories of counseling as a clinician when I was so used to being the client. I had short stints in therapy at ages 13 and 20 as a means to pull me out of a crisis.
By 2018, I was 26 and working with my current therapist, Debbie. If there’s one thing Ms. Debbie will beat me over the head with, it's praise of my immense compassion and ability to help others feel seen.
On this fall evening, everything started falling into place. I was exhausted after bouncing from working at an elementary school upstate, commuting down to Lincoln Center, sitting through one class, and waiting for the last class of the day to begin.
I felt the familiar cloudiness in my mind as my body went into autopilot. I took the familiar walk to Central Park, looking for a space of stillness. I found it on a bench near a tiny pond. I noticed myself using the very same techniques I’ve learned in class to ground myself.
Divinity found me in this moment. As the song began, I felt my perspective begin to shift on its axis.
“Spent the last month feeling bad 'bout myself
I couldn't speak anything of real hope
And the day came when it hit me like lightning through my veins
A sudden change in my groove, in my walk”
I spent years of my life unraveling in self-doubt and fear. There’s a heaviness that comes with insecurity that is exhausting to drag along with you.
And yet, in that moment, I could feel it wash away with every breath that left my body. I understood that I was precisely where I was meant to be. Being on both sides of that therapy couch was, and continues to be, my superpower.
To this day, I still listen to “Immortal.” I like to make playlists based on how a color makes me feel — very on-brand as a person who struggles to identify their emotions. “Immortal” is yellow. It’s the song my neighbors have likely heard me yelling on a Sunday morning as I’m playing catch-up with my self-care. It reminds me of the power of finding the light within myself.
And tonight, I feel immortal. ◆
About Delia
Delia Hernandez is an educator in the Bronx who is constantly trying to get their shit together. They’re taking it one day at a time, finding the beauty in the present.
Instagram @excavatum
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