First of all, it’s good to see you again redandpurple. I’m glad you’re alright and I hope you’re doing better. At the very least you sound like you are.
Anyway, on to me rambling, I guess.
$9. that’s pretty much all the money I have until Thursday. $9.
This last couple weeks have been a clusterfuck of a whirlwind for me. I decided to kill myself a week or so ago, and I haven’t majorly strayed from that, but Christ I don’t know what to do anymore. I’ve been skipping school as incentive to follow through, and I decided to stop taking my Prozac too. I thought it would be easier that way. But what I’m not used to is people genuinely appreciating me. After my gig on Thursday I had to come to terms with the fact that it would be selfish to pretend that I don’t matter to these people; the musicians, the audience, even the bartender to an extent tell me how much I mean to them, and how much the enjoy listening when I’m there. I even met and played with an incredibly talented drummer, and after the show she was practically overflowing with compliments; I couldn’t even get a chance to tell her how amazing she was, and she was phenomenal. I learned the next day through Facebook that she’s been struggling with her own demons for a while and they’ve dragged her away from her passion of music for some time, but after coming to the show she felt inspired and ready to get back in the game. I don’t mean to come off as bragging or gloating or anything, because I honestly hate talking about stuff like this, but having that kind of power over others is terrifying to me. I used to get maybe 50 views in a week on Facebook of snippets of my performances there, now I get 500 in a night. Apparently now I’m really getting my name out there in the scene, and it’s just what I always wanted, but at the same time it makes offing myself so much more selfish. I am not my own anymore, I’m a heart of the city’s night scene, albeit small; taking that heart away means a lot more now to a lot more people than it ever did, and I’m not even fucking famous. I barely feel like I have that right.
I got my amp back out of the shop yesterday. Cost $150. Now I’m broke as sin until Thursday, which means my weekly weed budget, among other things like gas, just shrank dramatically. I know it sounds juvenile but without that and maybe the Prozac my head moves a million miles per hour and my anxiety jumps through the fucking roof. I don’t know how exactly I’m going to function this week, but I guess I’ll figure it out.
At least I have my amplifier back home again. Retubed and good as new. The feeling of driving the hell out of it, no pedals, with my humbuckers like I used to was the absolute pinnacle of catharsis. Half an hour later my head went right back to aggressively telling me that I shouldn’t be alive, but at least the outlet that kept me from killing myself in high school is back in my life again.
1 comment
I can definitely understand how you feel, when i sold my amp and i had no thing to play with for a couple of months i felt like the last shred of sanity i had was taken away from me, lol. Same thing recently when my video card died (can’t play rocksmith anymore), so… yeah, it’s the little things that saves us from ourselves, even if sometimes they do cost us greatly (i had to live on noodles for like half a year to afford a new amp, lol).