Antistoic Music

I have spent many years fighting the demons in my head. I find words helps to release some of those emotions. The music I used to make always made them worse. It was always dark and deepened my moods.

Today I tried to make a more poppy track, one that I didn’t just fall prey to my own mind.

This is the result.


Mind Wolves

Sleep is a constant battle. I constantly feel tired, but sleep brings problems. It brings the proper scary thoughts, I do not know if it is because I am winding down or if just because I hate myself so much that I try and sabotage one of the things that can help me get better. Will I ever truly get better? I used to call these thoughts wolves.

They come now. More frequently. Almost every night. Flashes, glimpses of life. This life? Another life? How can I tell? It seems like memories of the past, memories of a future, memories of a memory? Why do they torture me so?

Alone now in the woods. It looks like twilight; the air is grey and damp. The green moss is racing away up the trees. The wolves. I can hear them now. I can see them flashing through the undergrowth. Flashes of grey through the damp, dark green of the woods. They are soundless, yet I can hear them, howling, shrieking, baying for blood, my blood, no one else’s, my blood. The grey almost glows as it hits the flashes of light sneaking through the trees. My heart is racing, racing away from me. The shapes, they move, they change, the wolves are here. They are changing. I can feel no terror, yet my heart still races.

Where are the wolves? It’s changing. Where are the wolves? Looking around they are no longer there. Where are they now? I need to move; my body is calling out for flight. The dampness is pervading me. The light is darkening. The wolves have left, their presence I can still feel though. Like a pressure cooker waiting to explode. I’m in my bed, where are the wolves? The outdoors dampness is still surrounding me.

The sweat is nestling on my brow. Is it like this for everyone? Why does no one talk about the wolves? If we talk about them do they become real? Is there a code of silence? Should we give them life? Will, that free my head? Sweating, now the sheets are getting damper, leaden with my fears.

Looking around the room is dark. I see the comforting shapes of my life lying around the room. They seem less real in this light, more like a mirage of a life led. The wolves come creeping back. I feel them nuzzling my back. Their hot breath tracing shapes on the nape of my neck, it’s causing my hair to rise. Should I look round? They can’t be there. I feel them though. That doesn’t mean they are real though. Does it? What will happen if I turn around? I should turn around. But what if they are there? I can hear a low growl, making my whole body tense. The air near my neck is getting warmer. They are real. Where can I hide? Where can I go? How do I escape? THEY ARE NOT REAL. I can feel them. You’re lying to yourself, go to sleep and in the morning, you will see. This is not how I imagined going. This is not how I should be going. I should not be going. I don’t deserve to go. You won’t be going, they are not real. I feel their presence, watching me, waiting for a sign of weakness, a chance to break through. It’s all in your head. How can you be sure? Trust me. What if you’re wrong? Well, look around? I can’t. I JUST CAN’T! DO IT! No. Look around. Why, what will it achieve? JUST DO IT! No, they are there I know it. How do you know they are there? I am outside. You’re in your bed. No! I feel the air, I can smell the air. I am outside. YOU’RE IN YOUR BED! Look around. Stop IT! LOOK AROUND! LOOK AROUND NOW!

I look

Grow Up

Was I doomed to spend the rest of my life not being invited to reality? Just sitting here in my own little world, struggling to make sense of everything that was going on around me. Trying hard to picture how to untangle myself from the consciousness I had created. Is this all life was? A struggle to make sense and shape of everything you hear and see?  Was there an easy solution to this problem, again I headed back to thinking about salvation. It must be easier than this, a final switching off of the mind that was causing me to slowly break down, unable to communicate with people, too worried to be taken the wrong way, misunderstood, when I all wanted was to be accepted, to be part of a group, a group I had never felt part of my whole life. I was always on the fringes, I could find no way to not be on the edges. I had problems articulating what I wanted to say as I was too worried and anxious about every word or sound I made. If the people I loved couldn’t understand me, how then could other people understand me. I think back to the time I took my ex to London, I was so anxious to not disappoint her; I spent the whole first day with a migraine, that left me physically unable to do anything other than collapse on a bed and want to die. This was one of our first trips away, and it set in motion a pattern for most other trips, I would be so anxious to not offend anyone or upset her that I made myself ill on every trip. Every trip involved a day or a few days of me being unable to do anything through fear of upsetting people, people unable to understand my accent only made the issues worse and I always felt massively alone, even when surrounded by people, unable to articulate my feelings, until eventually, I made myself really ill. The pain in my head forcing me to beg a god that does not exist to kill me. Why is it in our darkest moments that we suddenly find god, is god nothing more than a comfort blanket to our soul’s despair? The pains would be so strong, I would become nauseous and throw up, the actions of throwing causing the pain in my head to magnify, igniting a vicious circle that would only end when I became so exhausted that I finally passed out. Alone, drenched in sweat, ignored by everyone, even the god I was praying too. The pains slowly subsiding; eventually, I could crawl out of my cocoon and then just face the arguments of how I ruined every trip by being ill. I could never find the words to describe why I had become so sick, so painfully ill, my vocabulary would just leave me, and I would just sit there in silence as I was once again berated. Made to feel tiny and insignificant, a being that could never truly be loved, all I caused was pain and misery, unwittingly unleashing it upon her life. I was a source of misery, and she was a patron saint for putting up with me and did I not know it. I was being destroyed, every one of these one-sided arguments piled on the pressure so come the next trip I was already worried, anxious, terrified that these moments of pure anxiety would wash over me and drive me back towards pleading with a non-existent god to kill, surely an exercise in futility. Still, I could never find the words to express my anxiety, any attempt being shot down with the simple answer, “Grow up.”

Wondering Wander

I spend all my time wondering as I wander along the road of life. I make mistakes, I never truly learn from them. I hate the idea of love, but at the same time, I am a hopeless romantic.

I create my own myth in my head, reality never lives up to it. I then stand there alone and confused and wonder where it all went wrong. It never went wrong, it was never going there in the first place. I can not seem to read situations or people, I get it all confused.

This confusion building up and adding to the myriad of problems I see. I try and be a better person, but this just makes me feel used. Perhaps I was used, but I allowed it to happen to me as I built a myth in my head. How do I bring these myths down with destroying myself or those around me?

I can not. I turn and run, hide away and hope it will fix itself. It never does, and I end building another myth to allow myself to carry on, never fixing the root of the problem. The root will always find another way to grow anyway, so why to delve deep into my psyche and sort myself when I can build a new life, it may not be real, it may all come tumbling down, but just now it is all I have.

I hold on and start to lay the bricks.