Highs and Lows (and, How Time Can Make Things Worse Instead of Better)

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Mark and I arrived at the Festival excited and looking forward to performing. To abbreviate a long story, things didn’t go as planned. A rough crowd and a worse sound system ensured failure regardless of our talent and performance. Needless to say, it was a bummer. However, last night, when it happened, I handled it with objectivity and humour; instead of throwing a tantrum and dissolving into a torrent of tears and ragings against the bastard that is life, I was calm and positive. “Hey, it happens to the best. This wasn’t our night or our crowd. There will be other/better gigs.” I consoled my friend and music partner, even regaling him with one of my mother’s favourite gig horror stories. I wasn’t even faking it. I was disappointed, but I didn’t feel despairing.

But, that was last night. Time is supposed to help things. This is a myth. It rarely helps. It often makes worse.

When I woke up this morning, the despair sat waiting to pounce on me. I’ve been drowning in it since.

Last Sunday was such a massive high, and it’s difficult not to get hopeful from such experiences.

Life plays this cruel cat and mouse game. And, I’m sad and angry. And, so tired.

Tomorrow, I have a very overdue appointment with Mental Health. I wonder what new exercise in futility it will be. The Dr. I had previously seen is no longer there, then I missed an appointment back in May because I had forgotten the date and was too ill to get out of the house and deal with it. Now, there’s someone new to have to deal with. And, I have no hope to spare for the appointment. Perhaps, I’ll be pleasantly surprised, but it’s most likely going to be a waste of time.

Did I mention, I’m tired? When I say I’m tired, I mean that every aching bone in my body is crying out with weariness.

I am still very thankful for those rare good times, of course. And, a little good is better than no good at all. But, those times always make me want and expect more. I get hopeful. I start visualising success (which “they” say is the thing to do).  And, then, the kick in the teeth comes…and, it’s overwhelming, gut-aching sorrow.

And, yeah, maybe there will be some more good coming…there will be the last Sundays. But, then, there will be the last nights and the tomorrows, too. And, I’m just so fucking tired.

I’ll leave you with this… because it’s what I do, and this song seems fitting…and, who doesn’t love some Mumford & Sons? And, because, I’m still pathetic fool enough to hope.

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I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For

It was probably inevitable that I cover this song at some point, but it’s most appropriate to do so now. This is very much where I am…in my life, with my faith, with my mental health (and lack thereof). “I believe…

help thou my unbelief.”

I feel I have climbed and run and crawled. I’ve tried this. That. Not only tried, but… lived it, with zeal. And, here I am. Climbed, run and crawled out. Weary. And, STILL and ever longing for death.

And, I still haven’t found what I’m looking for.

Everybody Hurts…

…sometimes.

Last night, for an event at my church called Jobel’s@7:07, I sang my cover version of the R.E.M. song “Everybody Hurts”, accompanied on guitar by the cosmically talented Mr. Bob Breeze.

The night was all about suffering, you see. Something that, well, if you’ve read many of my posts, you know I am not a stranger to.

I like this song, and I feel I did an overall good interpretation of it (it’s good; watch the vid, people!)…AND I certainly understand the lines that talk about days and nights being too long and feeling like one has had too much of this life. But…

It’s that encouragement to hang and hold on that gets me.

Oh, I know I’m not alone. I know that not everyone suffers from depression and mental illness, but – it’s true that – EVERYONE does hurt, sometimes. And, while many do not suffer with severe depression, anxiety, etc., there are quite a few who do. So, in these regards, I am not alone.

I also know that I am not alone when it comes to having an amazingly supportive husband, a few dear and precious friends, and a loving, saving, God of hope and healing.

Oh, yes. I am certainly not alone.

And yet… sometimes holding/hanging on is more than difficult; it is excrutiating.

And, I know…

I’m not alone.