The Academy.

So I’m sat on a train, on my way home from seeing Prodigy at Brixton Academy. My headcase friend and fellow widow had a spare ticket and invited me to go. It’s been nearly three years since I’ve been to London and I’ve never been to Brixton. Now I knew going by train at rush hour was going to be intense. It confirmed very quickly that I have become a hermit. I kind of knew this anyway, but when you’re surrounded by hectic commuter’s, and after over two years of hermitting at home, the anxiety was pretty bad. Mr Cocktail Carnage kept checking in with me as he knows all about it, bless him.

The gig was amazing. I can’t remember the last time I went to a hectic gig. Both of us, shirts off, dripping with sweat and god knows what else. Drinks flying everywhere.

So that was some time ago now. I’ve neither had the time nor motivation to write here much. All my spare time has been used working on my music. Working with Mr Screamer was the catalyst for me to dive head long back into it. For once, I genuinely like my latest track. Mr BBQ from Brisbane has also joined in. Between the two of them, it’s transformed my song. It’s the most complete song I’ve ever done. I’ve got another guy who will be doing a solo to add to it. I can’t wait for all the final takes to be sent to me. It’s going to kick ass!

After getting stuck in with the preliminary takes the guys have sent me, I needed a long break from the whole thing. A reset if you like. I’ve been listening to deep house for over a week now. I even had one track on repeat for two days.

The last week or two I’ve found it hard to tell whether I’m even more depressed or exhausted, or both. This new life that was thrust upon me that I don’t want is getting me really down, again. I’m sick of worrying about money. It never ends. Somehow, my ass has been pulled out of the fire many times with vax money and benefit payouts. Without these, I’d have had the bailiffs round long ago.

I’ve been missing My Lady more than usual over the last few weeks. It’s getting worse day by day too.

Last week I finally received a call from ITalk, the mental health charity. I’ve been waiting since February. They confirmed that I have PTSD and recommended trauma based CBT therapy. Everyone I’ve told said that they thought I’d feel better having an official diagnosis. Thing is, I don’t know how I feel about it. Certainly not happy, I know that much.

I have at least three other mental health issues that I need therapy for. Who knows when that will happen? Months probably. I waited months just for a phone call. Every time I’m asked the same question. Are you thinking of hurting yourself or others? I’m totally honest about it. Day three after My Lady died I would have blown my head off if I had a gun. No question or hesitation. Boom, gone, and the thought didn’t scare me in the slightest. A bit like when the doctor thought I was having heart attacks. I didn’t give a damn. ‘Fucking take me’ I thought. Again, I’d have happily died right there and then. Sometimes, just sometimes…

I wish I had…