Darkness on the edge of town

Ever seen The Truman Show? You know, the one with Jim Carrey. The one where it turns out he’s an experiment for TV. The one where he’s the subject of a reality show, where his every move is under constant scrutiny and nothing he ever does is private. Except he doesn’t know this. He doesn’t know his house, job and even his marriage is a sham. He eventually works out what’s going on and escapes to his new life and freedom. It’s a great film, it really is. But it’s pure Hollywood, nothing like this would ever happen.

Except I’m beginning to think my life is a “Truman” style show.

The cause of my PTSD is an unusual one but is still PTSD nonetheless. The exact reasons for it will remain with those who know for the moment, it’s not the time to write about it and I don’t know if I ever will.

So I’ll try to explain this in the best way possible. I dunno, maybe I should have a flip chart or a whiteboard with those funny smelling pens. So here goes.

A while ago, something happened. Not an ordinary something. This was a something that pulled every trigger I have in this silly old head of mine. It set off every sensor, tripped every alarm. Man, It whacked me in the face so fucking hard, it sent me into the next fucking week. I thought at the time that I was ok, that I dealt with it pretty smoothly and it didn’t affect me that badly. However, when I came to tell Karen, I crumbled. But not in the way you think. I didn’t break down or anything, I just said completely the wrong things. I had no idea what to say so I just blurted out some things that made no sense and basically succeeded in upsetting her even more. I know that I wasn’t really myself and I know that Karen does too but it’s one of these moments that’ll haunt me for a long time. Maybe forever. You know these times, don’t you? That moment, the one that as soon as it jumps into your head, you get that awful sinking feeling in the pit of your gut. The one that makes you flush with rage or embarrassment. The one you wish you could go back and change. I fucked it up and I made her feel worse. We feared the worst

It turned out we didn’t need to. The incident passed as soon as it came and we shuffled on with our lives again.

And that was when I decided our lives must be some form of experiment.

God knows, I understand that people are going through worse. I always admit that and use it as a reality check. But dealing with one fucking calamity after calamity after another gets kinda hard, you know?

I decided that we were part of a huge experiment, conducted by men with lab coats and beards and women with thick spectacles and their hair in a tight bun. They’re observing us in this Truman Show environment, nodding busily to one another while ticking boxes on their notepads.
“Push them more” says the beard or bun in charge, and the minions all mutter together about which scenario their subjects will have to deal with this time.
“Well they still haven’t killed each other!” they joke over tea and biscuits.
“I thought he would have snapped by now” says a beard, “you know, like Michael Douglas in Falling Down!”
Everyone laughs except a bun who dropped her plain Digestive in her tea.

It feels like we’re living through an experiment. It really does. I hope all the beards and buns drop biscuits in their tea.

We’re not experiments. We’re just some people who have had a bad run of luck. It’ll change, it has to. And there are people out there far, far worse off than us. We will remain positive and we will do it together. We are getting help and it will work. We are two as one. You don’t go through what we’ve went through without becoming stronger together. And for me, that’s a comfort.

All this happened a while ago and since then I’ve felt a lot better. I don’t know if it’s the medication, I don’t know if its the therapy, I don’t know if it’s that a huge cause of the problems has been sorted. It may be a mix of everything. It probably is.

Now the more clever among you may have noticed I’m a music fan. I name my blogs after songs and I make reference to music and songs regularly. I don’t know about you but I find music is a form of therapy. I find it that it’s a way out, a release from all the tension that builds up inside. I find that it can inspire a happy memory or take me away from the madness inside my head. I can’t work without music. I always think that there’s a deathly silence, that there’s something missing. I cant even write in silence. Currently I have music blaring. The Charlatans’ One To Another if you’re interested. Now THAT’S an inspiring song. Ive always been interested in music. I sing (badly), I play guitar (badly) and I write songs (badly). I’ve written previously about how my songwriting was a release when I first suffered from depression. I now get the same release when I write, which is why i’m writing this now and why you’re reading this now.

Music offers so many thing, doesn’t it? It’s the first song you ever remember. It’s the first record you bought. It’s the song that made you want to play guitar. It’s the song you lost your virginity to. It’s the band that brought you together. It’s the song you named your pet after. It’s the gig you’ll never forget. It’s the band you wanted to be in as a teenager. It’s the band you fronted in your twenties. It’s the artist you want to be now. It’s your favourite song. It’s the song that you randomly remember because you danced sporadically in the kitchen with your then girlfriend, now wife. And on and on and on and on.

(For those interested –
Tide Is High – Blondie
Money For Nothing – Dire Straits
As above
Not applicable
The Band
The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down – The Band
Bob Dylan at the Barrowlands, Glasgow
Love Street
Bruce Springsteen
Champagne Supernova – Oasis
Bright Eyes – Lua)

Music is an inspiration. Music is therapy. Music affects us all. We all hear it differently and we all have our own take on it. The euphoria of being off your head at a Faithless gig when ‘Insomnia’ kicks in. The soaring, heart-wrenching clarity of Rufus Wainwright’s vocals. The humour and joy of his dad’s music. Losing it and dancing like a pure loony to ‘Sympathy For The Devil’ (while your mum watches, confused.) The epic, anthemic chorus of many an Oasis song. Or the intimacy of Springsteen singing ‘Thunder Road’ whilst standing next to 50,000 people.

Music helps me. Maybe it can help you. Lose yourself in it. Let it take you away, far far away from all your problems. God knows we need it sometimes. I know i do.

Ive been better recently. I don’t feel as down, I don’t feel the darkness descending as often as I have done. This is great, yes I know but I feel somehow, I don’t know, guilty for feeling happy. Whenever I feel quite chipper a voice booms
“NO!! REMEMBER YOU’RE MEANT TO BE DEPRESSED!!” Which I know is silly but I can’t explain it. It’s as if I feel guilty for feeling better. It’s as if I have to justify being in therapy and on strong medication.
“BUT YOU’RE NOT MEANT TO BE HAPPY”. You know what? I understand what Luke Skywalker was going through when he was beating the fucking shite out of his dad with a shiny radioactive stick. Never underestimate the power of the dark side. Bloody hell it’s strong. This odd, cataclysmic vortex of darkness that continues to drag you down, no matter if you feel happy or not. It’s like a big nasty fucking cake.
“Eat me. Eat me Scott. The gloom and doom is all sugary. It even has lovely frosting. MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!” Well, fuck off big nasty cake. I’m off desserts.

It’s funny isn’t it, that once depressed, always depressed. It’s there no matter what you do. But it’s how you deal with it that counts. When you’re up, savour how that feels, it’s normal. Don’t be dragged down by the vortex. Yes, the depression will always be there, like a darkness on the edge of town, but keep it there. In fact, banish it from town. Run it out of town. Chase it away, scare it, frighten it so fucking much that it only ever dares dip a toe across the county line. And when it does, then you and your posse are on it like a flash, charging like heroes to make sure it knows the message.

And the message? You are not alone. I am not alone. We are not alone. There are so many like you. You don’t have to do this yourself. We are your posse and we are plenty. And we are coming to get the darkness. And we will win.

You are not alone.


4 thoughts on “Darkness on the edge of town

  1. Be strong my friend. The journey may be difficult but it is a journey that you can do.

    You aren’t alone. There are many who have had the same journey as you and would be grateful to assist you through your journey.

    Remember that what you are gong through is natural reaction. You are not a ‘freak’ and you are not weak. The fact that you can speak about your journey shows the inner strength that you have.

    Strong strong..and stay frosty.

  2. You’re not alone – I have PTSD and I love music too and put great faith in it getting me through. As Alan says, stay strong brother (www.mentellhealth.org)

  3. believing in the darkness gives power. i’ve only allowed myself that priviledge for a few months. before that i coped by assuming shit happened and how well i handled it determined my worth.

    now deep in the woes of shit just happened to me has me feel the enormity of it.

    pain to power. pain to power. drop kick the fucking smirking face of darkness out.

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