Here’s a short report on how it feels when your head seems detached from your neck and your brain is jello and, also, your hands don’t seem to lay still.
What I mean is, over the past week or so, when I’ve picked up an instrument to play music, I feel bizarre. Like, it’s a different body holding the instrument, or maybe a different head sending the electrodes to my fingers to make things happen. And singing sounds like when you hear a car stereo go by your window at night. When the noise mingles with all the cicadas.
But, apart form that, I’ll say that at least I picked up instruments (and even recorded some songs). I’ve done that so little over the past year, or two years, or, even probably, three years. Just pick up a guitar or mouth harp or banjo or slide whistle to screw around with. To remember old songs. To struggle. To learn. To just enjoy it. I don’t know where I lost that along the way, but I did.
It’s not like the more I started performing, the more playing music became like a job (and thus a BIG BORING CHORE). It’s more like, I just didn’t give it the time. Or I didn’t take the time. Or I didn’t think I had the time. Or, maybe even, music just wasn’t giving me what I needed. Or I wasn’t taking from it what I needed. So maybe it did become a big boring chore? Hmm….
But, anyway, the past week or so, I felt like it was an okay thing to do, even though I felt like I was melting or like I had a cactus in my chest while I was doing it.
And, I don’t think I’ll even say: “I have NO IDEA why I decided to start playing music again.” I’ll just go ahead a chalk it up to the antidepressant medication. It’s not like it’s working in a way where all of a sudden I say things like, “Oh, hey, I’m HAPPY!” It’s not even been anywhere close to that. But I could probably say something like this: “Oh, hey, I’ve been doing things like writing and playing music, and I’ve been enjoying them lately, even though I’ve still been depressed and acting like a SADSACK.”
And this isn’t to say that I’m also thinking all these positive thoughts about these enjoyable events. I’m still able to tell myself afterwards, “Well, there’s no point in this. Well, why are you doing that? Well, geez, WHAT THE FUCK?” So that’s been really great and not frustrating AT ALL.
I’ve also felt a little bit like a WINE SNAKE lately. Yeah, go ahead a click that link. That’s how I feel. It’s sort of scary to not feel like yourself. Or, maybe a better way to say that is, not so much feel like a different person, but, rather, sort of feel like a different version of your own self. And you aren’t sure if that different version is good or bad. It’s just different and feels odd so it’s throwing you off.
Sort of like if you’re stuffed into a bottle and then a pot of hot pickling liquid is poured over you and the bottle is corked BUT YOU DON’T DIE. (And, of course, whoever uncorks that bottle better be prepared for a FANG TO THE FLESH.)
So that’s something to report in this Medicated Artist experiment. Conclusions so far:
Still a SADSACK, but able to do some enjoyable things again, while feeling a little strange.
The end. Goodnight.
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