Tag Archives: music

Going Solo

Pain is exhausting… and troubling. It’s now my worst enemy, and today I am facing it alone.

I have an appointment with a physiotherapist to discuss Hydrotherapy today. In two hours. My cab is now booked, my appointment is for 1pm. My friend was supposed to be here with me to help – I am not anywhere near ready to go out somewhere alone. Yet today I must somehow do so. She has an interview today, a last-minute request for a job she wanted – in Wales. So she left yesterday to be ready for it this morning.

I have been alone so far for 24 hours – but that’s not really the problem. The problem is that having to do things myself hurts. Too much. Far too much. So I go without, I avoid, and I do not do anything that will make the pain worse. But today… today I have to do the exact opposite.

I must somehow manage to endure the pain and go to this appointment alone.

 

Solo Expedition

All Stressed OutI am daunted. Overwhelmed. Scared. I’m sitting here, with the Dragon Age Inquisition [PS4 game] launch window that plays the gorgeous symphonic theme music on a loop, over and over again. It’s comforting, soothing, a noise I know well and gives me strength and calm (operate conditioning: it’s how I feel when I’m playing the game, hence it makes me feel the same when I just here the music). I feel rather… trapped. Like a rabbit in a corner that knows it’s going to be done in, and is just waiting for that moment to come, trembling in that corner and just… waiting.

I have never been out on my own before – not since this happened. I don’t like going out anyway. Add this to the mix and I’m borderline terrified.

Somehow, I must prepare my own wheelchair, then get it out of the house (aka tiny flat that the wheelchair doesn’t really fit in) on my own, and over a rather tall hump where the front door frame is quite raised from the floor (I’ve tried getting it over it before, and it’s excruciating and such a difficult to do). Then I have to get it and myself out to the cab. Get in the cab and get to the hospital. Somehow then take myself in my chair all the way up to the physio department. Have my consultation. Then do it all again – backwards.

 

I can only prepare so much, but I’m doing so. I’ve taken Pregabalin, Devil’s Claw, and my joint pills. Just before the can is due I’ll take the 8mg co-codramol (I can’t take anything stronger). And that’s it. There is nothing more I can take. The rest is mental and emotional willpower alone. And my innate stubbornness.

I must try and remember this is no gauntlet compared to what else I have faced in my life and this awful pain I will endure will still be nothing in comparison… Although, that is difficult to remember whilst going through it all. But what is one more crucible when you’ve already had several?

 

It doesn’t help that I was already in a lot of pain this morning – today, the shoes my friend wanted for her interview came… after she left for it yesterday. They came at 8:30am – whilst I was still asleep. I realised it would be the shoes, so I gritted my teeth and dragged myself up on my own (I usually am helped to prevent so much pain), with my stick, and put on my dressing gown and went to answer the door. By the time I then got back to bed, I was in too much pain to sleep anymore or rest, but I couldn’t get up until I had psyched myself up enough to endure the pain it would take to do so.

I couldn’t make coffee and I had to wait until the Pregabalin kicked in… so I didn’t have any until way after 10:30am. It’s already been a nightmare day before it even starts.

Now I have my appointment to look forward to.

 

Uneasy Wait…
Soul on beanbag

Soul

Even Soul (the dog) can feel something is very wrong. He’s lying next to me whining and then trying to play with me, chew me (he’s a Staffie), rolling on his back with his little tail wagging madly, and licking my face, trying to cheer me up. Poor guy doesn’t understand why, but he certainly knows things are just not right.

My head aches, my mind burns, my bones ache. One coffee just isn’t enough… but choices must be made, and I must choose to not inflict more pain than necessary, if it is going to cost me more than I am willing to handle. If I am early enough, perhaps I can get something from the shop/cafeteria or whatever they have there (although, it’s not the best hospital for any services, least of all food – in fact it’s one of the most under-funded hospitals I’ve ever seen, and I’ve been to/worked in many).

It is now just half an hour before the cab comes. I must get everything ready that I can… And I really hope I am physically capable of doing this, even if it does inflict pain. As long as I am physically capable of this, I will manage… unfortunately, the reason I am going is that I am not physically capable of much and require hydrotherapy to support and strengthen me again (with less pain, thanks to the warm water). The idea is you go to hydrotherapy first and then do stuff like this, when you’re stronger. Not the other way around.

I said before Asperger’s and pain do not mix well together. Well, now they’re downright exploding like domino-effect multi-detonations. I’m about two minutes away from a panic attack and subsequent meltdown (hence writing this to calm me and make some sense out of it, and the repetitive gorgeous music from my joint-favourite game). I’m alone with no one to help me… well, no one human. And if I didn’t have Soul here to comfort me I would be in pieces without a doubt.

Now I must go and prepare… and pray that I can somehow make it on my own.

 

Focus On Your Strength

Focus On Strength

 

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Freedom from this Labyrinthian Realm

Feeling lost has been a confusing and heartbreaking experience. Nothing is “OK”, makes sense, or is worth any effort when you are lost inside your own mind. My focus has been gone, and so have I…

 

I unfortunately only just came to realise that last part though.  I nearly lost far more than myself because of it. I didn’t exist, and it was only after what felt like almost a divine-like epiphany did I actually finally come to realise I hadn’t really existed for a long time. Not the me inside, screaming so loud and for so long to be allowed out. I was a walking zombie, with empty eyes and a tempestuous shell driven by pain, fear and confusion. What had happened, and was happening, to me had drained me of my very soul and had left very little, if anything, behind.

 

I haven’t sung, written, made music, or read much – if at all. All the things I have always previously adored were nothing but a burden to me. I wanted to do all those things so much, but they were simply too much effort for a scared, unfocused and rambling mind like I had. Lost in a nightmare of a labyrinth, with no idea how I got in and with no way out, I felt always destined to wander about inside it with no way of solving it, allowing myself to be free.

 

It was music that came back to save me from this Labarynthian Realm. Something in the music shifted something in my mind, leaving open a black hole of realisation I had never experienced before… And I was startled, shocked, and appalled to see for the first time what I had really become. The skeletal-like remains of my personality and character were not what I expected to see – and I had never realised quite how deep inside Hell I had fallen.

 

I have been here before – many years ago – in a similar situation, and when the trauma-coloured glasses fell from my eyes, I was horrified to see what had become of me. Sixteen years ago it was because I was anorexic and didn’t really know it (or, in all honesty, didn’t want to acknowledge it) – then one day I saw myself for what I really looked like, without the help of the vile disease looking through my eyes for me. I was left horrified and shocked at myself for allowing myself to be taken in by it so – and now I feel almost exactly the same way again now, all these years later. And the things that I have done (and in some cases, not done) leave me feeling immensely guilty – and in some extreme cases, sickened and overwhelmed by what I had done, and had been reduced to.

 

Yet somehow, I now feel some hope. And, even more importantly, I feel more like I’m on a path towards myself. The me that has a personality and bright eyes and a smile… not a glassy-eyed shell devoid of apathy and running on pure selfishness. I am well aware I am never going to be anywhere near perfect – I have a past that is deplorable and affects me still, and an illness that sucks the life out of you like a greedy vampire that won’t stop. I am no longer skin-and-bone, but food still terrifies me, and I am still learning to co-exist  with my paranoia and perpetual fear of everything (I’ve given up trying to override them)…

 

However, I have hope I will be at least in touch with myself, feel a little better in my own skin, be more accepting of who I actually am, and treat people like heart-felt humans and real friends – and not inanimate objects who’s sole purpose is to revolve around my tempestuous hyper-sensitivity and make me “feel better”, whilst enduring my erratic and frightening behaviour. I have hope that in time I can learn to be focused on the things I want to do and like doing, without having a panic attack about just the thought of it. I want to write music and sing again, write the book(s) that have always been tumbling about in my head, read as much as I used to, and have some self-confidence and self-belief. It’s going to be baby steps, but I also hope that the projection will be forward, even if progress isn’t at breakneck speed. Moving forward, even slowly, is better than staying still – or worse; going backwards.

 

I think I have managed to pull myself from the brink of what could have been a huge disaster in my life. I’ve had too many of them and could never have survived yet another one. I hope I will learn to manage the black demon in my heart better, and that I become the Queen of my own realm – not a victim to another one of madness and hopelessness, being lost and wandering blindly and in vain.

 

One day I hope to be the person I know I really could be. Until then, I’m going to keep on working on it…

 

 

 


Tangled Web…Inside My Heart And My Mind

~ ~   ***   ~ ~

Inspired by the tangled hopelessness of being a victim of depression and hopelessness…

 

I’m so tired of being here

Fighting through all my innocent fears

I can still feel that you’re still near

And you won’t let me forget

The power you once had over me

~

I’m still here in your hands

And I can’t understand 

Why you can still never let me go

~

My prison, my walls, my cell here inside

Dear fateful friend of dark tears that I cried

The tangled web of the secrets I hide

Inside my heart and my mind 

~

I clung onto hope through all these years

Curled up inside, haunting all my dreams

I thought you would leave

Wait for life to heal

But the shadows still clouds my mind

And I know you’ll never leave me alone

~

You’re poison in my soul

You refuse to let me go

And here I am, waiting to be set free

~

My prison, my walls, my cell here inside

Dear fateful friend of dark tears that I cried

The tangled web of the secrets I hide

Inside my heart and my mind 

~

My prison, my walls, my cell here inside

Dear fateful friend of dark tears that I cried

The tangled web of the secrets I hide

Inside my heart and my mind 

~

Inside my heart… You left me behind…


Knowing Me; Knowing Them

So, after thinking a little bit more about the whole “write what you know” thing that everyone will always quote at you if you want to write, I got to thinking about what I really did know. And I came to realise that one thing I had been trying to write about I did not know about – and that was happy things.

Now, I’m not meaning to sound like an over-dramatic, self-pitying misery guts here, but the general fact is that happy and cheerful isn’t something I’ve ever really experienced. My life has (in the majority) been difficult, dark, and rather gothic in its execution. I’ve been one of those people who’ve rather suffered through fault of their own and others, and I’ve been to very dark places. I have subsequently not been to very happy places – even if I did (or I even may have) – I doubt I would even know it, to be honest.

Therefore I’m back at the question of why am I trying to write it? It’s hardly going to be authentic as a piece of writing, and what I managed to get from others was that it rather wasn’t really authentic to me. My mother was rather surprised to read one attempt at a manuscript, citing it as something of light-fluff that she finds in her Mills & Boon books. I wasn’t quite sure what to make of that until I clocked on that it wasn’t a strange snipe at my writing (trying nicely to say it was rubbish and had no substance) – it was that I think she was rather taken aback that I would actually try to write “fluff”. I’m not a “fluff” person – not to write anyway (though I do like the odd chick-lit and chick-flick).

Back to my usual analogy of song writing, I have not written any “fluff” songs since I was about 15. By fluff, I mean lovey, traditional pop-esque Moon-In-June, lovey-dovey things that Britney might have sung when she was also 15, with basic lyrics and easy rhymes, where silly people always write “mine” with “time” and “sigh” and cry” because it’s too much effort to come up with anything else. I write dark, gothic, and (as some people will no doubt call) “depressive” songs and music – it has a hard, dark theme of suffering and general feeling of being trapped in a nightmare, thus:

Black rose dying from your poison
Screaming ghosts haunt the nightmares in my head
All I see is desolation
Can’t escape the terrors in my mind…

Screaming Alone inside my head
Grasping desperation till I’m dead
Black fingers pouring threads of war
From wounds that I can no longer ignore.

Thinking now, I know I was probably just trying to use writing as a way of escaping a life that always feels like this – when it comes to songs I always write what I feel. But that just means that I don’t really know what I’m writing about – I do sarcasm, dark humour, intensity, deep darkness, living with fear and depression.

I don’t really do cheerful. So I’m happy to report that I’ve stopped that now. I’ll just stick to dark humour and mild sarcasm from now on. I think it’ll come across as much more authentic, and so will my beloved friends (read: Characters).

The art of writing is the art of discovering what you believe.
~ GUSTAVE FLAUBERT


New Song – “Everytime”

New Song – “Everytime”.

 

 

This is me – @DelphineMuisc – singing this piece about 12 years ago,  and before I had my training (I mention this before you judge me too harshly!)

 


Writing With A Universal Approach

Banging head against brick wall. Books should write themselves, and immediately be written perfectly. It’s annoying when you get a new idea in the middle of an old one and then you have to and rewrite it because it’s probably a better idea than the first…

And the worst thing is you don’t even really know if it is at all until you’ve spent all that time writing it and you read it back. Or better still, someone else reads it back. Actually, that’s not really better if they’re just going to tell you it’s actually rubbish and make you cry…

They’re so much harder than songs – the only problem with songs is the music software you have to write it on. And they’re shorter – you don’t write a 120,000 word song. Unless you’re writing what is the equivalent – which probably would be a symphony, or maybe an opera.

Maybe it’s because I’ve spent most of my life writing songs, I’ve actually figured out how to do it and do it right (ish) though nearly two decades of practice – and a lot of mistakes. Although I’ve been writing stories since forever, it’s never been continuous and I never worked on developing it in any real way or found my mojo in it before.

Recently I’ve been writing a lot, and editing, in the last few months and I’ve started to realise that I have not really previously developed a really definitive writing style/ mojo/ voice. Even listening back to really old songs of mine, I’ve been told – and I can clearly hear – the “DelphineMusic” style, even if it is it’s infancy. Anyone who knows my voice and music [style] would recognise the songs as being mine.

When I read back over manuscripts it’s clear (and I’ve been told) they’re over-stuffed, clunky, run around pointlessly, and have little sense of direction, with not much characterisation. All the things I’m anal about with music, I leave lapsed and ignored in the stories, which I’ve realised is probably due to a combination of laziness and no practice. This lackadaisical attitude has left what (I think) may be good, sweet stories as nothing but rambling fluff with little substance, which is Bad. I would never do that to a song, I would have never done that in an essay, and I have decided to stop sodding doing it in manuscripts.

My problem is I get bogged down in detail (you may have managed to gather this by now having read this…!) – and unfortunately it’s the details that don’t matter I get bogged down in. If it was character detail it would probably work, but it’s always the boring crap no one ever gives a shit about, even when it happens in your own lives.

I’ve been practicing writing, trying to find my voice, and then developing it – without resorting to writing rambling bull-crap when I get side-tracked by more rambling detail that would put the most avid insomniac into a coma. I’m hoping I’m going to get there, because I like writing. And I want to write books that I will be as happy with as my songs – where even if others don’t like them, I have enough faith in them and happy enough with them to stand up for them myself, and have something that at least I like.

…All right – Rant over now! …


Distracted In Del-Land

Welcome to… Me! Testing… Testing… Testing… WordPress.com – Ho!

Hmm. Right. First time for everything… Busy being confused, which is what happens when I haven’t had enough coffee. Too much blood in one’s coffee-veins is bad for the synapses, in my experience. One must have a balanced diet of Kenko and Starbucks to maintain a healthy equilibrium, along with the other essential food groups: Chocolate, BBQ Hoola Hoops, Ice Cream & Custard. Unfortunately, I haven’t had much of any of them today, so feeling a little malnutritioned and run-down at the moment.

So this morning I have been trying to write. Honest. Either words or music would be fine – I haven’t managed either yet, mind. Pretty sure the house was supposed to be tidied up too… Where’s Mary Poppins when you need her? Isn’t she supposed be around every Christmas by law now? She used to be around every year without fail. Need more than a spoonful of anything to get this scene of chaos back under control after Christmas. What I don’t understand is that if they can invent self-cleaning ovens, why not self-cleaning houses? I would definitely get one of those – it would be brilliant.

I think it might be best to try and concentrate again now. Another two or three cups of coffee should do the trick there. Shame I still don’t have my long-awaited Coffee Fetching Person I requested for Christmas – I got some books instead. Somehow it’s not quite the same. It seems I am forever destined to get my own coffee. Yes, most definitely a shame!


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