Exit music

I went to see a band last night. Gigs are a massive physical undertaking, involving sticks, sunglasses, earplugs and a resilience to funny looks. Last night was important. I had to stand (seating was allocated,and I had the wrong type of ticket) and I desparately wanted to fully experience it, and not be distracted by pain. I was seeing a band I encountered after my first episode of (undiagnosed) depression, and one that provides an uncomfortable mirror to my feelings.
What struck me yesterday was my response to what I heard. Whilst they still have the power to make me weep,my weeping was for others,for loss, or just at the sheer beauty of what I was hearing. The part of me that felt she was being torn to pieces as she listened, seems to have healed. 

This sense of healing is incredibly important to my writing. Before learning about the craft of creating a poem, or a story, my writing was always an outpouring of the terrors within. This is a good, cathartic process, but not always good reading. Confronting,and crafting what I’m writing, reaching down to what I actually feel,and want to express has given me a level of understanding. This, I think has helped me use my experiences and emotions, rather than be controlled by them. 

Also, they were bloody brilliant .

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