On Self-Consciousness

I went to see my doctor this evening as I have some referral forms I need her to sign. But the self-consciousness and anxiety are so bad, I had to turn back and head for home. There was a big queue and no place to sit, but that's an excuse and I know it. I left because I was too self-conscious, pulling in on myself and tensing myself up rigid. The doctor's surgery is a completely safe place to be, and my doctor is a completely safe person and a thorough professional. But still I felt unsafe, largely because I was aware of the fact that I felt unsafe. Why can't these double negatives cancel each other out, the way double negatives are supposed to?

In an earlier post I wrote about how it's the anxiety that's crippling me, since it's the anxiety that's stopping me from doing things I used to do with ease. But it's the self-consciousness that's driving the anxiety, so ultimately the self-consciousness is to blame. Yes I'm on my own for long periods of time, but so are many spiritual practitioners and they don't suffer from acute self-consciousness. Why am I so self-conscious?

I have 2 theories as to why this may be the case. (I'm aware that having 2 theories may be a part of the problem, but I'll proceed anyway). The first is to do with trying to develop my mind as an instrument, not to make music itself but to enable others to make music relative to my "position". It may well be that in doing this, I have inadvertently divided my mind into the bits that are the "player", and the bits that are "played". In other words, maybe it takes a heightened level of self-consciousness in order to make it work. Now I would argue against this, because when I'm in that zone I experience a sense of "oneness" that I do not feel anywhere or anytime else. But maybe that's the problem: maybe that sense of oneness is costing me any semblance of oneness elsewhere. Also there's the not inconsiderable fact that the rest of the world doesn't know what the hell I'm talking about when I say that I want to play my mind as an instrument. So when I step into the real world I'm effectively stepping into enemy territory, even though I do my best to convince myself that this is not the case.

The second theory is to do with infinity, or a sense and aspiration towards the infinite. My mind is inspired by the infinite and the universal, and wants to achieve things by tapping into that sense. Which is fine as far as it goes, but at the same time I'm perfectly well aware that infinity and reality are not always compatible, and that a "universal" approach to life isn't always the best thing when it comes to dealing with specifics and mudanities. In short, universalism is about potential and realism is about productivity. So what may be happening is that in "real" situations, particularly in confined spaces controlled by other people, the "real" part of me is manifesting itself as a hyper-selfconsciousness, in order to quell and eliminate the "universal" part of me which does not want to accept the limitations of the situation that I find myself in. Universalism and potentialism have always been my mind's defense against the world, and without them I get scared.

Now these are obviously weighty issues to address, and I'm still not convinced that potentialism and reality are fundamentally opposed to one another. But what matters now is that I find something to eliminate, or at the very least reduce, the chronic self-consciousness and anxiety I feel in public situations. I'm sure there are new techniques I could learn, but I'm tired of learning new techniques. I just want some peace!

Facing The Music

Ok so it's time I nailed this once and for all: I am a maker of MUSIC. So what if my method isn't conventional, and if to others it's barely comprehensible. It is what it is, and it's mine.

This came to a head tonight, and in a way I'm glad it did. I got very agitated about someone coming round tomorrow, as I don't get to see too many people too often. So I'm scampering around my head at my usual million miles an hour, fretting about how I'm going to handle the whole situation. Broadly speaking, I have 3 different techniques to try and reduce my anxiety. The first is to stay on top of it and "hold my nerve", so to speak. The second is to let go and try to keep the thoughts as dim and distant as possible. And the third is simply to surrender to it and accept it; the theory being that if I'm upset about it then I'm not scared. The comfort of being sad I suppose.

But what happens in heightened states of anxiety is that while my thoughts are racing, the 3 techniques are all contradicting each other and vying for supremacy inside my head. The net result is that none of the above can ever truly take hold, because there are always agitated forces within me compelling me to settle in a different frame of mind instead. And of course, the fatal flaw with all of the above is that while I'm using these techniques to try and control my anxiety, then I'm thinking about it all the time.

So tonight I was racking my brains, and it drove me to the edge of despair. Yes these techniques reduce my anxiety, but what will make it go away? And then it hit me: the music does. The music in my head makes it all go away. So then I started to listen, and it all came flooding back. When I listen to the music in my head, I'm not anxious anymore. When I listen to the music in my head, no-one...no anxiety, no people, no expectations, can touch me. Because when I'm listening to the music in my head, I'm not listening to the voices. I'm listening to the voice.

And armed with this not-so-new realisation, it suddenly occurred to me just what an immense privilege it is to hear music in my head. I'm almost ashamed to say that I'd never thought of it like that before. Because it's always been such a noose around my neck, I've always considered it more of a curse than a blessing. But think about it: I have a schizoid mind, yet that schizoid mind is prevented from becoming schizophrenic by music. Music is the glue that holds it all together, and without that glue I fall apart. And that's when it hit me, for the first time in years, just what an immensely powerful tool I have here. And I have to say that it re-ignited something within me that really should never have gone out.

It seems to me that fragmentative illnesses such as schizophrenia can only truly be cured by universals. That is to say, the stuff that addresses each of the fragments, while retaining the constancy of the core message. The idea being that although you're addressing the many, you're simultaneously addressing the one. And as far as I can see, there are three such universals in life. The first is love, but unfortunately universal love is something that many fragmented minds have little or no first-hand experience of. Maybe it has been offered to them, but for whatever reason they have felt unable or unwilling to accept. The second universal is math, and by that I mean math in it's purest and most mystical form. Now while there is no denying that such math holds a peculiar fascination for the fragmented mind, it can also be a bit too complicated for tired minds to get around.

And the third universal? That'll be music then.

(Not) Taking The Medicine

I'm relieved to discover that taking less of the anti-epilepsy medicine is having a beneficial effect on my sleeping hours. (This is going to be the last mention of sleep, as Adsense is beginning to misrepresent the nature of this blog). I've been meaning to cut down on that stuff for a while now, as I'm sure that the intensity it gives me has contributed to the collapse of my nervous system.

I've been taking anti-epilepsy medication since I was 14, so it's over 16 years now. I don't have seizures anymore, but I do get dizzy spells whnenever I've tried to come off it completely. The main reason I continue to take it is for concentration, and maybe as a mood stabilizer although I'm not sure about that. But it does make me feel intense, and I don't like to see that in myself. Compromise and moderation are always good (?), so less has to be more.

I've got a good regime going today. Pushing up when I want to, and dropping down when I have to, and not really feeling the effects of the exertion. That's how it should be...smooth, fluid and inherently musical.

Summoning The Muse

Ok so today I'm allowing myself to slip into the bad old ways. Deliberately and knowingly, but probably not irredeemably. The bad old ways being? Not drug addiction or crime or anything like that, but mind artistry. (*Hang on, that's drug addiction AND crime!*)

I'm not going to explain the concept to you, as my endless attempts at explanation on Myspace have always ended in frustration and despair. Too long, too convoluted, and ultimately too obscure. It relates to something I want to do in music, by harnessing the movements of mental dexterity to enhance the relationship between artist and audience. It's basically intelligence as an instrument, in a nutshell. But unfortunately most artists view the "between artist and audience" thing as a threat, along the lines of "no-one shall come between an artist and their audience". And they think that it's fucked in the head, which to be honest it probably is. So now I've removed all reference to it from my Myspace profile, apart from a few token keywords in the General section.

I've officially "given up" twice...first when I hit 30 last year, and secondly when I got ill again recently. But still I do it, and still I go back to it. Every single fucking time. Why? Because I believe in it, that's why. I believe I have something here that has the power to communicate over vast distances (ie, between the different facets of a fragmented mind), and that has the power to make a profound difference to wasted and disenfranchised lives. The evangelical language worries me, but that's not going to stop me from believing. And when I believe in it, I feel powerful and strong, and in possession of the capacity to cause change. If I was a woman it would make me feel like an all-conquering Amazonian warrior. And that's gotta be a good thing, right?

Not if you're mental it isn't. If you're mental, the thing that you believe in is wrong. Without question. Even if it's right, it's still wrong. It's wrong because the mind of a mentally ill person does not quite tally with reality, and hence the belief or belief system is off-target. It might not miss by much, but it misses and there endeth. It automatically becomes a delusion, even if it has possible implications and applications that go beyond delusion. It's something that we mentals could never quite get our heads around when we were younger and first referred to specialists. But by the age of 30, the reality should be all too obvious. And if it isn't, well that merely confirms the fact that you're mental.

Yet still I go back to it. Still I believe that there's an artist or musician out there who my mind techniques may be of some use to, and who can see as I can see a way in which it could catapult them onto a higher level creatively. But I'm waiting on a miracle, and even the evangelist in me is prepared to accept that miracles don't happen. But I cannot even begin to tell you how frustrating it is to see something so powerful and precious reduced to the level of mindless self-indulgence; a mere tonic to get me through another mindless and pointless day.