LITFO’s Jimmy Carroll explains how getting onstaged helped him overcome social anxiety and shyness.
Guest post written by Jimmy Carroll, bassist in Laughing In The Face Of. This is part of our #MentallySound series, discussing mental health in music.
I was a painfully shy child. Other kids who had never met before seemed to be able to integrate with each other in a way I would never understand, only observe.
It wasn’t without trying or effort, I just couldn’t seem to summon up the courage to simply say ‘hello’.
In my mind at the time the prospect of rejection or even worse, all out mockery was too terrifying a prospect to entertain.
This isn’t to say I was friendless or a total loner as a kid but I would never make the first move in an interaction of any kind.
Fast forward to my early teens and this social anxiety was supplemented by a broader type. All the ‘what if’s and over-analyzing every single aspect of the most trivial things led me to my first panic attack (which at the time I was convinced was a full blown heart attack) and left me fucked up for about a week in the aftermath.
I think a big part of it was unfounded paranoia. Are they looking at me? Why are they looking at me? Are they talking about me? Why are they talking about me? Continue reading “The Monster’s Teeth Aren’t As Big As You Imagine”
Reaching out to your friends is hard, but we’re all going through this together.
Written by Sarah Williams. Part of our #MentallySound series, discussing mental health in music. Trigger warning: depression, self-harm.
During an especially dark and turbulent bout of depression I endured recently, I found a familiar Iron Chic lyric rumbling round my skull:
“We all fall apart at our own pace.”
That one cadence repeating itself over and over; an old, beloved song suddenly taking on new meaning. I was wrapped up in my own personal apocalypse, but that one line reminded me of the importance of reaching out to my friends.
For me, depression comes in waves. Some days the sea’s calm and I’m stood on a beach in the sunshine, digging a moat around my sandcastle and enjoying a Calippo. Other days there’s a light ebb and flow, lapping round my ankles. Sometimes it’s choppy in the waves but my head’s above water, I’m staying afloat.
In this particular period, it was like a tsunami had hit. I’m toppled by giant waves, levelled by the force of it, choking on salt water, crushed by the weight of it on my chest. This is as bad as it gets: I can’t eat, I can’t speak, I can’t get out of bed, I can’t wait to get the courage to kill myself.
Sometimes depression just feels like a part of regular life, like an itch you can’t scratch but you can just about ignore it. But on these occasions, it becomes frighteningly apparent that it’s an illness. It’s utterly, hopelessly debilitating.
I lie still and wait for it to pass. It takes days. Continue reading “We All Fall Apart At Our Own Pace”