Headcase – how ironic

It was August 15, 2014 and at nine am the sun was shining brightly through the windows of my home. Washington had been experiencing a unique heat wave that had everybody in a form of energetic bliss.  It beckoned me to wake up and start my day.  I’d been planning this day for more than a month now, patiently awaiting Drumatic’s hip hop show at Le Voyeur.  Drumatic had recently released his new album “Headcase” which had been playing repeatedly in my car for the better part of 5 weeks. It got me through my 4 hour drive to see my dad who was diagnosed with brain cancer only a few months ago.  The exceptional collaborations kept me distracted and lost in the hip hop world. So suffice it to say I was ready to see the songs performed live.

However, by ten o’clock I found myself back in the comfort of my bed.  Depression had once again taken over my entire body and pleaded with me to sleep.  As I lie there, my head spinning in uncontrollable concave and hollow thoughts, I couldn’t help but reflect on how I’d got to this point.  I was doomed from a young age, diagnosed with panic attacks at age ten, clinical depression at age 14, PTSD at age 21 and generalized anxiety soon after. 

The sound of a door bell woke me from my discomforting memories. As the hours passed I found myself arguing back and forth in my head about whether to attend the show or not.  Though lethargic I slowly got ready; clothes, makeup, hair and jewlery. I didn’t look my best but presentable enough.  The face in the mirror mocked me.  “Presentable? You look a mess. You really think they won’t see right through you?” That girl in the mirror was never very nice.  I mouthed a profanity and moved on.

When I got to the front door, I froze.  My mind went blank and my body shut down.  I just stood there, frozen in terror.  I begged and pleaded with my body to walk through that door and get in my car but it attested each time.  Finally able to back away and take a seat on the couch, I sobbed. What the hell is wrong with me?

After two dreadful hours of debate and several tears that left remnants of make up streaming down my face, I persuaded myself to get in the car.  I turned “Headcase” up loud enough to drown out my anxious thoughts. I smoked a cigarette every ten minutes until I arrived at the venue.  The girl in the mirror was right, they could see right through me. After being asked several times if I was ok, I worked just a bit harder to get the smile on my face to be more believable.

When the first artist took the stage, I felt instantly more at peace. I knew what to do because it was what I always did. I pulled out my phone and took pictures and video.  I sang, rapped and swayed along to the music; forgetting about the stressors prior. I lost myself in each familiar lyric and verse.  Found myself drifting off into the love of hip hop.

For a few hours I felt normal. No anxiety, no panic attacks, no depressive thoughts and no flash backs.  So I want to extend a big thank you to anyone who provides real hip hop. In so many ways you have saved my life. You’ve given me something to look forward to, something to push myself towards. You continue to help me overcome my fears each day, though no day is ever the same.

To Hip Hop: I love you and I believe in you. Thank you for believing in me.

#iBelieveInHipHop