My nights out dancing at the 80’s music revival nights are bittersweet at best these days.
On one side I am enamored by the music of my younger, more carefree days. I get lost in the song and dance. At times I close my eyes and imagine I am still that young, naïve, and lost little girl, reveling in hearing nothing but the melodic whispers of youth, and a future filled with hope.
When I attend these events, I almost always recognize a lot of faces -- mostly from days gone by of going dancing at clubs in the late 80’s and early 90’s in Cleveland. I always knew faces, even some names, back in my younger club days, but I was -- and still remain, for the most part, believe it or not -- a shy wallflower.
Facebook has definitely helped fill in the gaps, as I now have names to go with the more familiar faces. Some of these people are now Facebook friends of mine. I recognize them at these events, but alas, even with social media, I am still just a nameless face in the crowd -- the ultimate wallflower.
I’m used to this. This is how it has always been. The only place where it really doesn’t matter is on the dance floor. I lose myself in the music and pretend no one exists. I’ve grown accustomed to being an awkward misfit.
Even when having fun, without a care in the world, Depression always seems to find me, no matter where I go.
This last time, Depression joined me on the dance floor, almost mocking me. I played avoidance by closing my eyes tight, but when I opened them, Depression was there staring me in the face.
I fought as long as I could. The whispers of Depression about the ghosts of club days past finally won. I accepted Depressions’ offer to dance with me.
Depression took control right away and wouldn’t let me have fun. Depression refused to let me go up to these people I knew from online to say hi or introduce myself. I listened to the dominant whispers of Depression, “If they really wanted to say hi to you, they would… why would they want to be friends with you… you don’t fit in, still, after all these years… They won’t recognize you anyways, then you’ll feel like a dumb ass…”
Before I allowed Depression to completely spiral me down into its maddening grip, I took once again to the dance floor, attempting to get lost in the melodic voices of Peter Murphy, Dave Gahan, and Robert Smith.
And there it was, in the midst of my fellow Gen X’ers and douchebag millennials who filled the dance floor, that Anxiety grabbed onto me and wouldn’t let go.
I felt the choking grip of Anxiety, and because I was already weakened by Depression, I didn’t even put up a fight. Physically I kept dancing as if nothing were wrong, but in my mind, I was tossed back and forth by Depression and Anxiety in a wicked and unrelenting slam dance of mental torture.
It felt as if the walls were closing in around me, and I was being laughed at by everyone. After about twenty minutes, I left the club, even though the music was great. I dread these slips, as it takes a while, sometimes months, to recover. This time around it took a few weeks, complete with a descent into deep depression.
I haven’t been dancing since… that needs to change. Soon…
- So What -- Ministry
- Tragedy For You -- Front 242
- Assimilate -- Skinny Puppy
- Rigor Mortis -- A Split Second
- Ride The Mindway -- My Life with the Thrill Kill Kult
- Stigmata -- Ministry
- No Name No Slogan -- Acid Horse
- Join in the Chant -- Nitzer Ebb
- Godlike -- KMFDM
- Supernaut -- 1000 Homo DJs
- Rubber Glove Seduction -- PTP
- Mindphaser -- Front Line Assembly
- Thieves -- Ministry
- Violent Playground -- Nitzer Ebb
- Testure -- Skinny Puppy
- Until Death (Us Do Part) -- Front 242
- Loyal To My Hate -- Wumpscut
- Stainless Steel Providers -- Revolting Cocks
- Waiting for Mommie -- My Life with the Thrill Kill Kult
- Burning Inside -- Ministry