I've not been very well recently, but I'm getting better

A little less than four weeks ago, I visited my doctor. I knew what was wrong with me. I was in the midst of a really bad patch of depression, and I had been for a number of weeks. It was probably the worst I’d felt since I was 18, some 12 years ago. I’d been struggling with depression since my mid-teens, but I had ‘coped’ with it by keeping it almost completely to myself and battling through as best I could. Somehow I’ve got through the best part of 15 years that way, but it finally occurred to me that this approach quite simply wasn’t working any more.

I finally realised after so many years of trying to soldier on without asking for help that I needed to take care of this illness in a better way. A big part of this decision stems from the fact that I became a father recently, so obviously my priorities have changed. For the first time ever, another person is dependant on me, which was a motivation to finally take some action. I want to enjoy every precious moment with my beautiful little girl and wonderful wife, and not be drowning in darkness.

While I knew in my mind that things had to change, taking the steps to book the doctor’s appointment and explain to my wife (who I’d also kept almost entirely in the dark) why I was booking it was another matter entirely. But it was a necessary and vital first step in my bid to change things.

The chat with the doctor was much briefer than I had expected it to be, but then I guess that’s the pressures the NHS face in 2013. The GP offered me a referral for counselling (after a couple of months of waiting lists), and quite casually offered me anti-depressants. I’d resisted the idea of drugs for years, but I reluctantly decided it was worth a go. I’ve been scared of the idea for so long, largely for fear of living in some kind of zombie haze, but my logic in accepting this time was that anything had to be better than the way I was feeling.

Very gradually the clouds have started to clear. I returned to work after two weeks sick leave, probably slightly earlier than I should have, truth be told, because I felt like it would do me good to get back to my normal life as quickly as I could. Besides a rough first few days back at work while I adjusted, I coped okay. It took a few weeks before I started to feel consistently better, but I’m pleased and relieved beyond belief to report that far from being in a drug-induced daze, I’m feeling a lot more like myself than I have for a long time. I accept, of course, this approach is not for everybody, but so far, after this short time, things are going okay. 

The other step I took was to open up about what I’d been experiencing, initially via Twitter because the relative anonymity made it seem less scary. The response I received to that has probably helped as much as the anti-depressants. All manner of people have been incredibly supportive, with a larger number than I ever imagined telling me they’ve also been where I am. I’ve realised that depression is such a common problem, that to be quite honest, I feel bloody stupid for bottling it up for half of my life. No more though. I’m a short time into a new way of dealing with depression, and so far things are better. I can’t get complacent, of course, but I’m feeling pretty good about the world again right now.

Grizzle

Last night was a pretty strange one. In the space of an hour or two, the warm little glow generated by a brilliant Grizzly Bear gig was replaced by the sour taste engendered by having lost all respect for the band. The reason? Well, by now I guess you’ve probably seen. If not, though, here’s a couple of handy screengrabs from their Twitter account, which conveyed their opinion that the crowd at The Sage Gateshead were ‘boring’ and ‘zombies’.

Well, lads, I’m sorry if the folk whose enjoyment of your music inspired them to part with near enough twenty quid didn’t fully meet the standards you require of an audience, but I’d respectfully suggest that you’re completely in the wrong here. Incidentally, I’m not having a dig at the prices. I honestly don’t begrudge paying twenty quid for a ticket to a show in such a beautiful venue in order to help support a band in these hellishly tough times, because I realise touring ain’t cheap, and this business isn’t an easy way to make a living.

People have put the perceived lack of atmosphere down to the choice of venue, an argument I’m not going to get into because it just distracts from the main issue, which, in my opinion, is Grizzly Bear’s lack of respect for their fans. Don’t misunderstand me, obviously I realise that not every band enjoys every show, and some may frequently privately blame the crowd for that. Fine. Everyone’s got their opinion, and a band’s perspective is a unique one compared to anyone else’s at a gig. And nobody expects a band to bow and scrape or profusely and eloquently express their eternal gratitude for our custom, because we’re getting plenty in return from them too. However, it’s not cool to publicly broadcast to 60 odd thousand Twitter followers your contempt for the people who have invested their time, money and emotion in your band, not just tonight but for years and years in many cases,

The band later attempted to justify themselves by pointing out that they were buying pints in Brewdog after the show, so, y’know, they must be stand-up guys. This already misguided defence was, however, unravelled by another Tweet two hours after that which reiterated their opinion of the ‘boring old crowd’. So, essentially, what they’re saying is that it’s cool to insult your audience provided you buy them a pint after the show, even if you don’t regret what you’ve said. At the time of writing, apology is conspicuously absent from the band’s feed, aside from them telling me they’re sorry I took their reply to someone else personally. Instead, they’re still sticking to the point that they were just being ‘honest’ about the apparent contempt they hold us in, and that ‘it wasn’t specifically aimed at anyone’ (except everyone in the room, of course).

The thing I find hardest to understand is how on earth a band can reach Grizzly Bear’s level of experience and success and still not fully grasp why it’s not acceptable to be so fucking rude about their audience. Whatever though, I’m chalking this up as a life lesson, and resolving that these dudes won’t get another penny out of me.

New York, I love you, but you're bringing me down

New York isn't really a city I ever thought I'd get round to visiting. Partly because I'm a pretty lazy bloke, all things considered, and partly because I'm the sort of person who starts to get a bit homesick when he approaches the edges of the NE postcode area. Against the odds though, I've recently made it across the pond, and, speaking as someone who basically hates everything, I can say with authority, New York is as good as everybody told me it would be.

I had my doubts upon arrival, though.Before going, the fear of a trip eaten away by a Lost in Translation-esque sleep-starved anxiety was nagging away at the back of my mind, and arriving into the lunatic squall of humanity of Times Square at 10PM on a Saturday night after a day's flying did nothing to ease the fear. I went to bed that night feeling uneasy about what the next five days would bring, but it's amazing what a decent night's sleep and an artery-clogging breakfast can do to ease a tetchy soul. Predictably, gluttony would prove to be a prominent feature in my week, but fortunately it was balanced out by walking for miles every day.

Of the major must-sees, we did pretty well to soak up the vast majority in our short trip. One of the pleasanter surprises was The High Line, a public park located a couple of storeys above the city, situated on a disused railway line. It's a slightly strange feeling being there, because in the madness of NYC, you don't imagine there could be such serene, peaceful little oases like the High Line. Being in the open air above the streets makes you feel like you're somehow detached from New York, but the place is still entirely New York in essence, in keeping with the recurring idea that if the ground is full, build upwards until you find some space. That applies particularly to the city's creative approach to their quest for greenery to punctuate the sometimes harsh architecture, because it's not uncommon to see trees on roofs. Certainly, they're not short of parkland, but Central Park, though lovely, is just as bustling as the busiest street.

One of our first trips was to Ground Zero, something which I'm aware we had to visit while we were there, but looking back now, it still doesn't sit well with me. I'm in two minds about the site. Clearly 9/11 is an enormous part of New York's history, and it's completely right and proper that they should commemorate its victims and acknowledge the importance of that terrible day in forming the mindset of the New York of 2011. It's quite difficult to fully reconcile the streets immediately around the site with the ten year old memories of horrific television pictures of people running around in blind terror, but the feeling of the place's signifance is definitely there in the air, in the form of a muted, downbeat kind of sentiment which pervades the place. The visitor's centre was the toughest thing to take, because it's filled with personal effects of the victims, tributes from tourists, and, most heartbreaking of all, copies of the missing person posters that were tacked up all over the city by desperate relatives in the immediate aftermath of the attacks. It was this in particular which made me feel like I was intruding on somebody else's grief, like my being there was somehow vulgar. But then, who am I to tell New York how to mourn its victims? If the way they've chosen to commemorate 9/11 helps the city heal, then any uneasiness I feel about it means absolutely nothing.

As far as culture goes, we did pretty well in absorbing a lot of what New York has to offer, including The Museum of Modern Art, The Metropolitan Museum of Art and the New York Public Library. All three were hugely enjoyable, and served as gratifying reminders that in spite of the world's perceptions of the USA, it's a country which cares about art and literature. I sometimes regret not being much of an art-lover, because there were some pretty important exhibits in the two museums during my time there. It's weird, because when it comes to music, I'll happily listen to the most atonal, formless noise, and (if you'll forgive the pretension for a moment), 'get' it and enjoy it. But with art, I feel like the spirit of experimentation is out of my grasp, and I can't really enjoy it beyond superficially appreciating pretty paintings. On that level though, both MoMA and the Met were wonderful. The library, too, was great, particularly to someone who is married to a librarian. Seeing literature treated so reverentially, and housed in such a stunning marble and wood-laden building, you can't help but feel bitter about the plight of libraries in this country. Obviously I'm aware that comparing New York's main public library with some little council-run library in the middle of Gateshead is a bit extreme, but still, if the USA can respect and celebrate the importance of libraries to the world, then why the fuck can't we?

Probably my favourite part of New York was the bit everyone told me I would enjoy, Greenwich Village, and, in particular, Bleecker Street. It's a hip little hive of record shops, pubs and cafes which feels so far removed from the bright lights of Times Square that you occasionally forget you're even in the same city. If I'd had my own way, I'd have spent the whole holiday here, but I guess if we'd done that, then we'd have missed out on the major sights, and I'd have had the awkward task of explaining to my family and friends that I ignored The Empire State Building in favour of the delightfully sawdust-strewn McSorley's Ale House. In the end, we didn't disregard the Empire, although the foggy conditions of the first couple of days made it look like we weren't going to manage to visit the top. We finally made it up at midnight on our final night, to be greeted by an amazing panorama of the lights of New York City. It was inifinitely more beautiful than the view from the top of the Rockefeller Centre which we took in by day, even to someone with such a cowardly terror of heights as I.

There were other highlights too, like the highly enjoyable show we took in on Broadway (How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying - Who knew Daniel Radcliffe could sing?), Battery Park, the Staten Island Ferry with it's view of The Statue of Liberty, Brooklyn Bridge, Tik Tok Diner's Grandslam breakfast, Juniors' Cheesecake, all of which, looking back, make me wonder how exactly we managed to do so bloody much in five days. In the end though, I'm so glad I allowed myself to be thrown so heartily into what New York has to offer, because it really is an incredible, unique place which everybody should visit at least once.