And so we beat on, boats against the stream...

Forgive the title. The Great Gatsby is one of my most treasured reads. In fact Fitzgerald in general is but that one short novel is special. So nicking the closing line is fair game. Incidentally I couldnt bring myself to watch the film. Partly because I am convinced that Badger Boy cannot act, a conviction amplified by the 60 minutes of Gangs of New York i sat through before leaving and asking for a refund. But also because it would simply not be possible to film it.
I am not doing well. Firstly I am dreading leaving my family and heading back to work. Xmas has been traumatic (tautology) and I am exhausted. I am also suffering anxiety and panic attacks because I submitted a semen sample for analysis. Mrsinky and I have been trying for a second child for 4 years. In my current state this was a bad idea. I feel violated and judged. I want to deregister from my doctors so that i never find out the results. All very illogical but thats being mad for you.
This morning foal started at youth orchestra with her new trumpet. I took her there and oh my god....
When i was young I played the flute. It is a lovely sounding instrument even for a beginner. My parents did what they thought was good, payed for lessons etc...then at the insistence of the teachers signed me up for orchestras etc. I lasted a year, then sold the flute and didnt pick up another instrument for two decades.
Why?
Music is a form of communication. It communicates emotions to others and lets them examine them. I could not do this. I mimed playing for most of my visits, refused solos, didnt turn up to performances...in the end my parents noticing this led to the flute sale. To them i wasnt using it to perform so it was useless.
My imaginary regular reader will know the problem straight away. I can no more communicate a weakness like emotion to others than i can dirty talk in urdu. How could i make myself that vulnerable? Why would I do that? Total risk, no gain. I played the flute for self expression. But only to myself. Forcing me to play in public killed it stone dead. I was a good player for my age group. I cant pick it up now without remembering.
Today i was coping with being in a secondary school(my secondary school experience makes midnight express look like carry on camping) and worrying we were damaging foal by forcing her into a band, and all the baggage above. Then i overheard a teacher talking to a crying child, telling it everyone sang, it was fun, just join in, sit at the side, take part.....i had to run away. I was in danger of killing him where he stood.
I still cannot perform music to others. I can practice at home sometimes. And help foal on guitar. But as soon as i have an audience my fingers trip up, i forget the notes, my playing becomes mechanical. Its not nerves per se. It is a feeling of violation. Of being forced to share something i do not want to share. Same as when people want to talk to me at parties, in the brief time between when I have been forced to arrive and before i can leave. Its the same when i try to record too. Im trying out a looping pedal to see if it helps...
Add to that some bastard playing perfect day on the radio. That song makes me cry every time. It makes me examine how few things keep me hanging on to life. And how worthless they are.