i'll never feel that again
one year, i got tickets to see my favourite band (with one of the opening acts playing my favourite album). i'd never been to a concert, and thankfully this isn't a very popular band so the crowd would be something i could mentally handle. i was given fancy earplugs so the noise wouldn't overwhelm me but also wouldn't sound muffled, and i wore sunglasses the whole time so the lights wouldn't be nauseous.
if you're waiting for this story to turn sour, it doesn't. i had the best experience of my life that day.
the weird part is, it's not the performance that affected me. i'd heard these songs so many times before that it'd be "countless" if the music app on my phone didn't track it.
the thing that got to me was that, for the first time, i was surrounded by people who felt how i did. they were also lost and struggling and this music spoke to them like it spoke to me. that show ended- ignoring the brief encore- with the band and every opening act coming out to sing a chant that's iconic to every fan and encompasses so much of what their music is about. the crowd joined in. i almost did too, and i'm not someone who shouts like that.
they've been doing shows like that one where they go through an album in order and next year, at least if you follow the pattern, they'll do my favourite album of theirs.
i'll be too sick to see it.
my body has decayed in a very significant and permanent way since that show. i'm gonna be fighting the urge to vomit just going to the dentist soon. i'm always dizzy and i couldn't do anything to fight those lights, save maybe walking in blindfolded.
back when i thought this might be something temporary, i realized they'd play that album and got excited. i told myself i'd get better and i'd see that show. i'd capture that elusive sense of belonging that only these performances could evoke.
now? now i know:
i'll never feel that again.