MENTAL ILLNESS IN THE WORLD OF PUNK

I had grown so tired of the people around me. They were cowardly, indifferent and above all - the same. Well, not literally, but they all got along so well in a way I never could so that’s how I interpreted it.

I couldn't stand the resignated complacency they all seemed to share. On the contrary I wanted every day to be an adventure, filled with departures from the ordinary. I wanted to break every boundary and defy all expectations placed upon me. If people went right, I went left. I wanted to be nothing like them.

I've always had "temper tantrums", as it were. As a child I had countless episodes of inexplicable rage, seemingly triggered by the smallest of trifles. When I found punk at 13 I was, to my immense relief, suddenly allowed to have these outbursts. If people told me I was too blunt or too disruptive I could brush it off as being punk as fuck. My anger became productively (well...) focused when put into words in my lyrics and physically ventilated through screaming into a microphone. Hammering away on my guitar, fingers bleeding.

Somewhere along the line, though, I sort of fell out of love with the wildness. It took such a toll on me to constantly be unpredictable, to burn bridges, refuse routine and have every night out be complete chaos always ending in either passing out or getting in a fight with the town nazis (none of which I ever started but always lost). There were so many dark thoughts, so much resent towards a world I wanted to tear down. I lost my energy to create and succumbed to mental isolation, fear and probably pretty strong self-hatred.

As I grew older, my teens well behind me, my surroundings changed and made me try to live my life as best I could without the constant search for an escape. I ended up, however, walking slowly into a depression and my anger problems came back with a vengeance. I couldn't cope with any of it and found myself constantly thinking about ways to end my life. To finally get some true relief. I meticulously researched ways to do it in such a manner that it 1: wouldn't be painful, 2: wouldn't be reversible if found too soon and 3: wouldn't be too much of a hassle to clean up afterwards. One day a pencil I'd bought the day before broke and spilled a few small drops of ink on the thing I was drawing at the time and I just completely lost it. I was so angry that I couldn't calm down for hours. When I finally came to my senses later that night I decided to seek professional help.

I was immediately put on antidepressants and after a few weeks of therapy it was suggested to me that I should have myself tested for ADHD. After a few months of waiting I went through the procedure and sure enough that's what I had. So there I was, in my early 30s, with a newfound understanding of myself. I had so much to learn, so much to realize and so much to process. I remember (this is ten years ago) being incredibly relieved that I wasn't a shit human being. That I wasn't a complete failure. My brain was, without me realizing it, trying to deal with an onslaught of difficulties that it had no chance at overcoming without help. I was losing a fight without knowing I was in one, ultimately making me feel like a failure. Because I, seemingly, had nothing to "blame" but poor character.

Understanding my diagnose and getting the proper medication was the single most important milestone in my life up until that point. I can't remember how many times I cried during the process, but every single tear carried with it a piece of shame and self-hatred and left me closer and closer to... not peace, but at least some sort of reconciliation. 30 years of internalizing my personality was the problem didn't go away over a night.

And then I started looking back on my life, re-evaluating my choices and actions through a brand new lense. Perhaps I refused to be part of something because deep down I just didn't think I could? What if me not seeing a future wasn't part of the rock trope of dying young, what if it was simply my brain being too busy surviving to see anything else in the first place? It pains me to admit this, since it's such a big part of my self-image, but what I thought was rebellious restlessness was probably just my inability to deal with the constant masking. I didn't want to escape boredom, I wanted to escape the exhaustion of trying to force my brain to do things it couldn't.

The more people I talked to about this, the more it became evident that many of us share similar experiences. The struggle with everyday life. The need for an escape. The self-doubt. The need to find spaces where we can be ourselves without judgement. Of course I'm not saying this applies to everyone, but the punk lifestyle sure does lend itself nicely to people who struggle with normalcy. I wonder how many punks out there are simply self-medicating (amphetamine to cope, weed to relax). How many could be seriously helped by a diagnose? No one ever really points out that some people who "suffer in silence" do so without even knowing it themselves. People have different levels of various substances in their brain which can make them feel like absolute crap without the proper medication, and they go on with their lives thinking that's normal. That what they're feeling is more or less how everyone feels, and that everyone else is simply dealing with it better. But it isn't true and we can't tell, because it's like trying to explain a color. We have no idea if the other person is thinking of the same color as us.

When I first started with my medication I felt this clear "before and after" each morning. I would describe it as the feeling I get after a cup of coffee and a pint of beer at the same time. Things just became easier to deal with somehow. I felt better, had more energy and patience. After ten years of taking this medication I no longer feel that hard difference, it's more or less how I expect to feel everyday now. When I forget to take my medication I feel absolutely awful, I get moody and sad and the anxiety comes creeping. To think that was my normal state for my first 30 years on this earth... No wonder I wanted an escape.

Anyway, that's it. That's my text on mental illness in the world of punk. I was thinking about interviewing others for this as well, to have more stories than just mine, but I decided against it because I don't think people generally want to talk about stuff like this. And I wouldn't really know what to ask about other diagnoses than the one I have. I was also planning on including Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria, but that's a big one for me and it's subsequently very tricky to talk (or even write) about. The quick summary is "RSD is a strong sensitivity to rejection and criticism that is common in people with ADHD. This means that even small comments or uncertain social cues can trigger intense feelings of shame, sadness, anger, or self-doubt". Yeah, perhaps someday.