The sound of silence

I’ve always loved music, I would listen all day if I could. But I’d never noticed the ‘in between’ time - getting my phone out, searching for my favourite artist (JP Cooper), putting my headphones in. Anything up to the point before I press play. But now it was very apparent, unbearable in fact. Silence. What did I do before, what went through my head? Time with myself, just me. No thank you. I did anything I could to avoid silence. It was deafening - especially during lockdown. When my alarm would go off I’d leave it on until I’d found my next podcast episode or music playlist. Pathetic really, not to mention annoying for my housemate. This lasted a while and everything I used to love listening to became stale/ tarnished.

One day in the months following this I went out on one of my favourite walks, a lockdown special. The sun was out and everything looked brighter. But suddenly, my headphones died and it was silent. I felt it coming and couldn’t stop it - there I was crying, in broad daylight. I thought to myself “I’m fine. I’m always fine... aren’t I?”. But, this wasn’t the first time the crying had crept in. I wasn’t fine, that was more than apparent now. I sat down on a bench on a beautiful day, with tears rolling down my cheeks and I knew something had to change. Reaching for my phone, I looked up an email a friend had politely given to me a few weeks earlier of someone to speak to. (I’m not sure why I didn’t take this as a hint earlier on, but all in good time). And in that moment, in silence, I wrote an email reaching out for help that would change my whole world.

I now have love for myself, for music once again and I tell what - the occasional silence is bloody lovely.