• Spotlight •

• Chapter 1 ~ Post-tour Blues •

Light flooded in through the cheap nylon curtains of my room; a harsh reminder that I was no longer on the road. The unwelcome light woke me up far too early for my liking, but it was a far nicer wake-up call than the one I had expected from my youngest brother, Maxwell. I hissed at the light on my face as if it were a vampire before deciding that actually 10am is a perfectly regular time to wake up for a normal functioning human being, and I should take a shower.

I've always said that a hot shower made me feel like a human being, but it was going to take more than that this time around. Maybe some food? Luckily for me it was a Sunday, and mother didn't need to be at work today, so she had made pancakes for the boys and I. Chocolate chip ones, to be exact. What a star...

"Good morning, sweetie. How did you sleep?" she beamed as I entered the kitchen to see my brothers sat at the breakfast bar scoffing their pancakes like animals. I wrinkled my nose at their disgustingly childish eating habits and walked towards my mom stood by the stove, kissing her affectionately on the cheek. I love my mom dearly, of course. I know she misses me when I go away. She doesn't need to say it as often as she does over the phone; the way she acts when I come home says it all. She hates my chosen career path. She thinks I'm "wasting my intelligence" as she once put it. And she's quite a pristine person. I'm not sure how else to describe her. She doesn't approve of the "rockstar" lifestyle, but the only time she's been honest about that with me was during a heated argument based on the revelation that I didn't want to go to college.

"Pretty good, thanks. Just not used to these early starts yet," I sheepishly smiled at her.

"Early? It's almost 10:30am!" she laughed. She seemed to be in a strangely happy mood this morning.

"Trust me, that's early!" I sat opposite my brothers and speared a couple of fresh pancakes onto my fork to transfer to my own plate. Hunter - the middle child - flicked a stray chocolate chip in my direction, earning a giggle from Max. If you hadn't already guessed, the two of them always ganged up on me, being the only female sibling. I always thought that it was ironic that the possessed kid in the Paranormal Activity films was also called Hunter... Max was just his little puppy dog, following him around, idolising his big brother.

"Cut it out you little sh-" I stopped myself quickly. I forgot I wasn't around my bandmates anymore. I was home. I couldn't curse around my family...

"Beth, I hope you weren't about to say what I think you were about to say..." my mother warned.

"No, sorry Mom." I shovelled a mouthful of pancake into my mouth, avoiding her disapproving glare.

"I'm taking the boys bowling today. Want to come?" I literally couldn't think of anything worse.

"No, that's okay. I've got a load of laundry to do, and so much unpacking. Thanks though. Maybe next time?"

"Sure," she sighed, turning back to the stove. I felt a stab of guilt for turning down "quality family bonding time", but I was soon distracted by my cell phone violently vibrating on the counter. I made an "I've got to take this" gesture towards my mom and excused myself from our delightful family breakfast. Gemma - my long term best friend and drummer of our totally rad rock band - was calling. Was this chica seriously not sick to death of me after the last month on the road?

"Talk to me," I said, answering her call.

"Band meeting. Tomorrow. 2pm, my place. Rudy says he's got big news." Rudy is our one-of-a-kind manager. He's the nicest guy on the planet; he'll do anything for anyone. He's always reminding us that he works for us, and we don't work for him.

"Oh, okay... Did he say what it was about?" Four days after a tour is the quickest he's ever come up with a crackpot scheme that we will all inevitably go along with.

"No idea, but he sounded pretty hyped up about this. He says - and I quote - it's a 'big deal'. So will you come?"

"Yeah, of course." There was a short silence between the two of us. I wasn't feeling very talkative; I couldn't think of anything to say. I was feeling pretty shitty, and to be honest, I just wanted to crawl back into bed and cry myself to sleep. And all of this because I was no longer on tour.

You see, post-tour blues are a real thing. But I can tell you that it's worse for someone who is diagnosed as bipolar. My brain is stupid. It overcompensates. After any intense emotion, the average human brain will send a wave of chemicals throughout the organ to trigger the opposite emotion to balance you out so you become neutral again, because too much of any chemical is unhealthy. But my brain sends too many of the opposite chemical. So much, in fact, that my mood swings and I will go from one intense emotion to the other. So as you can imagine, after the intense high of tour I was feeling superbly shit.

"Beth, are you okay?" Gemma asked, knowing full well I would be suffering.

"Eh," I shrugged. I then realised I'd need to be more vocal. After all, she couldn't actually see me shrug... "Yeah, I guess. Post-tour blues?" It came out as a question rather than an answer to hers.

"Do you want me to come over?" she sounded worried.

"No, it's honestly okay. I've got loads to do-" I was cut off quickly.

"Beth, are you sure? After, well... y'know," she dodged the point, but I knew what she meant. Last time post-tour blues hit me, I got myself into a right state. As in hospitalised... The intense depression got me so bad that I thought I had no other option, and that had haunted me every day since.

"I wasn't on meds then, Gem. I am now. I'll be fine, okay?" I was trying to reassure myself as well as her.

"Okay. But call if you feel like you need to."

"Yeah, I will." Gem was a great friend. She was always there in these situations. This is why we'd been so close for so many years.

But I felt confident enough in myself to know that I would not repeat my actions from the last time we came home. Back then I wasn't diagnosed. I was scared, alone and extremely confused. I had no idea where the extreme depression came from. Now that I know I can reason with myself; tell myself that it's all just chemicals betraying me, and my medication will neutralise my brain for me. But it's still tough...

"Okay well I'll see you tomorrow then..." She still sounded worried, but what else could I do?

"Yeah, see you..." I hung up, not wanting to feel any more guilt for making my best friend worry about me. Nope. I now had to make way for a brand new emotion. A much, much worse one.

Anxiety.

Secretive band meetings at the last minute do that to me. What the hell could Rudy be planning? And why was he so hyped about it?

I had just over 24 hours until all my questions would be answered. But with every minute, that horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach - the dread - grew stronger.