These Demons

Chapter Forty-six

**I'm genuinely sorry for my recently only very rare updates. My entire life is a big mess because I'm in the middle of making important choices about how I'll continue and what I'll do (my recovery included) and that makes my head often too fuzzy to make focusing on writing possible. But I'm not quitting, so stay tuned.**

During the whole set, I find myself stuck between the terrorizing fear of forgetting lyrics or falling off the stage because my view is blurry and the colors so bright I'm afraid I took some kind of illegal pills and forgot about them, and the constant anticipation of spotting the one girl that keeps popping up in my head in between the violently loud crowd of people having the time of their lives because they've probably never been to a good concert before and don't realize how terrible I am.
Knowing she can't possibly be here, I'm not disappointed when I don't see her anywhere, but it does lower my mood even more than this event already has.
Playing in front of so many people combined with all the frantic movements, frenetic lights, painful noise and blazing heat from the sweaty bodies worsens my fragile condition and terrifies me to a point where I don't dare to jump or do any other quick moves anymore because I fear my poor circulation will collapse entirely.

Furthermore, I'm aware of the number of phones and cameras mostly fixated on me that will capture every single mistake of mine for all time on the Internet that never forgets, and the thought of a bunch of people across the world owning the pictures of my fat face tomorrow because some idget will share them on Instagram.

The songs we're playing are all burned into my memory like someone's initials in their tombstone, but every time I announce the next track, I can't stand the urge to anxiously look at the others from the corner of my eye to make sure I'm not screwing up, but I manage my way through the set list without any noticeable errors, and the supporting act must have heated up the atmosphere to such a large degree that the kids even demand encores I only agree to do reluctantly.

Out of breath, covered in cold sweat and with stars dancing in front of my inner eye, I finish the show with the usual words of gratitude and as we get off the stage, I hear the others chatting about how great it was and what they'll do to finish the night, all of them sounding exhausted, happy and satisfied, but I feel close to a collapse and have to hold on to nearby furniture to prevent falling.

Without a word and a combination of pain and numbness under my wet skin, I lock myself in the dressing room, use the last bits of strength to schlepp myself to the couch and pass out until someone bangs against the door to inform me we're leaving.
I can't tell how much time has passed, but I can tell that all the blurry faces of the happy fans in my head can't remediate that I want to die again. Or still. I don't know.

Opening my eyes the next time, I recognize the hotel bed I'm lying in and know that it's the next morning because light floods through the half-closed blinds and my phone's display shows the time, but I can't recall coming here.
Not having had a single drink, it's quite frightening to see how much I've been forgetting lately, but I push that thought away and crawl out of the way too cozy bed I wish I never had to leave again.
After I've taken a quick shower because my own smell proves I didn't do that last night, I grab some random sweaters and jeans from my suitcase and start wondering what the hell happened.

It's not just that I can't remember coming home- there's more. On every single tour we did during the last eight years, we always already left town with our tour bus at night to be able to sleep in our bunks and already wake up at our point of destination the next morning.
I consider the possibility that the bus wasn't ready yet when we were supposed to leave, but that never happened before. Jon has been our tour manager since the beginning and he would never let that happen.