Going to concerts is always a ton of fun. Ever since I moved to Austin, TX for college in 2009, concerts have been my way of going out—not the… go out to Sixth Street and get shit-faced drunk and/or get hit on or groped by disgusting creeps. At least once a week I would go out to venues in downtown Austin (and eventually venturing out to Dallas and San Antonio) and see bands and artists I loved—shoutout to my first legit concert at La Zona Rosa to see All Time Low!
Fast forward to 2011 when one of my best friends invited me to help film an interview and acoustic session for an online publication in New York, Rock Edition. Soon after that, the editor asked me to join their staff photographer and videographer team, and from that day forward, I have been photographing concerts and festivals for publications. Now… I don’t claim to be the most talented ace photographer—I still consider myself an amateur—but I will say that I have seen and dealt with a lot. This blog post is going to discuss the main anxious thoughts and feelings I get when I go to photograph live shows.
My first book being published is right around the corner. My. First. Book. Published. Something that I created with my own two hands is going to be officially bound together and put out there for the world to see. Never in my life did I ever imagine publishing anything this way, let alone my poetry writing.
But you wanna know what’s sad?
As I held the first proof copy of my book, the first thought was, “Wow! I’m actually holding this in my hand right now!” And the instant next thought was,
“Man. This isn’t enough.”
Why that second thought popped into my head is beyond me. I know, I want, I need to feel happy, excited, jovial, to the moon, about this, but an itty bitty voice in my head pokes me and says,
A year ago I was on a trip with my best friend in Big Bear, CA, the most lovely and beautiful place ever, and I had my first panic attack. Something triggered me during dinner, and for the next hour and a half to two hours, I could not slow down my heart rate despite exercising calming techniques. In the past I would have brushed it off and refuse to see a doctor, but this was one of the few times I listened to my body telling me something. I was actually scared.
Reflecting on this past year, it has been pretty rough, especially after talking with doctors and my therapist, learning about my severe anxiety and panic disorder, and ultimately trying to learn to live with it. I was prescribed with a daily medication for the first part of this year, and it helped. However, it’s a double-edged sword for me because I’m glad that I found something that mellowed me out—and there are days where I wish I still had them—but at the same time, I don’t want to be dependent on them. This debate in my mind toward the medication flip flops daily.