Jade's Music Blog

Until very recently I thought the chances of me having an interesting (or, at the very least, regular) life had passed me by. For the past ten years I've suffered with debilitating Panic Attacks that left me , to all intents and purposes, housebound as I felt unable to stray outside my home without the terrifying fear that that disorder brings.

Trapped away in a cell of my own making I saw adventures, and possibilities, the kind that only exist in youth, slip away fully knowing I couldn't get them back. To paraphrase the Byrds in Turn, Turn, Turn - there's a time for this a time for that etc (actually I think it may have been God who originally said all that but there's no need to quibble about plagiarism on a music blog now is there?)

It's true that life isn't just about the things you do at the beginning, but of all the stages you go through and your goals and dreams can or will change with them, but never being very enamoured with those middle aged dreams - a nice car, a mortgage, patio doors, kids, a swing in the back garden - I'd seen the things I'd wanted slip away.

For the last ten years my goals had become far simpler anyway. Just being able to get out, to go places & to feel calm, which are regular things taken for granted by most of us, filled my thoughts. Just to be able to go to Town, maybe see a band or browse in Waterstones without a care in the world where were my dreams lay.

Just prior to the New Year I set myself a task to get to Bold Street after years of not being able to travel further than the garden gate. I gave myself 60 days to get out of the house, travel around my locale and then venture further and further until I hit the city centre. It was a long shot and although I staunchly refused to think or write anything negative in my daily blog, I secretly felt that my aim was naive and I was unlikely to succeed.

Nevertheless, as long as I was practising getting out, where my aim landed was of no relevance as I was still achieving more than I had for ten years. It was hard going and I had many rough times but I pushed and pushed , got wonderful support, and took the relevant tablets as and when needed, something I was always afraid to do.

As the 60 days drew to a close though I thought my dream of getting into Town was definitely going to fail. You see, to my eyes, a rebirth was taking place in Liverpool & it was reaching its zenith in 2008, so it seemed utterly perfect and timely to be able to return now and regain some of what I'd lost. But time was running out and with it it's poignancy.

As it was, I needn't have worried because on 16th December 2007, the night of the Liverpool Nativity, I arrived back in Town after being away for a decade. It was a fleeting trip but it couldn't have meant more to me nor have more substance and sentiment.

Those preceding days I was mentally ready to go and thrilled at the thought. All the arrangements had been made only for them, and a back up plan, to fall through at the eleventh hour. I was left feeling almost a loss, after so much time of being afraid to go out to find myself wanting to achieve this so much was a revelation. Luckily though, my Sister and her husband came to the rescue and said they could do the trip so everything was back on. I was elated and determined.

That first trip was planned with military precision. There was a car load of people and sense of purpose. I'd felt sure that I was going to achieve this but how I'd feel on the way was something I forced out of my mind everytime those anxious feelings reared their ugly heads during the day. I'd even gone so far to ask everyone not to mention the trip so I could do my best not to build it up in mind.

Projecting what may happen only leads to a circle of panic that all anxiety sufferers go through (concerned thoughts > physical symptoms > concerned thought >heightened levels of anxiety > concerned thoughts > etc).

It was a tight squeeze in the car but that suited me as the collective support and distraction was vital. I'd done a few trips to Walton Vale in the preceding weeks and felt elated after achieving them so it wasn't until after that point that I stepped into virtual virgin territory and doubts and coping techniques really needed to be employed.

I'd packed a bag full of distractions, water, inhalers and all sorts of other remedies to cope with imagined eventualities. Seeing Walton Church & County Road for the first time in 10 years made my heart leap.

Travelling around the round-about at the Church was always the dividing line in my mind between Town and home, so being back there gave me a rush of adrenaline. This isn't as good news as you would imagine as the push from the adrenaline is one of the triggers of panic an anxiety sufferer constantly watches for. Usually this leads to the vicious panic circle I mentioned earlier. This time though I told myself to ignore it and it worked, no doubt through the practising I'd done in previous outings.

Racing down County Road I took in all the changes I could, which were few and far between, until we reached Everton Valley. We stopped at the lights and I could see Scotland Road off into the distance. Waiting at those lights was difficult as I suddenly realised how far I'd travelled and therefore how far away I was.

I turned to Rosie and we chatted to distract me and brought the others in the car into the conversation to somehow cover myself in that united protection. As the car was moved off I felt a release of the anxiety pressure & a relief that we weren't stuck at the lights anymore. In my mind the actual length of the roads or rather, the distance between two points,Walton Church and Everton Valley for example, seemed a lot shorter so it made me a little more uneasy as I realised the journey was further than I had visualised.

Turning onto Gt Homer Street was a real thrill as I knew I was stones throw from Town now and at the end of this road I'd be on Islington and I would have made it. Anticipation, excitement and nerves are such similar emotions as to be easily mistaken and how you react to these similar feelings can colour how you originally deal with panic attacks.

Deal with them badly and you can begin a spiral, deal with them well and you can move on.

It goes without saying, originally and still to this day, I deal with them badly but it can be as easy as deciding a feeling is not nerves but anticipation that can break a panic circle.

That sounds glib and anyone reading this with panic attacks will quickly say "only if it was a easy as that!" and they'd be right but ultimately it is a change of emphasis in your outlook that can be the difference when aiming to change your relationship with fear.

Remember panic attacks is something we've allowed to have power in our lives until we almost cant remember a time when we didn't feel like this. At least we cant remember how to get back to feeling as we used to. Anxiety subconsciously convinces you that there's no other way to feel and react.

Pulling past St Anne Street Police Station I saw St Johns Tower and the car erupted in a sea of joy. We were all so excited. My stomaching was jumping, my hands where shaking but I didn't care. I could see through the night to the illuminated buildings on the Strand and the Liver Buildings and my heart was full. My head was swimming and it wasn't from the diazepam.

Stopping at the lights at the junction of London Road my neck was craning to see out of the steamed up windows. Excitement running through veins that usually I would fear to feel.
We crossed London Road and headed for Rodney Street and Hardman/Leece Street.

This was the greatest point of the trip for me, turning onto this brightly lit street which even at this time, around 8.20pm, was quite busy. My head was like a bladder on a stick as I turned to try and take in as much as possible. I could see down Renshaw Street ,and as this was Christmas time, all the lights that lit up Rapid making everything I took in a swirl of colour.

We were hoping to be able to stop and for me to achieve my goal of standing on Bold Street but to be honest I was utterly satisfied and it wouldn't have mattered if we had turned round and gone home. It looked as if that was what was going to happen aswell as there was nowhere to park, even for a moment.

We drove down Berry Street and we did a u-turn under the Chinese Arch which I was seeing for the first time I might add. On the way back up the road we found a cheeky space to park - right on the pavement at the very top of Bold Street. If we were quick it'd be ok.

Now my legs began to shake and I almost appealed to go home but I got out and couldn't believe that I'd actually achieved everything I'd set out to.

In 60 days I'd managed to get from my front door to travelling to Town to walking on Bold Street. All my doubts were gone and here I was. Glorious.

There were photos and hugs all round and then we jumped back in the car and started back the way we came. I had always imagined that the day I got back to Town I would cry like a baby but somehow I had no tears. It struck me straight away & left me puzzled.

The only thing I can think is that I was so determined, so single minded that there was no need for tears of joy, or relief, only a sense of achievement. Silly as it sounds I feel a little sorry I didn't, that somehow the unleashing of tears was a fitting end and oddly maybe even a reward.

The journey home flew by and is now a blur but I remember how we all couldn't stop talking and I felt on cloud nine. I do remember the celebrations when we got home though. Rosie had bought cake and crisps and Champagne and we all relived the journey in. I was talking ten to the dozen and many toasts were done. A more wonderful night I don't think I'd had in a long long time.

I'd recorded the Liverpool Nativity and on watching it it was hard to accept but exhilarating to know that I'd just been there. Me, in town! I couldn't wind down from that until about 6am, reliving the trip over and over and planning what was to come next.

The next time was just as successful but I was left feeling a little downhearted that I didn't have the courage to get out and step into one of my old haunts. I was now ready to do more than just drive through town, so for my next trip I corralled a group of friends and arranged to meet in the Pilgrim for the next Sunday coming.

I was really excited and felt that this was something I was certain to achieve, a feeling I hadn't felt on my second trip in. The weekend came and Rosie and I were picked up and we headed into Town. Everyone else was already making their way to the pub and with any luck bagging a booth. I was really hoping that we could find a parking space as near to the Pilgrim as possible and as luck would have it we found a spot at the junction of Pilgrim Street & Mount Street.

All around me were what looked like these newly refurbished Georgian houses seemingly full of people just getting on with domesticity. The last time I was on this street the houses were so run down, now it seemed vibrant and full of everyday life. That domesticity only made me feel more at home and gave a warmth to the city streets that I'd previously not seen.

Of course, people have always lived in town but in nowhere near as many numbers and nowhere near as nice surroundings. It no longer looks like shabby student or doss house accommodation but more like real homes and all the normality and calmness that brings. Of course I may be wrong but that's the impression I got. Perversely then, I was taken aback when I stepped out the car to hear a Cockney voice screaming at the top of his lungs for someone named Lisa. As silly and as wet as it sounds it actually made me jump.

After getting my bearings and breathing in the air for a second I realised we were right by the Liverpool Institute and therefore LIPA.

I'd never seen it before so I went off for a wander with Rosie and Sandy in tow like I'd never been away, all fuelled by a heady juvenile excitement and a dash of pharmaceutical dutch courage. I waltzed up the steps and peered through the window whilst Rosie digitally documented the occasion. Next it was to the Pilgrim. Nothing (well, almost nothing) had changed.

The same sloped concrete that always felt slightly slippy as you walked in, the same awkward brick steps, the same clientele...well at least they looked the same. It was wonderful to be there and I soaked it all in, enjoying the new aswell as the old. They'd removed the wonderful enormous booth at the far end and the mini juke boxes on each booth didn't work anymore, which was sad but it was the Pilgrim and here I was.

The only sour note was having talent foisted upon me from a guy who looked like a cross between one of Charles the Firsts court, complete with whispy moustache and beard, and a member of the band Love and Money from 1988, replete with polkadot shirt & bolero jacket.

Still I heard later on that the mandolin he was thrashing had just been purchased for £10 from some girl outside Ye Cracke. This of course wasn't the sour note, oh no, as much as his utter lack of humility rankled, it was his subsequent anti-LFC songs that he paraded out for everyone to hear at the top of his voice.

It was almost like he thought he was at home alone, or that anyone would be pleased to hear what he had to say. God bless his ego anyway. Odd as it sounds the fact that I was amused, or to be precise bemused, shows how at ease I was.  I can get quite anxious if there is anything niggling at me so, oddly this harmless chap going about his business, however vocally, added to my evening in a positive way.

From there we thought we'd try to find a parking space by FACT. I'd heard such good things about it that I really hoped we could pop down. After a few circuits of the Bold Street and Wood Street area we were near to giving up when one my friends (who had walked down from the Pilgrim on foot to have a ciggie) spotted and guarded a space on Bold Street about 5 yards away from the square that leads to Wood Street entrance.

I was immediately impressed as soon as I walked in. How the architect has used the curve of each screen room and the bold use of colour and plain concrete immediately marks it out as unlike anything I've seen in Liverpool before. It felt like a haven of calmness and creativity.

We decided to go upstairs for a drink after I'd stood face pressed up against the window of the then closed gift shop drooling at all the art and design books. I was greeted by a quiet oasis, and I know this may sound odd to you but I even made note of the people openly using their laptops. I knew people did that of course, my exile hasn't been on a deserted island after all, but I'd never seen it and there it was, in Liverpool.

Yes I sound like a an idiot but you must remember that in the brief time I've been able to get out of my street I'm seeing sights that I've only previously seen on TV. Something so mundane as that is akin to stumbling across El Dorado to me, you'd heard it existed, even seen some proof but finding it to be true is exhilarating.

Mock if you will, even I find it silly, but I come to these things with wide eyes revelling in the things I knew and the things I hadn't seen. Another joy was that it seemed like a scally free zone and that really must mean I had found El Dorado.

We only stayed for one drink but all in all it was enough and then we made our way home only stopping off for chips on the way. Brilliant.

I was so overjoyed at what I'd achieved I cant tell you but suffice to say my mind was once again whirring with what I'd done and what was to come.
I'm like anyone else, I never wanted my life to be disappointing but these past years have been just that, with some wonderful exceptions. I dreamt of lofty things and although they were hardly ever really going to happen to someone like me anyway what actually replaced those dreams where worse than the mundanity I was so afraid of as a youth, more powerful than my hopes and more crushing and soul sapping than I ever expected.

So, life? Well it begins when it begins and ends when it likes and the middle bit is never usually to your plans.

Don't get me wrong I still think I've lost a lot but maybe not as much is out of reach as I thought. So I have to ask, are these trips only a sign of life or can I say now they are a fact of life?