When I was little my Father used to take me to piano recitals. At the time I took it all in my stride but now he's gone, I miss them and wish I'd thanked him more for introducing me to my stopcock. When I need to vent fury, and sometimes I really do, it's music that I use to drown out my thoughts.
Playing mostly classical pieces on the piano and harp, there's not much chance of really thrashing either instrument without causing expensive damage, or injuring my hands. Prokofiev is okay if you have hands like an octopus and like to wallow in depression but I need something that makes my ear drums hurt and numbs my brain. Lately Bach and Chopin just aren't cutting the mustard, they've been ousted by Limp Bizkit and Slipknot. I would like to say that I've enjoyed Mastodon but take it from me, they're the only band that can make Motorhead sound like radio 2 music, I'm not there yet.
One morning on the drive to work, I chanced upon "The Devil In I" (Slipknot) and with a puff of smoke Beelzebub was sitting on my shoulder. Only he wasn't just sitting he was screaming, like his lungs were fit to burst. Beelzebub screams inside my head a way that I can only dream of screaming. When I put death metal on, he yells like he's having his nails pulled out but the weird thing is, when he stops there's a beautiful silence, I feel better, then he disappears.
Having spent the last two weeks pogoing between A&E departments, hospital appointments, doctors appointments, bed and the shed, I've had plenty of time to refine my angry playlist. I've learnt that being unwell makes me angry, cancer makes me angry. And before anyone dares to utter mindfulness in the comments, please don't or I might be very curt. Anger is great. It clears my frustration, stops me wallowing in self pity and gives me energy. Best of all, after a couple of hours of evening metal in the shed, I go to bed dreaming of Bruce Dickinson (Iron Maiden) and all is well.
I do wonder about my middle age metal fetish. True, it's got me through some pretty bleak hours but at what cost? I've taken to wearing hoodies, tight jeans and band t-shirts. Is this what cancer has done to me? Is this a normal reaction to chemically induced menopause?
Maybe I am Beelzebub.
