Open Mic

So today is Sunday. I got to church in the evening only to learn that there would be an open mic session after church. I usually stress a lot after church when the comforting structure of music-sermon-prayer is stripped away and I'm required to ad lib through an unpredictable meander of social interaction. Groups form all around me and I'm unable to hold to one train of though due to the rumbling sound of  all the conversations sending me into sensory overload. When I was on my antidepressant drug, I could take it all in. It didn't make me the bubbly extrovert I wanted to be but at least, whilst on it, I didn't have the urge to flee from social situations.

I knew I would stay for a short while and leave at my usual time. Immediately after the closing prayer, I shot out to secure a place in the lounge. I found an armchair right next to the stage and I threw myself in it. On second thought, I stood up and moved away in case the armchair was reserved for the church leader or an equally important person. Instead, I sat on a large sofa in the middle of the room. But then, the thought of being squashed by people when the room becomes fully packed compelled me to relocate comfortably in a cozy corner next to a derelict electric piano on whose keys I stimmed frantically to regulate myself emotionally.

One bubbly lady whose name I haven't quite grasped came towards me. "You're so quiet!" I managed to hear her say amidst the brouhaha as the place gradually got noisier. An aura of anger rose steadily inside of me. I had to suppress it before saying anything for fear of spiralling into an uncontrollable meltdown. I closed my eyes, breathed in deeply. I wouldn't have gotten into this state if that was the first time I'd had this sort of conversation. But it wasn't. One reason I avoid social groups is that I always get to the place where people judge me based on my inability to 'gel' with others, and they often ask me publicly 'why are you too quiet?'

" Is that a problem?" I managed to ask slowly and as politely as I could. One wrong move and this woman might find herself paying for all the hundreds of people who had previously dragged me into this depressing conversation and left me anguishing in low self esteem. She answered wisely by saying that she wasn't bothered, told me she used to live around my area and asked me if I wanted to perform something during the open mic.

It wasn't something that I had planned but it could be for me that one moment that reveals to the world the treasures in people that doesn't show in their outward appearance. It could be my Susan Boyle moment, my Paul Potts moment... Or more appropriately, my David and Goliath Moment. I said "ok". And the adrenalin rushed in.

I haven't attended the First Baptist Church for long. Just under a year. Having had a vast experience of leading congregations in worship, I wanted to join a church where I could help with leading, playing the guitar and co writing songs with other musicians. Unfortunately, previous experiences had shaped my thinking such that I had now become scared of people because I could never tell their intentions. After overcoming my reservations, I had agreed to speak to one of the leaders regarding my desire to join the music team. He took my email and said he would create a login where I could find all the song sheets and the duty rota for each Sunday. I never heard from him in that regard. Months later, resigning to the fact that I had been forgotten, I would pick the guitar after church and quietly sing to myself. No one ever took notice of me. One day someone did. The lead pastor. He spoke to one of his leaders to get me on the team. Again, my details were taken, I was briefed about the login and I faced an anxious wait, occasionally bringing my acoustic guitar to their rehearsals and playing awkwardly alongside them from the back of the room...until one day this same leader approached me (I was so excited, it felt like ' FINALLY') then he continued: " We would like you to operate the lights for us while we sing on stage..." I smiled and maintained my decorum but he had killed something in me and I struggle to look at him in the face ever since.

 Back to the noisy room, the woman called one of the organisers called James to tell him I would be performing . James is a leader in the church as well. He had a guitar and asked me what song I would be playing because they needed to know which song so that as soon is I took the stage I would be ready to go. After a brief hesitation, I told him the title of my song. " It's a worship song" I exclaimed. James' face changed. I couldn't read the expression but I trust my senses that there was a significant change followed by a disturbing silence. I thought" is a worship song not appropriate for a church open mic session? Had the congregation had enough of religious songs for the night? I would have sang something else if I knew how to. But contemporary worship was all I knew and all I listened to. It was my special interest and my obsession.

This was my first open mic ever so I was absolutely clueless about the unspoken social rules that governed the event.

People would climb the stage and sing popular songs that everybody knew, except me. There were loud garage raps and R&B songs and everyone seemed happy.

In the meantime, I was a nervous wreck. I hadn't sang publicly for almost 2 years. I was worried about the key in which I would be singing. I even asked for a capo. Will I get the right balance between the high and low notes? I found a perfect key and I had to hum it throughout before I forgot it... Unfortunately, I had a moment of distraction and out of my mind went  the key.

The more I heard people sing the less I felt daunted. But I still suffered from high levels of anxiety characterised by an intense headache, hammering at my temples, extreme nausea and butterflies in my tummy. I didn't find it funny at all.

What if I forgot the words of the song? For the umpteenth time, I brought out my phone and tried to decipher, in the poorly lit bar that doubled as a church lounge on Sundays, the lyrics of the song which had previously been second nature to me...

After each singer, I would anticipate the sound of my name. My heart would skip a beat, then trod on frantically, nausea would rise and I would stim some more on the mute piano until a name is called. By this time it was long past my regular home time but I was staying late uniquely because this seemed to be the last chance I would ever have to communicate to them what I could really do; it was now becoming obvious to me that being in my late 30's, bespectacled, slightly balding and carrying some bulging baggage around the middle area, I didn't look like one of the "in " crowd anymore. I had to really demonstrate an outstanding level of musical acumen for me to be welcomed into this team of young and attractive people.

My heart pounded throughout the session. People had started leaving. I would have left if I wasn't singing. I stayed and waited, song after song, minute after crushing minute... Until the MC announced "And now for the finale!!!" That's me, I thought! I felt sick... For me, the threat of failure is as horrible  and as intense as the prospect of success. The only difference is that the fruit of success is more palatable to the heart and to the self esteem. 

As I encouraged myself by saying " This is your time to finally shine", another name was mentioned and my heart sank, free-falling into an abysmal place of melancholic misery.

" How could this happen?" I thought to myself with utter disbelief? I would have cried if I could. I had been through a period of high anxiety only to plummet into deep depression in such a short period of time.

The lucky person who got to have the mic was the rapper who had first opened the floor. This time, his rap had the name of the church in it and the audience was required to participate in a call and response. After a while I couldn't hear anything...the place went quiet, except for the dancing and raising of hands. All I could hear was my heart beat, and a loud ringing in my ears. I felt like there was fire in my belly. I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw up. I knew I'd had enough and it was time for me to move on.

As I stood up, I saw James. I avoided his gaze, picked up my bag and coat and made my way out, confronting the  confluence of the congregation and finally making it to the open air. The indoor-outdoor transition wasn't really thought through so it hit me like a blow. The cold wind. The noise of cars. I felt a deep sadness.I was gutted, disgusted sick and tired of life. I felt I had overstayed my welcome in church and on Earth. I wish I was still on my medication. On them, I could handle disappointments without a thought. Without them, I faced days and weeks of my brain replaying this excruciating event. I wanted to cry it all out but I couldn't. I felt very embarrassed, wondering how I was ever going to get all this behind me. Wondering how I could survive in church after this experience.

As I made my way to the underground train station, I thought of how I'd lost all my spoons to that open mic session and I asked myself how on earth would I find strength to navigate through the week. I felt drained. I wished I could have the week off to recover. As I stood on the platform, I spotted a group of people from the church. Two of them had sang a duet during the session. I didn't need a reminder of the nights events so I moved away from them to the other end of the platform as I thought to myself: " since I can't cry or share this with anybody, I know an ideal way to digest these pent up feelings... I'll just write it in my blog. I just might feel more relieved..."