‘Sounds Like Hope’ Music Video – Out Now!

The ‘Sounds Like Hope’ music video is officially out!

I’d always imagined this video animated and I really, really wanted to have Lois – Lois de Silva, who animated the ‘Clarity’ music video – do it because I love her animation style. As I said when we released the ‘Clarity’ video, I’ve known her for a long time, she’s one of the loveliest people I’ve ever met, and I have always wanted to collaborate with her. So the fact that that was possible was absolutely amazing and the plan to have animation in this video is actually what sparked the idea for  having animation in the previous video. I’m so, so grateful to Lois for saying yes and for all the hard work she put into the two videos, but especially this one. Me, Richard (my co-pilot on this whole project), and Lois spent a lot of time discussing how we wanted it to look and I just love how it came out. Lois, you are incredible and it’s an honour to have your art as part of a project that means everything to me.

I love this music video so much and I hope you guys love it too. And if you haven’t heard the song yet, you can buy/stream it here.

BEHIND THE SONG: Sounds Like Hope

‘Sounds Like Hope’ has been out for a week now. It’s always so strange putting a new song out into the world. It makes you feel so vulnerable. Or that’s how it makes me feel, at least. But it’s also exciting because these are songs I’ve been waiting to share for such a long time. So it’s a weird mish-mash of feelings.

I’ve just posted a new video to my YouTube channel, telling the story behind the inspiration and the writing of the song. I think I’ve talked about this before but, while this is primarily a mental health (and Autism, obviously) focussed blog, music is a big part of my life so I will always post about that too. Having said that, my music is heavily influenced by my experiences with my mental health so it links the two biggest parts of my life together, mental health and music. So it actually kind of makes sense to post about it here.

Of course every artist wants people to hear their music, the work they’ve poured their heart and soul into. So, yes, obviously I want people to listen to my songs. But it’s more nuanced than that; I would think it’s the same for every songwriter – we all just have our own, personal reasons. For me, I spent a lot of time feeling like there wasn’t any music I related to because of what I was struggling with. Why would I care about a love song when just surviving each day was a struggle? So a big part of writing music for me is writing music for people who have struggled like me, who might struggle with music the way I did (and sometimes still do). I don’t want to exclude anyone – we’re all so layered and complicated that I’m sure most people can relate to these songs in one way or another – but I specifically wanted to write music that people who have struggled with their mental health could relate to (I think I’ve actually gotten better at this since writing these songs but you’ll have to wait for the next project to hear those…). So of course I want people to hear my music but I really, really want people like me to hear my music.

If you haven’t listened to the song yet, you can buy or stream it here and the music video will be out very soon.

When You Don’t Want To Feel Better

I have now been clinically depressed for thirteen months. I’ve been living with depression a lot longer than that but, in May of last year, everything spiralled and I was diagnosed with clinical depression for the second time. So I know my depression pretty well now and there are a few differences between those two states. One is the presence of hope: while living with depression, it’s a constant battle between my depression and the hope that things will change and get better. But sometimes that hope just disappears and the depression takes over. That’s when things start to get really bad. Another difference is the ability to cope; when my depression is particularly bad, I feel completely overwhelmed on a daily basis and devastated on a weekly one. I feel like one more impact and I’ll never recover.

I’ve been in what feels like the lowest place I’ve ever been for the past month. I wish I could describe it but I don’t know if I can; I don’t know if there are words that accurately capture that feeling. It’s like that feeling after you’ve had blood taken, after they’ve pulled the needle out, and your arm hurts in a way you’ve never really felt before but it’s everywhere. It’s like you’re drowning inside your own body. It’s like having a black hole in your chest that’s sucking everything in, leaving you aching and empty. It’s like all of those things and none of them at the same time.

But recently there’s been a slight shift. It’s so slight that saying ‘I feel better,’ feels like a gross over exaggeration and fills me with anxiety. But it is there and that’s really frightening to me. I’ve spent weeks feeling like I’m suffocating, like I can’t possibly survive feeling like this for another minute, but now that that’s not the case, I’m honestly terrified. As miserable as the depression is, ‘better’ is unknown. And scary. As much as I wanted to feel anything else, being depressed is somehow safe and… comforting is the wrong word, but hopefully you know what I mean. It’s clear. I know where the edges are, how it feels. In some ways, being depressed is easier because it’s familiar. I know it sounds weird but it’s like nothing can hurt me because everything hurts already. So, if I step out of that, it opens me up to really feeling hurt again and that is really, really scary.

But what if I’m not ready? Being depressed takes up so much space within me. What if I’m not ready to process everything that I’d have to if that space wasn’t being monopolised by the depression, if it was being filled with more life than I’ve had up until now? That’s overwhelming. I feel so raw and so fragile. What if I’m not strong enough? What if something happens and suddenly I’m crashing down even lower than before? I’m not sure I could survive that. I feel like a fractured windowpane that will shatter if it takes one more hit.

I feel like a little like I’m being dragged into ‘better’ regardless of how I actually feel. I do feel better physically: the brain fog has receded significantly, I don’t feel so numb, to the world and my own emotions, and so on. I’ve even had flashes of future plans, like going to the gym and learning how to bake something new; I haven’t had thoughts like that in a long time. But despite all of that, I don’t feel better mentally so it’s confusing and overwhelming and stressful. I know that that kind of change takes time, conscious processing, and most likely therapy, but that’s hard to remember when I’m feeling so overwhelmed by anxiety.

And part of that anxiety is this suffocating feeling that something bad is about to happen. This is something I’ve struggled with for years (it’s on my list to write about) and although I know it’s completely irrational, it doesn’t feel that way when I’m in it. It feels completely logical. A good thing happened and so a bad thing must happen to balance it out. I dared to want more than I already had and so the universe must punish me for it. When I write it out, I can see how ridiculous it is but it’s how I FEEL. It’s like the instinct that you’re in danger: it’s that strong. You can’t just ignore it. I want to write more about this in the future because it’s important and complicated and distressing.

This is all really overwhelming and scary. And it’s really confusing to suddenly feel like I don’t want to get into a better space after desperately wanting it for so long. It’s really weird when your physical emotions and your mental emotions don’t match, if that makes any sense. I don’t really feel like I understand it so I end up feeling like I don’t want to tell other people because they might assume that it’s as simple as feeling better and therefore expect more from me, more than I’m capable or feel capable of giving. This is a learning curve and I seem to be moving through it very quickly but also very slowly. It’s a mess. I’m a mess. Thank you for sticking with me through this very ramble-y description of it.