"This Is Me"

"This is real, this is me
I'm exactly where I'm supposed be now
Gonna let the light shine on me
Now I've found who I am
There's no way to hold it in
No more hiding who I wanna be"

Tonight I performed my first open-mic.
I'd been thinking about it for a little while now. I'd recently seen an episode of Buffy The Vampire Slayer in which Giles performs The Who's "Behind Blue Eyes" at a coffee shop and thought I could do that. I often record songs I write and share them with a select few of my friends. I consulted these people with this idea of performing my songs for an audience and they were quite enthusiastic about it, encouraging me to do so.
I've never had stage fright before. I've had pre-show jitters a few times, but never truly nervous about going on stage. I'd known for a long time that I was a performer; that belonged on a stage. However, earlier today I was genuinely nervous.

When I began my search for friendly stages that would be open to my style of music (kinda pop-acoustic/ alternative rock-ish stuff), a sort of anxious excitement began to fill me. I'd known that a my suppression of my artistic side and my need to perform was (at least in part) due to my suffering of major depression. I began to feel as if I'd deprived myself over the last year or so (since I've been living with major depression / the epic variety show fail #&^(@#$!!! circa September 2007). It was as if I had prevented myself from seeking out venues at which I could perform; something I felt (and still feel) I had to do. I couldn't wait to finally unleash that ever-essential part of me.
I sent out a few emails here and there to places I'd searched up on the internet that said they had open mics. It didn't take me long to find one willing to let me play for them. Actually, I just received the email yesterday evening. It didn't leave me a lot of time to prepare, but who was I to complain? In any case, was to be at the restaurant at 2000 this evening.
When I woke up this morning (err... afternoon), I was still pretty excited. I spent the hour or so before I was to leave the house practicing, making sure I was frosty and ready go when I got to the restaurant. It was nearly a half hour before I'd planned to leave when a thought occurred to me: what if they don't like me?
I realized that this is a normal reaction but then considered that I am a semi-seasoned stage performer. Not only that, but I've claimed that nothing fulfills me more than performing for others. I've also been one to condone the ideal that shouldn't care too much what one does, so long as one is fulfilling their desires (and not hurting people in the process), but the truth is I wanted these people to enjoy me; enjoy what I had to offer. But I began to wonder if perhaps what I had to offer wasn't what the people who would be attendance wanted; began to wonder if maybe I wasn't really any good at all. I mean, sure, the few people I've shared my music with greatly approve, but they are my friends. It's practically their job to build me up! The public, though, is a different story: they are seldom understanding and quick to judge. Also, an important thing a person pursuing the performing arts must have(important, at least, if you plan on making it big), even more important than the talent is ones physical appearance. And let's face it: I'm not exactly the type of person the media would label a handsome devil (I don't think I'm very good looking, especially if you consider the guys the media considers "handsome" (incidentally, I think most of those guys aren't that great... then again, I'm straight so I don't know if my opinion counts). Also, I'm not evil enough (if at all) to be a devil...).

I walked into the restaurant, confidence, practically shattered, and order myself a coke and rum (I seem to favor them in the last while). Probably not the best idea since I'm running desperately low on funds (Oh yeah, still absolutely no work yet) but I didn't want to be all fidgety and the drink could work to keep my hands busy until my set. I also thought perhaps the drink might "calm my nerves"... no such luck.
The place wasn't very full, which was both good and bad: Good in that I didn't feel so pressured to perform a completely stellar show, bad in that there weren't too many people to perform for. The people who went before me were pretty good. One guy was all guitar skills and very little in the vocals and timing department, but if he got those two down-pat, he'd be pretty damn awesome. The other two were folk musicians. I quite enjoyed them (even though one guy seemed to work extra hard to make his lyrics more impenetrable than bloody Fort Knox).
I felt as if I'd been shown up by the previous musicians, but i took my place on the stage at the appropriate time. I can't remember for certain, but I'm pretty sure I was sweating bullets before I was on stage. I'm talkin' big ol' .50 cal slugs. I thought I was gonna choke like Eminem in the opening scene of "8 Mile". Instead of barfing on my sweater as he did, I took a deep breath and reminded myself that this was what I was supposed to do. That this is what I've waited so long for and deprived myself of for so long.
To sum it up, it actually wasn't half bad. The few people who were watching gave me positive feedback and the gal running the show (a redhead <3) said she enjoyed hearing me play after I'd finished my set and invited me to come back every Monday, something I might take her up on.
On the way out, I stopped by the bar to pay my "tab" of one drink. The barkeep told me he'd heard me and said he liked it. My reward: another coke and rum on the house.

Well, that was fun and, even though it was only a half-hour long set, I'm beat. Time for sleep.