19/12/2025
( Trigger Warning )
I remember how much I loved to listen to music. The sheer excitement of your favorite songs gripping your emotions in a way that seemed almost intoxicating.
Music has the power to take you away to another place or hypnotize you from all the pain and troubles of this world. Music also heals the heart, or tears it into a thousand pieces. It can be like medicine or it can sting like poison. But either way, music used to be a place I would run to for relief.
An escape from reality.
But 2019, for me, “was the day the music died.”
Everything I enjoyed died. The thought of listening to music while in throes of akathisia would be torture to my already inflamed mind.
The thoughts of what I used to be before akathisia would always be there as fiery needles to remind me of a place I would never return.
Twisting, tightening and groaning for hours on my bed. Convulsing and violently vibrating as the volts and currents of electricity pulsated through my entire body. At times I would be so uncomfortable and exhausted that I would get up at 3am in the morning to sprint around my neighborhood to blunt the hellish energy trapped inside of my trembling brain and body.
The most bizarre part of it all was I was that no one really cared or even understood what I was going through. I couldn’t explain to them that I was terrified and needed to get out of this situation as soon as possible before it kills me. I would pace the floor, rock back and forth, tears streaming down my face as my family just stared in disgust and dismay.
The music died, my family died, my friends all died, my job died, my dreams died, I died. There’s no other explanation that makes sense! What else could I say?
What else could I do. The doctors didn’t know what to do, the psychiatrists didn’t know what to do.
No one had any answers. I was left alone to suffer my fate. When I opened my mouth to try to explain, one would need a translator to be able to understand the jolted broken gibberish coming out of my trembling lips. I would always choose to retreat. Hu**ed up, slouched over, wheezing and shaking back to my bedroom. Many times I would choose the corner floor of my room where the dog usually slept to finish out the day. Panicked into a fetal position I would lay there until the next day.
This will never end. I’m stuck like this forever.
At least I thought. And slowly, very slow I began to heal. Until one day I got out of bed as one rising from the dead. Crawling out of my coffin under the sweet rays of the morning sunshine.
I finally healed. I was alive again. The music was there waiting for me again. But there is no sweeter melody than being set free from the slavery of akathisia.
- Jeff Rose