Disclaimer: this post deals with mental health, specifically my experience with anxiety at a concert, just so you’re aware before reading.
“You don’t look very good, why did you even try?”
I rushed to get ready after work on Friday so that I could have some dinner and a drink out before heading to Rod Laver Arena. I caught a glimpse in the mirror at the restaurant and although my hair looked alright, I’d taken the time to straighten it the night before, it wasn’t very vibrant because it needs recolouring and it had dry shampoo in it.
“Yeah, but she’s thin and pretty.”
I wore my black ripped jeans, they’re pretty old now and pretty ripped but they’re comfortable. My black combat boots, they’re falling apart, literally. They barely have any sole left, they’re ripped at the seams and the material is wearing away. I didn’t ear my Twenty One Pilots shirt form last year’s concert because a) I couldn’t find it and b) it probably needed washing, I haven’t worn it in a while because it’s not the kind of shirt I can wear to work and I haven’t been doing much on the weekends. Instead I wore an oversized “boys” charcoal t-shirt that I feel comfortable in. There was a girl there who practically had my hair colour and a girl who almost had my outfit. Both gorgeous. They mightn’t think so but I did.
“People are looking at you and wondering why you’re here all alone.”
I made it down to my seat, which was at the very front of the lower seating area and on the left of the stairs, meaning it was all by itself, right at the railing. I remember making sure I got a good seat, especially at such a big venue, I wouldn’t be able to handle being the general admission area on the ground, being jostled around by everyone, from all sides. I couldn’t afford taking a day off of work to line up all day to get access to the front. It’s just not plausible. I belong in the seated area.
“They can see right through you.”
There were people shouting across sections to friends that they’d spotted, others singing Happy Birthday in a huge chorus, people rushing around everywhere and laughing. It was that middle section between the supporting act and the main event. I didn’t want to take out my book and start reading, I thought that might be a bit too weird.
I started feeling like I was suffocating and I didn’t want anyone to know.
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