This is an absolutely outstanding piece of personal writing from @rafaelbehr that very much chimed with me. Substitute Covid, depression and diabetes (all much less serious of course), and you pretty much have the reasons I gave up political engagement. https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2021/jan/16/i-thrived-on-the-tension-and-drama-of-british-politics-then-i-had-a-heart-attack

We’re taught from an early age that if you’re good at something you must enjoy it. I was good at studying politics, then teaching it, then working in the civil service, and then commenting and advising on it, or at least people told me I was, so I must enjoy it, right?

Well, no, not really. I did for a while. As Rafael points out, adrenaline is thrilling, as is being told you are good at something, or winning in negotiations, or having lots of people follow you on twitter. Of course it is.

But in 2014 I chose to leave that life to make music, which I’m not that good at, but do actually enjoy. It was great, and I got to spend my days creating and learning and working with lovely talented people. I was very happy indeed.

In 2016 though I realised that I was one of only a few of people who had worked for the UK in the EU who were able to speak out to counteract the stream of untruths being spread. Others were still civil servants, or now in the private sector, so limited in what they could say.

So I thought I had a responsibility to speak out, and did, and to my surprise far more people listened and were interested in what I had to say than I ever expected. This was lovely of people, and encouraging, and sparked lots of adrenaline and endorphins.

But it took its toll cumulatively on me. This paragraph sums it up perfectly. I was sick all the time. I had colds that wouldn’t go away, tomach problems, an ear infection that lasted 4 months, my weight was out of control. I’d cram whatever I needed to keep going into my mouth.

I’d always said I just wanted to go back to making music, and I should have done that as soon as the 2019 election was over and Brexit became inevitable. But the adrenaline and endorphins are addictive, and it seemed essential, for some reason, that I kept going.

The modern world tells us that followers, likes and retweets are a measure of our value. If people like it, what you’re saying must be important. You must be important. Platforms are literally designed to activate this reward system in your brain. It’s bollocks, honestly.

Kind as it was of people to follow me and read what I wrote, having a large-ish account was a millstone that dragged me away from the things I wanted to do - music, spend time with my family, be calm and happy - and down into a self-destructive cycle, mentally and physically.

The false self-justification that “it’s important” (it wasn’t) that I keep going squashed painfully shit self-delusionary attempts to limit engagement or take twitter breaks, even when I got Covid and then didn’t recover.

[As a side-note, I did at least start saying no to requests to do TV and Radio. Why anyone wants to be on TV is totally beyond me. Every appearance meant at least 24 hours of total anxiety for me. I’m looking forward to never doing it again, unless it’s from behind a guitar]

It took a proper breakdown, triggered (though not caused) by, of all things, many remainers’ nasty reactions to the people of Sunderland and the North East (which includes my friends and family), to make me stop.

The despair it triggered, combined with years of anxiety, bad living, adrenaline ups and disappointment downs, and debilitating long-Covid, brain-fog (and yet to be diagnosed diabetes), led to a total breakdown.

So I did the unthinkable, and just stopped. That was the moment recovery started. The world carried on as before. Me not commenting on events didn’t make the slightest difference to them, or anything. Recovery became my full time occupation.

I tried to total self-exile from Twitter. Cold Turkey. It worked for a bit, but I had lost a connection to the outside world which I needed with illness and lockdown. This account and the wonderful #GuitarTwitter allowed me to have a happy, fun Twitter without the politics.

And it’s working. My mental health is the best its been in 4 years. Mrs Moog got her husband back, and Mini-Moog his papa. The long-Covid/diabetes combo is a fucker, but the incremental improvement is real, I’ve lost a lot of weight, and the diabetes is well under control.

I never actually wanted to do politics. I wanted to do philosophy, but I failed my formal logic course, and I kept getting good grades in politics, so I did that instead. Of course. If you’re good at it, you must like it and you must do it.

Being good at something doesn’t mean you have to do it.

Being average at something doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy it.

Your mental and physical health have to come first.

The adrenaline and endorphin rushes social media are designed to make you try to maintain are dangerous.

I think that’s all. Didn’t really mean to do this thread, but Rafael’s article sparked it and it kept coming. I’m glad I did though. I’ve finally leaned that it’s not important whether anyone reads it or not, so I’m off to build lego with Mini-Moog. Bon Weekend!

Coincidentally, I’ve just now been watching this week’s @thatpedalshow as I do every week and Mick Taylor talks about coping with similar things. It chimed with me like Raphael’s article did. Worth it from 15m10s even if you’re not in #GuitarTwitter.