Now, I like to consider myself a very giving person. I tend to put the needs of others before my own, and often end up neglecting my life while climbing mountains for others. I've started to move out of it, as it's understandably had some negative effects on my growth, but it has been a way of life for me for quite some time. I went to college, but that was for my parents. I almost failed multiple classes because I was helping out friends with their homework and then ended up with no time to do my own. I've been in bands where I have no real say, but bring my all to the table. I gave my time to help others learn material so they didn't have to feel less than adequate when we performed the songs.
This album was the first big thing that I'd ever decided to do in memory that was an entirely selfish endeavor. I decided to call it Flight of the Dragon, the name of an album my dad had made during my pre-teen years but had never really gotten "out there". I couldn't afford to pay my musicians fairly up front, and told all of them so. I planned and plotted and made a campaign, my lovely family, friends, and fans all footing the bill for this adventure through the Kickstarter. We made the amount necessary to start the project, and many celebrations were had.
And then I got sick. For months.
I couldn't figure out what the problem was. I'd stopped smoking in March 2013, and managed to curb the appetite for nicotine with an e-cig that I swore by. I had halted the loss of vocal range and the daily morning routine of getting yesterday's tar to settle. I had started eating well, cut out dairy and most grains, started exercising. Cleaned the mold from the apartment that was probably my fault for putting my furniture just a little too close to the outside walls. I supplemented, took tinctures, and did nasal rinses most days.
It's important to note that the impact that singing at half power for months had on me was enormous. I felt like there was nothing I could do to forward my album in the meantime if I didn't have my voice. People would tell me how good I sounded but every time I sang I imagined I could feel my vocal chords getting a little more damaged. I was able to push through singing at my local gigs, but I couldn't step in front of a studio mic without wanting to cry from how congested I sounded. I felt like I couldn't ask musicians to play on drum tracks with no vocals to lead dynamics. Every time I thought about the album and the people who support me and give me their love and ask when it's coming out, I would break down.
And no matter what I did, I couldn't get better. I had a constant drip and a slight cough or scratchy throat that nothing seemed to fix. Allergy pills made me exhausted and emotionally frail, and one day I finally remembered that Obamacare had kicked in so I made an appointment. After deciding to stop using the e-cig as a last resort and getting an allergy test, I finally found out that I'm rather severely allergic to dust mites.
So to cut it short (er), I finally have my voice back, and things are finally going to start getting done.
I awake from my depressed slumber, if you will, realizing that I need to very quickly find a studio mic, learn how to use an editing program, schedule my musicians to come record with me, and finally get some shit done.
This is not an excuse. But I feel like the people who have supported me, through a pledge on Kickstarter or by sharing my videos on Facebook, have a right to know what has been going on for me. I'm thoroughly ashamed of myself, but I'm finally in a place where I'm going to be making positive things happen.
Thanks for reading.