Smoker’s Paralysis — How I lost my gift: a damaged voice (Part 1)
It was the summer of 2016, I had just finished auditioning, mild soreness was an early morning feature, but I was too excited to care…2 bong hits later and I was moving at an action-movie-scene pace.
The euphoria intensified; I had just killed it in the final round of school competitions and my voice held up through hours of the show. Ignoring all warning signs, I went ahead and booked myself for an early continuation; my agent had labored to convince me to let the crowd savor my prior performance a bit longer and create suspense, but I was absent logic. I had to hear the cheers again. I booked my performance for the night after the coming day.
The very next morning I was up for rehearsals. No flat tires, a few rough edges in my falsetto, but I was fine! I’m a tenor, we’re always fine. That same evening, I attempted another go at the closing song “Dangerously in Love” by Beyonce; but choked at the chorus. Not thinking much of it, I allayed any possible fears with a few more bong hits and prepared my mind for the calming darkness of sleep.
I'm a tenor, we’re always fine!
The very next evening was the show, I had a listening of mama’s voice recipe; “forgo your toxic masculinity and swallow a banana whole to open your throat” she joked, knowing I was too much of a “man” to ever agree to that, I had the honey-lemon-warm water combo and headed out anxiously to my show… My devil-colored leather pants portraying a recklessly boyish vibe and a pure white tee wrapping tightly around an upper body sullied with appetitive talents.
I grabbed a golden mic won at a previous competition and took to fixing the hilts in my shoes, I had the hall, the singer before me, betrayed by anxiety and stage-freight poured forth a mere shadow of his actual vocal talents… Everything was set up for my moment, I would come in next, swaddling the room with the warmth of my timbre and sweeping the clutter of dismay off ears.
Steel nerves engaged, my reverse psychology kicked in and I set to task, humming my way to brief introductory applause and stating my name… “Hello, I’m G-Er…ahem, sorry” the first crack! Mildly embarrassed, I fought through the phrase and laughed nervously. “To much calmer beginnings then” the Usher beckoned, and took to the rear… it was all me now, and I was going to need every last bit of me to get through this.
The Second Crack
Without going into traumatizing detail, I would like to add that this crack would never have occurred if I wasn’t so fixated on the first… it was purely psychological; fear had taken over, and with it years of training had come undone, I was now stripped into three parts — Singer, smoker and nervous kid in the devil’s clothes. An ill-advised maneuver was next, I decided to take the higher parts in falsetto and not stick to my well-grounded technique; I chose to play it safe… only, I was in much deeper trouble!
Air… and more air, I had been approaching the chorus and suddenly my falsetto disappeared; I could hear the crowd gasp, only they couldn’t hear me!
My voice completely gave out, and my emotions followed; I ran off stage, the few meters from the stage to the dressing room felt like I was stuck in a loop of constant darkness. Was it the same darkness I had ever so familiarized myself with from smoking? was it now my worst nightmare? I ran right to the dressers, still unable to make a convincing noise with my voice. I kept running, never stopped, until I could run no more.
I had to face my truth — I had lost my voice and consciousness to the darkness…
The Third Crack… Dawn
I finally awoke a full night later, my buddies had carted me home, unconscious but stable. Hovering around me was my littlest sister, a sight for sore eyes? or sore throats? I couldn’t tell anymore. Is it my turn yet? I asked, still lost in the moment before the show, but suddenly realizing the ability to speak! Then came the memories… aww bloody hell, the darkness was here again.
