The Importance of Music to GirlsBook - 2007
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I was Ian Curtis, too. Watching the lightning pass through him as he shook on stage, I thought of my panic attacks which were also electrical, a long moment of shock. I was about to go into the world and it kept pulling itself out from under my feet. Four months later, Ian Curtis hanged himself and I realised he was not Werther but a man in pain. I wasn't twenty-three but seventeen, and I was a girl. My pain erupted into panic every time I tried to walk away.
I remember the dancing of my earliest years in silence, as about the body alone. My father must have hummed a tune as I stood on his shoes and he waltzed me, but what I remember are the giant steps I was suddenly making. The world rose up under one foot and pushed my body to one side as that foot set off in a high violent arc. I didn't know if I was going to be able to follow but at the last moment the world gathered up the rest of me. And so it went on: the world pulled and shoved while I lurched and stretched.
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