Preliminary note: for those who do not know/understand who /ForbiddenName/ refers to as (clue: a French singer), I suggest either to scroll down during 20–30 seconds on my blog’s menu page or to check/read the first part of this series (“I In The Mourning Now Stay — The /ForbiddenName/ Issue [Director’s Cut]”) (23 November, post in which the real name appears): you will immediately got it. The choice of using /ForbiddenName/ instead of the real name or even the greek letter I lately frequently used to call/code her (without talking of eventually tagging her) is part of both a therapy and a non-harassing preventive strategy, considering the uncontrolled bipolar disorder-related incredible obsessional cyber-stalking flirting with erotomonia I fell into during the 2018–2019 years (and during a few periods afterwards).
In the last paragraphs of “I In The Mourning Now Stay — The /ForbiddenName/ Issue [Director’s Cut]”, which was also in some way a dedicace to Kim Wilde (and especially to her song ‘Cambodia’), I wrote: “By leaving /ForbiddenName/ on the side of the road, I have to (impossibly?) abandon incredible memories (and yes, one more time, it is here partly question of the famous ‘hypomania nostalgia’ in bipolar disorder).” For people for whom bipolar disorder details are unfamiliar, this is extremely important to note: if you suffer from the latter disease, you sometimes get hang on and obsessed with persons who have teemed euphoric, high-life — so called (hypo-)manic or “UP” — phases of your existence. In the abovementioned post, I also precised I had gifted the entrance I had bought one year ago for the 2022 tour’s last /ForbiddenName/’s show in Paris, 30 November, to someone through Facebook. I had renounced to something big. I was, truly, in ‘mourning’.
Last wednesday evening (30 November, hence) was extremely peculiar, weird, dark. I had borrowed in the multimedia library a great number of records — so many women’s voices: Kate Bush, CHVRCHES, Rihanna, U.S. Girls, Courtney Barnett, Melissa Auf der Maur… (Oddly, when I was a teenager, let’s say ∼25 years ago, I was only attracted by men’s voices, e.g., Michael Stipe’s, Thom Yorke’s, or Billy Corgan’s ones; the shift came a bit later with Garbage’s Shirley Manson). There was then a mountain of CDs on my desk. I did not know what to do. I was tired and would exceptionnally have liked one or two lines of cocaine. And — for sure — in the deepest parts of me, there was something breaking acerbicly: I was missing /ForbiddenName/’s last and greatest show of the year and I was not happy at all — there was a fight between the part of me who would have liked to go to the concert and the part of me who wanted to leave the past behind. And there was this mountain of CDs and this list of recommendations from friends for so many other musical choices. I realized that during five fucking years, I had discovered almost nothing from indie to pop music (two years of /ForbiddenName/ extreme obsession and three years of extremely deep depression with interest for almost nothing). But then something happened: I played CHVRCHES’s Love Is Dead (such a symbolic title) and litterarily ‘get out’ to nowhere. A gate had opened. I watched the live version video of the ‘Get Out’ song on YouTube: I already knew and liked CHVRCHES and their frontwoman Lauren Mayberry but, I mean, Lauren Mayberry! During three minutes I was childlishly in love and /ForbiddenName/ had fallen in a faraway pit. I posted the video on my Facebook profile with a stupid and comical message like (tagging the name of the band): “I love You CHVRCHES (I cannot tell you why here)… Lauren Mayberry do you wanna marry me…?” A friend of mine commented: “How old is she? 12?…” I gazed at my post. I knew Lauren Mayberry’s feminist activism. The post was ridiculous, especially on a night like this. I deleted it and laid down on my bed, half-sleeping. During a small moment — always this urgency of composition — I thought about writing to Lauren Mayberry a ‘confessions and remorses’ letter… What for? I had already written and confessed so many things to Suede (two years before) and Marina Diamandis (two days before). Why this ritual? Loneliness? Despair? The ‘ambition’ of wanting to be read, heard with empathy somewhere, far away from France? It was not appropriate at all, one more time especially on a night like this… In my head, I imagined, after such a ‘confessions and remorses’ letter, Lauren Mayberry chatting through internet with /ForbiddenName/: “Him? He’s an erotomaniac and potentially dangerous psycho, never never answer him, do not even read him!” Musically, I had switched to U.S. Girls and subsequently fell definitely into sleep… It was very early — at the other side of Paris, the /ForbiddenName/’s concert had probably not even yet begun…
The day before yesterday and yesterday, I was extremely depressed. I knew it was not only psychological and mourning-related but also part of my biological cycles. Nevertheless, from time to time, I could hear Lauren Mayberry’s voice shouting ‘Get Out!’, which I completed by ‘get rid of her’, which made me if not happy at least confident in the future. No news from the person to whom I had gifted the entrance ticket to the show (I repeat: ‘gifted’ a 40 euros-value entrance) — today at noon I sent her (yes, a girl, detail that may have an importance) a simple “And? What about the concert? Did you enjoy it?” on Messenger and I have still not received any answer. Why this silence? Would /ForbiddenName/ have told something bad about me during or after the show, like in my nightmares, and the abovementioned person have wanted to protect me? Or would some of my friends — the ones who supposedly know me the best but read me the less and have the preconceived idea that since I got ‘interested’ in (i.e., talk to) a woman it necessarily gonna turn into something obsessional — have advised her to beware of me and my like-a-brand tattoo on the forehead? Paranoïa? Probably… Or not.
Anyway… Today in the morning, I woke up very early (a bit before 5 AM). I had a Facebook notification on the screen of my iPhone: I had been given a ‘Super Fan’ badge from the MARINA’s Facebook page where I had posted few days ago as I alluded above my “Letter To Marina Lambrini Diamandis (aka MARINA)”. I mean: I am pretty sure I had previously (almost) never posted/commented anything on her Facebook page. And she knows and has spoken openly about what suffering from mental disorders is. Would she have read me? (Or her agent?). Some eyes are 1,000,000 more valuable than others. Whatever, that put a gentle smile on my face. Childish? Of course — people suffering from bipolar disorder frequently never really grow up — but most of all antidepressant. Today was not a so bad day. And, you, whoever you are, who are reading me and may think that I am gonna turn into the MARINA’s international stalker… Ah. Ah. Ah. Wait for the future! Whereas I am still frequently 15, I have grown up: I know how to retain lessons from the past.
Bipolaroid 