"Art crisis", as Erik called it earlier, was way deeper than I dared to think and was way worse than I had already survived during my life with him. Maybe I don't even exaggerate if I say it was worse than anything I survived during my life in general. I thought Erik will mostly retreat in his room to compose and maybe he will be grumpier than usual, that's what I was prepared for in my mind. Oh if only it was just that!
I had suffered through art blocks as well, so I normally knew what it means, or so I thought. Yes, I was in a bad mood and felt worthless a bit when it came, and I hated that it restrains me away from creative jobs like drawing, writing and music. But Erik was not only in a bad mood.
He literally looked like he was possessed by a demon or some dark force I could not defeat with love and affection. This was the time I learned love is not everything and isn't always triumphant.
I don't know which was worse: the time when he was composing, or at least, attempted to do so, and he literally sank in his thoughts so deep he did not notice my presence, or when he realized he failed to create that special goddamn harmony he was yearning for, and threw such a tantrum that nothing misfortunate object getting in his hands survived it.
He was writing day and night, for days, without a break. Of course, this meant he did nothing else. He was angry enough that he still had to use the bathroom from time to time, so he had to interrupt writing. When he had to stand up from the desk, it was the only time he showed some emotion, which was frustration, and it was expressed by a deep and irritated sigh. He did not wish to hear of any other want or need of his, or anyone else's, or any other activity. No eating, just as much drinking as he will survive, but frighteningly little fluid intake, so he will have to pee even less than normal, he literally just sipped ONE single sip of water in every few hours. No one should and could interrupt him. Piles of sheet music were packed next to him on the desk and he stared down on the paper in front of him without a few seconds of break. When I approached him I noticed he was motionless, his eyes were red from lack of hydration and the endless concentration for so many hours, and he was shaking. I wasn't sure if he was shaking from cold, fear, anger or just tiredness. By that time he was already lacking sleep for three days and nights in a row. I was worried about that fact, as he just took normal sleeping again, a few months back. He said earlier that he was fine being awake for days, but honestly, he looked nothing like that at the moment. His room was cold as he did not even bother to start a fire, he did not care about anything else than music. His left sometimes moved a bit on the paper, but he wrote only meaningless waves or some random shapes like a star or a single note on the edge of the paper. He looked like his brain did a shutdown, it was frightening to see him like that. He sometimes lifted the pen up and chewed on it, or scratched his ear or face, which caused red ink to appear on his face, and it reminded me of blood.
- Erik… - I tried to call out to him, hoping he will reply. He did not.
He continued sitting there, seemingly reacting to nothing which surrounded him, not even me.
I wasn't worried because of my needs. I was able to take care of myself and Wolfy without Erik cooking for us. I ate the few things I could prepare, or just had a cold meal out of the things we had at home, and I went shopping when we ran out of bread or something, to replace it. I was already taught how to count francs, and Erik did not care about me getting money from him in his current state of mind. I tried to communicate with him even then, telling him I was going out to shop and I took 5 or 10 francs from him, and asked if he needed something as well, but he did not even reply by a groan, like other times when I bothered him. He looked like as if he did not hear it. Maybe he did not. I could even practice the violin right next to him, and not even my screeching, which was caused by wrong bowing, did bother him. Other times, he would send me away or groan about his ears being in pain, but now he did not complain, just as if he heard nothing. Maybe he was just not paying attention to me, but such a noise would at least bring a painful wince on his face before, but his features were unchanged this time, no matter what I did. And this is what alarmed me. I thought Erik went crazy and I did not know what to do to get him out of it. I tried everything I could… I talked to him, I put food in front of him, but I had to throw it away when it went bad by itself, without being touched. I missed Erik, the Erik I met and got to know. This new one, even if he did not verbally or physically harm me, creeped me out way more than if he was yelling at me non stop. To be honest, looking back, I would have loved to have the Erik who hit my head with a wine bottle in his anger. At least he showed some emotions back then, and not just monotonously moved his left hand to scribble. But oh, how I wished later to have this apathetic Erik back when the more frightening part came…
On the evening of the fifth day when Erik was mindlessly sinking into his music without a word towards me or anyone, and I was just trying to survive the day by listening to music with my earphones, I suddenly heard such a thud that I nearly got a heart attack. I put out my earphones and jumed up in fright, thinking that Erik finally could not handle being awake for long, and he fell off of the chair or such. Arriving at his door, though, I saw him standing at the center of his room, wheezing, and as he turned to me, his eyes reflected pure madness. Now I saw what caused the noise though – he just threw the chair across the whole room and it hit the wall by full force. He did not stop it at that, he grabbed the nearest object to him, which was his hat, and he threw it on the floor, angrily jumping on it, then kicked it away, wheezing even more.
- What the fuck is your problem? – I gasped, not really minding my language due to shock. I have never seen him like that before, seemingly for no reason at all.
He did not reply for a time, he was shaking, wheezing and kicked the objects around him, lifting his hands up at the level of his ears, trying to plug his ears, and closed his eyes. As I could see, he was trying real hard not to explode with fury and madness. He swallowed a few times, then bit his lower lip, squeezing his teeth against his lip and forcing his eyes shut. He took a very deep breath, then exhaled loudly.
- Stay… away… from me.
It was the first sentence he told me in a week. I was partly relieved he at least, knew who I was, and that I was present in his life, but I still was alarmed about the mental state he was in. He seemed to be so very angry. I wasn't sure of what to do, but finally found it a better idea not to argue with him at that moment. Maybe he eventually calms down at some level.
He kept walking up and down, restlessly pacing in his room, as I heard, but the nervous walking wasn't the worst thing. He started talking, after being silent for days, but the things he said, or to be clear, yelled at himself, did not make me any calmer.
- You are a worthless piece of shit, and you will never write anything better than just middle class garbage! No, not even middle class, you fool! It is utterly piece of crap garbage that is needed to be thrown in fire! WITH YOU on top! You are a talentless fucking poser.
These, and similar sentences broke my heart, especially when I withnessed him hitting his own head with his fist by full force, and slammed his fist against the desk so forcefully that his fingers gave out cracking sounds. I could not bear to see it any longer, no matter what he said earlier. I jumped behind him and hugged him from behind, trying to restrain him from hurting himself any further. He got surprised, but he did not stop, only for a second, contrary to my beliefs. H etried to push me away from himself, which was surprising and bad feeling. He never wanted to free himself from my hug before. I was trying to get his wrists, so he will stay still, but he dug his nails in my arm to make me release him. He was acting like a caged and frightened animal. He said nothing, only stretched his arms in front of him to ask for personal space.
- Erik, please, calm down… - I tried to talk to him, desperately searching in my mind for a solution.
- Leave me. – He whispered, seemingly trying his best not to yell at me, so he chosed rather to speak forcefully too softly. – And NEVER restrain me like that again.
- Erik, please tell me what is wrong, so I can help… - I begged.
- You CAN'T help. I can't help myself either, how could you? – His intonation changed to somewhat bitter and broken, and he was rolling his eyes in a strange way.
- But what is the matter? – I went on, crying.
- Juti. – He took a few steps closer, putting his hand on my shoulder, he looked a bit more composed now, but he was still nervous. His hand was shaking on my shoulder. – You… keep forgetting one thing.
- What thing? – I looked at him in worry.
- That… Erik… is not like… others. Not… like anyone else.
- I know, you are a genius. – I replied somewhat calmer, being a bit relieved that we could at least communicate.
- Genius! – He snapped, a bit irritatedly, then burst out in a bitter laugh. He then waved in the air in frustration, kneeling down to the floor and grabbing some papers from around the desk and organ. He returned to me, literally shoving the papers in my face. – Does THIS look like a genius to you?
- Oh Erik. – I sighed.
- Just look at them! – He slammed them in front of my feet and hurried away, not to lose his temper.
He knelt down a bit further on the floor and silently stared in front of himself. He looked so broken, the poor thing. He helplessly played with his long fingers and ran them through his few locks of hair a few times with a deep sigh. I started reading the notes a bit curiously, feeling special that I could hold Erik's composition in my hands, yet I knew he considered them to be some kind of rubbish… it was hard to read his handwriting, as the manuscript was many times corrected, some parts were unreadably shaded, but still, the melody I read with great difficulties, was nothing like Erik described it so harshly. To be honest, it was beautiful in my opinion. I lifted my head up after some minutes of sightreading, and noticed my poor old Erik still kneeling on the floor, and he buried his face in his hands. His shoulders were shaking and I heard him choking with a painful cry.
- Erik… - I called out with compassion, walking closer, but did not dare to hug him yet, as he was so worked up earlier. No reply came for a time, other than some muffled sobbing, but after some minutes, he lifted his head up.
God, just now I saw what a horrible state he was in. Those days lacking sleep, proper food and drink had made him look like at least ten years older, he looked like his own grandfather. To be honest, he wasn't the best looking man, of course, with his deformity, but this self- harming made him look even worse. His eyes were full bloodshot, with black patches under them, he was pale, so his otherwise yellowish skin had a fawn grayish blue tint, his hair was messy and stuck to his forehead and neck due to sweat, he was already in need of some shaving, and to be honest his shirt was worn for way too long, compared to his usual habits, and his face, hands and clothes were covered in spots of red ink all over. Softly and hoarsely, he started speaking again.
- You see… a musician… an artist… needs self – sacrifice… for the sake of… a masterpiece. If I have to write… I can1t overcome the flow of the ideas… I am just a tool… in… God's hands. – He yawned, being utterly worn out. – But… it is not… the main problem, Erik got used to it… One can get used to anything. But… facing… reality… that all of that work… those days of hunger, cold, thrist and… just look, look at me, what I look like, eh? So all of THIS- he gestured around the room dramatically then pointed at himself with trembling hands- THIS was for nothing! Nothing but a piece of SHIT! I wrote nothing major!
- No, it is in minor. – I tried to joke around with him, as I remembered he used the exact same word joke when I had an existential crisis when I was very ill, but I should have known Erik wasn't in the mood of kidding.
- SHUT UP! – He yelled at me with his eyes suddenly glowing angrily. – You… you…
- Sorry. – I leaned closer to him, suddenly kissing his forehead, which silenced the outburst of insults he was most likely considering to send my way.
- How… how on Earth do you kiss a madman in the middle of a mental breakdown, I pray? – He whimpered suddenly.
- I love that madman, and wish to make him feel better.
- I don't know how to feel better. – He cried.
- Oh, come on. – I knelt down next to him. – What if you are just too harsh on yourself, and what you wrote is great?
- You just tell me because you like… everything I do for some reason. – He pouted, a bit of insecurely, but I noticed a hint of hope shining in his eyes.
- Erik, it is true I am not as educated in music as you are. – I started. – I know you learned and studied composing way before I was born and you always wish to accomplish 110% in everything, but… but I like it a lot. And not just because it was written by you.
There was silence. Erik either did not want or did not know how to reply to this. He was kneeling on the floor, motionlessly, maybe thinking, but thankfully he did not cry now. He looked rather apathetic and tired. I looked on the paper in my hands again, trying to read the melody again, hearing it in my mind, and without even realizing it, I started to sing it.
The work contained so high notes, but to my surprise I did not have trouble singing them out loud. Sometimes I still had difficulties with keeping up notes for the correct length, but I tried to remember Erik's advices about breathing, so I did my best in singing. Erik's music was ringing in the air, came to life by a not too perfect, but bearable instrument. I did not know what was so shameful about this piece of music. Way worse things were sold as super hits in my century. To be honest, I thought it a remarkable piece of classical composition. I did not really like century atonal music in general otherwise, and Erik's'music, or just this one piece had some special dissonance which still made up a surprisingly good to listen to outcome, and this made me totally change my mind about atonality and dissonance.
Suddenly, I heard a tiny gasp as I reached above G6, and just realizing what I did, I put my hand in front of my mouth in awe, not believing my ears what a note I just produced without any problem. Erik excitedly jumped up, coming closer, looking at me in disbelief. At first I thought he was astonished by the note, but after he asked "Does it really sound like this?" I understood he was amazed by his own work's melody.
- Yep… or maybe even better as I am untrained. – I stuttered.
- The tone… of your voice… makes it sound better. – He scratched his head, then suddenly slapped his forehead in realization. – Oh, you great booby, that is… that is exactly the problem!
- Erik, stop insulting yourself.
- How could I not? – He grabbed my shoulders in excitement, his eyes shining with joy. – Erik did not consider the most important thing while composing and this… THIS is why he felt he failed! He did not think of the voice he was composing for… will make it sound much better than it sounds in his head! As he tried to hear this music sang by Christine, you see. And it did not work! It did not! It did not FIT! And Erik thought the problem was with his music, as Christine's voice made everything sound better. But now… that he heard you sing this piece… now he knows it is not the music which was wrong! It was the MUSE! God, I love you!- He pressed a rather long and wet kiss on my forehead, and hugged me close to himself so tightly I could hardly breath for some seconds.
When he released me, though, his sudden great mood and activity decreased. He stood there in front of me, with his eyes nearly closing, and he yawned.
- Erik, are you all right? – I inquired worriedly.
- Yes… quite… I… I wanted to… work on this… a bit more now I know what to do and how. But eh, I feel so tired now that I could continue…
- Oh, dear. – I smiled at him. – I think it is time for you to sleep, and I think you don't hurry anywhere, right? Now that you know what to do, you could write it tomorrow as well, can't you?
- I guess. – He sighed.
- Good. Then just go to sleep, my dear.
- I… I am hungry. – He yawned and whimpered a bit of like a young child who now has problem with everything.
- Oh, so you are too tired to eat and too hungry to sleep? – I massaged his shoulders compassionately.
- Yeeees. – He whined.
- And? Now what? – I led him to the sofa and helped him to sit.
- I want to take a bath. – He moaned then yawned.
- Any more problems? – I laughed.
- Nothing more. Not enough? – He sighed.
- I guess. – I patted his head.
- Don't do that, it hurts. My head, I mean. – He yawned again.
- Okay, I am sorry. Then what if you take a bath and I prepare you some food while that, and you eat then sleep, hm? – I offered.
- Maybe. – He replied, already half asleep.
I did not have to bother with making dinner for him though, as by the time I left the room, I heard he was already snoring. With a relieved smile, hoping we were finally through Erik's art crisis, I went to feed Wolfy and go to sleep as well