The feedback loop. [4 min read] Reflections on an anxious mind.
As a kid I spent a lot of time in small church gatherings. Some of them were casual meetings in people’s living rooms but many of them involved anywhere from a few dozen to a few hundred people crammed into carpeted, conference sized rooms.
My parents were often involved in “worship teams” and eventually, inevitably I picked up a guitar and, along with friends of mine, joined the band. Every week we merged into the landscape of broken mic stands, tangles of faulty cables, monitor speakers and borrowed amps at the front of the room where we played dubious covers of popular worship music with the help of amateur-sound-guys-come-accountants operating sketchily set up soundboards in the back.
Needless to say, we all became very familiar with the ear piercing screech of audio feedback.
“Testing, testing. One, two…REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH ”
We know how it works.
Noise is picked up by a microphone and comes out of the speaker louder. But then it goes through the mic again and comes out even louder. And then again. And again. And again. And again.
In a single moment the simplest sound can be transformed into a startling jolt of high pitched nothingness.
Whether Aretha Franklin, Tom Waits or just a Tom cat, the quality of the original utterance rarely makes a difference.
It’s usually a problem with the set up of the system.
I’m no longer around that sort of feedback often (unless you count that time I walked into the baby’s room with the monitor speaker still attached to my hip like a genius.)
But the concept stays with me, and I think of it often.
It’s always been a go to analogy for the party in my head.
A fucking feedback loop.
Is swearing necessary? Probably not, but actually…yes…yes it is.
One small thought feeds into another thought, which then leads to another and that makes me think of this which leads back to that thing which..
Louder.
Faster.
Louder.
Faster.
It might be something small that’s objectively not that big a deal.
I should have just let that guy out in traffic. Why didn’t I let them out?
But something in the system’s set up wrong.
The volumes too high, this thing is too close to that. One small thought combines and crashes and spins with a million other thoughts into a loud looping mess that builds until it hurts to listen to.
Anxiety.
Feedback.
Loop.
One wouldn’t think depression and anxiety would make such good bedfellows. The cliches of an incessantly bouncing knee and a comatose stare seem worlds apart.
Yet somehow they tag team with Olympic prowess. And I’ve never been good at running.
If depression is feeling hopelessly negative about everything, anxiety is the energy that can turn every small dark thought in into a painful screech.
Literally anything. Almost any headline and obviously deadlines. Receiving an email. The weekend. Monday. An ad for a hairdresser. Thinking of an uncompleted task. A photo of a friend’s child having fun. A photo of my own child. Choosing what tv show to watch.
Like most things, a little anxiety is all completely normal, until its not.
Many people say night time is the worse.
And that sort of makes sense to me. We spend our days busy. Working and moving and planning and watching and listening until we finally switch everything off last thing at night. We rest our heads on our pillows and suddenly we hear what we’ve been drowning out all day long. Our thoughts, with the volume cranked up to all to compensate for the static of the day.
Some feedback is to be expected I suppose.
• • • 
Feedback is good at one thing.
It drowns out everything else.
The system is on. It’s technically working, it’s taking input and making it louder. But the loop means none of it sounds right anymore. The guitar, the keyboard, that nice harmony. It’s all lost in the loop. A shuddering screech.. a sonic black hole.
Somehow the useless unhelpful illogical thoughts can drown out any useful thinking.
Why do I have a pen in my hand? What was I writing down? Shhhh. Calm down not that. Focus.
Have some coffee to wake up and focus. Wait no, don’t. That will only turn up the volume. Race your heart, rev your thoughts. Make it worse.
Where’s the goddamn mute on this machine?
• • • 
Just. press. the fucking. mute.
• • •
But mute isn’t really a fix is it?
It’s postponement.
We still need to play the song.
We can’t live in and out of muted silences.
Sober or sore, the moment the silence is lifted the resonance will come screaming back in.
So what then?
• • •
Coffee, anyone?
And can we please find someone who knows how to operate this bloody system? At least turn volume down for the next song.