I had decided that I was perfectly content to not play anything (especially since I'm only on the chanter, and not the pipes like the rest of the guys), but I was called out to play, and so I did.
My anxiety was more about having a panic attack or passing out than what anyone thought about me or my playing, but when my reed clamped up my anxiety rose even higher.
So I stepped away to change reeds, which I did, and then I have no memory of going back to play. I know that I did. . .and I remember (in fragments) the rest of the evening, but I have no memory of playing Chanty once I returned with the replacement reed. I was in such a heightened stated of anxiety by that point that my brain interpretted that level of stress as a trauma event, and completely blocked out the memory, even though it was actually a "good" event.
My brain is not differentiating between "positive" and "life threatening" events. . . .all it knows is heightened anxiety = trauma.
The up-side to this very disturbing fact is that it helps me to understand (and accept) why I have such a hard time focusing and concentrating when I am stressed. I don't know what to do with this information yet, but I think it's another very important piece to the PTSD puzzle I am (unfortunately) tasked with solving.
It's funny how the reed clamping up is such a beautiful symbolic reflection of exactly what's happening in my brain. And the irony is that the reed that I apprently did use to play hasn't worked since that night. . . .another symbol of the work that remains for me to do. . . .to fix the broken reeds in my brain so that I can play without having the excitement interpretted as trauma. Good grief!
So I will play (in public) again, and again, and again, because now that I know how my brain is processing a heightened anxiety expiences, I will use them to my advantage by re-teaching my brain that a heightened anxiety experience can also mean that I am doing something exhillerating that I enjoy, (so that it doesn't just automatically respond as if I'm being assaulted again).
It will take time and effort, of course, to fix the broken reeds in my brain, as the PTSD brain is no quick or easy fix. . .but I will grind whatever grist the mill requires, because it's really very important that I be able to remember the ugly, the bad, and the good.