Music concerts used to be a favourite pastime of mine—now they’re a sensory nightmare

When I was a teenager, I could often be found at one of the many London music venues seeing my favourite emo bands live. I’d queue outside from 10 in the morning, take the game Twister to play with random concertgoers while I waited all day for doors to open, and usually find someone over 18 to buy me a couple of bottles of WKD to neck before going in. As a troubled teenager, music was my happy place, and something about screaming my lungs out with thousands of other people to Ohio Is for Lovers made me feel less alone in the world. But now that I’m older, music concerts no longer bring me that same rush of joy. Instead, they’ve become a sensory nightmare.

The first time I noticed this was when I saw You Me At Six in Manchester in my 20s. I remember leaving the show feeling incredibly depressed, stating to my friend that I was ‘too old’ to enjoy music concerts anymore. Looking back, there was one key difference from my teenage experiences—I hadn’t drunk alcohol before the show. And if you’ve read my previous blog on how taking part in Dry January ultimately led to my autism diagnosis, you’ll know that drunk me and sober me are two completely different people. The reality is that, without alcohol, places like music venues and nightclubs are overwhelming in ways I never fully realised before.

I should point out that I do still enjoy music (though if it’s not Taylor Swift, I’m probably not that interested), but I don’t really listen to it at home, and I usually favour an audiobook over an album if I’m making a journey somewhere. That said, I have still tried to make the effort to go to a handful of concerts over the past few years. When Taylor Swift brought the Eras Tour to England last year, there was no way I wasn’t going. And I’m writing this just a couple of days after seeing The Kiffness in Manchester over the weekend (if you haven’t heard of him or his genius songs remixed with cats, check him out immediately).

But even seeing my favourite music artist of all time wasn’t the experience I thought it’d be. For context, before the Eras Tour, my friend and I had spent the day in Liverpool doing a ridiculous amount of walking, I hadn’t eaten enough in the hours leading up to the concert, I was cold due to on-and-off rain, completely sober, and the seats were extremely close together, meaning I got wine spilt on me and had little personal space. So instead of being able to lose myself in the music, I was focusing on feeling physically and mentally uncomfortable for all these various reasons and more.

I know now that looking after myself before a concert makes a huge difference in how much I enjoy it—on Saturday, we went for food an hour before doors, and I made sure to get adequate rest during the day so I felt a lot more like myself. I ended up having a pretty decent night, despite being sober.

But even this preparation isn’t always enough to provide me with comfort during the show itself. Typically, my friends like to get right into the crowd, sandwiching themselves between people to get a better view of the stage, but this is the worst thing imaginable for me. While I can just about handle the noise level (shoutout to my Loops earplugs) and the bright lights, one thing I absolutely cannot stand in any situation is people in my ‘personal space’. (And by personal space, I mean the actual comfortable distance between me and another person, not the ‘elbow room’ most people are content with.)

As an autistic person, my personal space needs are undoubtedly different from most. If I feel anyone (other than my partner) standing too close to me in any situation, I begin feeling physically on edge.

And concerts are the worst for it—people dancing and flailing their arms around with no care for those around them. Of course, they are entitled to express their enjoyment as they please. And there was a time when I (with the help of copious amounts of alcohol) was one of those people. But these days, it’s just not for me. I was lucky on Saturday that the venue wasn’t sold out, so for the most part, I could enjoy the show with adequate space around me. But as soon as someone started dancing too close to me or trying to push past to get in front of me, I could focus on nothing else aside from the anxiety I was getting from them being in my personal space.

Over the years, I’ve tried to push through this discomfort, convincing myself that maybe the next concert will be different. But no matter how much I prepare, the reality is that live music just doesn’t feel the same for me anymore. The stress of the environment always outweighs the enjoyment. So, if you ever invite me to a music concert and I say no (which I probably will… unless Taylor Swift returns to England any time soon), don’t take offence. You’d probably have more fun without me constantly on edge. Go, sing your heart out, flail your arms, knock into people and spill a few beers… I’ll just be at home, curled up on the sofa, watching the Eras Tour Movie for the thousandth time.