Агась, там так и есть - там написано, что уровень калия в его крови снижен, из-за чего организм теряет способность регулировать содержание воды, это результат десятилетнего алкогольного эксцесса.
Еще как-то жутковато стало после этого обзаца. "Вместо того, чтобы пойти к доктору с целью попросить пилюлю, чтобы чувствовать себя легче, ты начинаешь заниматься самолечением. Моим лекарством стал алкоголь. Ты пьёшь, потому что находишься в депрессии. Депрессия становится всё чернее, поэтому ты пьёшь ещё больше, ведь тебе нужно чем-то заглушать боль. Это классика. Слава богу, что это не был героин. " Действительно, слава богу!
Пост N: 3496
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Отправлено: 27.11.07 22:44. Заголовок: Kate Born пишет: Вм..
Kate Born пишет:
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Вместо того, чтобы пойти к доктору с целью попросить пилюлю, чтобы чувствовать себя легче, ты начинаешь заниматься самолечением. Моим лекарством стал алкоголь. Ты пьёшь, потому что находишься в депрессии. Депрессия становится всё чернее, поэтому ты пьёшь ещё больше, ведь тебе нужно чем-то заглушать боль. Это классика.
Да мы тоже так делаем чего скрывать. И когда тупо бухаем мы тоже глушим боль, одиночество, пытаясь все это исправить, когда организм раскрепощен и работают скрытые резервы. Не все так печально и жутко.
Вот если бы героин, кокаин и прочая херь несусветная.
Переводчика назначили, поэтому и не чешемся. Нужен перевод-то, люди? Я могу, если что. Хоть и со скана. Vivien Lee если тебе очень-очень-очень надо, я могу по доброте душевной сделать, распознать.
да,полностью согласна)фотосессия для журнала шикарная))) сразу чувствуется профессионализм в работе.Виль как всегда не отразим,даже больше))) налюбоваться не могу
AnastasiaJossi OK, а то я уж хотела к утру сообразить. Vivien Lee лови печатный текст)) Скрытый текст
House of cards
He’s been to rehab hell and back again but hasn’t lost his sense of humour. Is Ville Valo cracking up? Alexander Milas finds out. Straight Jacket: Sam Scott Hunter.
The sun is setting in Los Angeles in the third week of June and Ville Valo - a man slowly yielding to a growing suspicion that his life is spinning out of control - has just been informed by a friendly Californian doctor that if he doesn’t seek immediate medical attention he’s going to die. “I don’t know which part of Macbeth that would be,” he says before screwing a Marlboro Light into a broadening grin that bespeaks his unique talent for merciless self-mockery and in this case, downplaying a very serious condition. The potassium levels in Valo’s blood were so low in fact, the result of a decade of alcoholic excess, that his body had lost the ability to regulate the amount of water in it. In the centre of cosmopolitan Los Angeles, Valo was dying of thirst. ”It happened because of a lot of stuff. Shit kept hitting the fan. I’ve never had such a bad year. Usually you have something good happen. It wasn’t cathartic. It’s a combination of so many fucking things. Physically I was fucked. I had no way of stopping it. The doctor was like, “your heart’s going to fail.” He pauses and smiles at that. “How romantic.”
It’s four months later, and Valo is relaxing in the understated refinement of a Soho hotel. His band are currently the K-West on the other side of town, but Valo doesn’t mind. He prefers the isolation, the proximity to local bookshops and the anonymity to be found in walking alongside endless droves of pub-hoppers just beyond the hotel’s doors. Valo may have changed his lifestyle, but he hasn’t changed. A dinner jacket hangs from a silent valet in the corner of the room, topped by an old-fashioned cap just like the one currently sitting atop his head with his hair tucked in. It’s Sunday, and tomorrow night he’ll be playing a tiny one-off show at the Borderline for what, by HIM standards, is a miniscule crowd of 250 competition-winning devotees. The next day, “Venus Doom” drops. But right now, those events seem far off.
He cracks a can of Red Bull, the first of the seven or eight he’ll chug over the next hour between deep, chest-swelling drags on an ever-growing inventory of lit cigarettes. He hasn’t lost weight. It’s melted off him, because in the time since that fateful night Valo has redefined himself. He checked into famed LA detox centre Promises - the temporary home to overstated talents like Britney Spears and Lindsey Lohan — the very next day and, for the next 27 days, experienced the first real break from the toil of fronting his band since he formed it 16 years ago. Relinquishing control wasn’t easy.
,.. ”The easiest thing to do for a testosterone fuelled poetic young Scandinavian is not to go into a doctor’s office and say “I feel so bad, please give me a pill to feel better”. You start to self-medicate and my medicine was alcohol. You drink because you’re depressed, and your depression gets worse so you drink more because you need something to numb the pain. It’s classic. Thank god it wasn’t heroin”.
Spend any time around Valo, and you’ll know that he’s very hands-on compared to most in his position, overseeing every aspect of his band from choosing album artwork to tour routing to the finest details of HIM’s ever-growing videography. And of course, there’s the music. Considering he was just in the middle of putting the finishing touches on “Venus Doom” — an album already facing a delayed release because of competing Warners releases by Smashing Pumpkins and The Used — the frustrations he expresses at being pent-up while seeing to his health is easy to understand. And then, there’s the very un-Ville fixation on God, common to all 12-step recovery programmes. ”I was laughing my ass off. It was all so fucking surreal. Group therapy and shit. It’s so anti-what I am. There was hardly any one-on-one”.
He’ll minimise the seriousness of his condition, stating that, while detoxing was a peripheral benefit of checking himself in, what he really needed was simply a break from the demands of his band. Still, his time there wasn’t without its entertainments. He’d walk around carrying a copy of Richard Dawkins’ atheist manifesto The God Delusion, and when it came time to hold hands and repeat the mantras of self-surrender that are the foundation of 12-step recovery programmes — he’d mutter ‘Satan’ or ‘Ozzy’ under his breath whenever the word ‘God’ came up.
“All I needed was serenity”, says Valo. “Not a cell phone ringing all the time, people asking me to do things, and me feeling guilty, or that I would betray people if I couldn’t do it. I thought it would be beautiful but I was fucking freezing, just smoking a lot and drinking a lot of coffee. And it worked”. By now you might be wondering what it was that drove Valo to this point, and you’d be right to. The answer doesn’t come so directly, but just ask him how long he was there and you might get a hint. ”Well, the detox took a week but I was there for 27 days”, he states. It was supposed to be 30 but I got bored and I wanted to start working on the cover art and getting back to the deadlines.” As Valo explains it, he wasn’t on any binge, but the cumulative effects of his lifestyle and the stresses of his career simply became too much. He couldn’t sleep, and when he did it was restless. Worse, he was becoming prone to paralysing anxieties. ”I’d wake up in the middle of the night, fucking no reason, two hours sleep, crying, scared of everything. Not being paranoid but just being depressed and having my whole body screaming for something, I don’t know why, and drinking six Stellas and it all happening again. It was stupid of me but I had an album to finish and there was no time for me to detox. I’d been going for such a long time that it wasn’t something I would have physically been able to do. I thought that was a good reason for me not to misuse the trust of a lot of people around me.”
Of course, if you happened to be at the lyric-forgetting train wreck that was HIM’s show at Give It A Name festival at Earl’s Court on April 27, you’ll know that these are hardly revelations. ”I was so fucking nervous,” he admits “I was idiotic. My little brother was in town so I stayed out partying until fucking six in the morning, until one of the guys in the band came into my hotel room started freaking out, like, “what the fuck are you doing?” and he started throwing people out. I got three hours of sleep. It’s not enough. It’s my fucking fault but I haven’t exactly had a lot of days off because of the flu. In sports, you have to fuck up your muscles to know where your limits are. In the realms of rock’n’roll you don’t have that, so it’s easy to take it too far.”
But this, as Valo confesses, is about far more than staying out too late. He’ll relate how, since the release of ’Love Metal’, he was becoming susceptible to panic attacks which he blames on too much stress, too much partying, too much... everything. “I was always functioning but on the verge of not being able to function,” he says. “There was just too much in my head. It wasn’t the first time I couldn’t remember the lyrics and it would loop in my head... ‘oh my God I fucked up now what’s going to happen next am I going to fuck up the next line what’s going to happen now am I unzipped or zipped where are my fags...’. It’s like a hurricane in your head and I was trying to get away from it by going into the eye of the storm, burying myself deeper in it. It didn’t work.” It’s at this point that you should abandon any booze-related theories as to why ‘Venus Doom’ is so notably heavier and unapologetic with its doom-inflected, guitar-driven passages — which Valo refers to as his cigarette breaks’. He’ll concede it’s louder, the songs are longer, and yes, some HIM fans are destined to become ex-fans when they hear it. It doesn’t bother him right now. It’s too soon to worry. “We’ve just given birth,” he says. “It’s just taking it’s first steps arid it’s hard to tell whether it’s going to catch a cold and die.” Are your recent problems the reason why the music’s taken such a different, band-driven turn? “No way,” he says flatly. “Burton (keyboardist) had a baby and Mige (bassist) and I went to the studio and were bored and listened to Monster Magnet. It was the joy of playing rock, not some personal thing. It was enjoying music just for the sake of it. A lot of that feeling is necessary just to have a journey from the first album to the next one.” But you were in a very different place when you were putting ‘Venus Doom’ together. What’s it going to be like going back to these songs that were the product of a very different state of mind? “That’s something I’m trying to find out. It’s kind of exciting. It’s like eating a bunch of mushrooms and painting something, and then waking up the next day and actually liking what you painted. Not one song is about any one incident. It’s about what started the chain reaction. They go back to when I was born. It’s who I am. That’s the dark truth.” He chugs his last can of Red Bull and, with a day of exploring London ahead of him, gets an early night for what he confesses might be one of the first times he’s done that here since, well, forever. Another first: he wants to have a good night’s rest before his big show in front of 250 people, a drop in the bucket compared to the numbers he’s taken the stage in front of in recent times. He doesn’t care. For Ville Valo, it’s still all about the love.
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