You say "music is my life". You lie. Music is MY life.

Music has a direct effect on my mood. Music can immediately cause a mood-swing from happy to incredibly annoyed. Music can pick me up when I am so far down I feel like giving in.

It's all about the right song at the right moment. Whether it be the slide and opening riff of Dr Feelgood that makes me want to pull out my air guitar as I wander down New Walk, or the sheer catchiness of The Cure's Close to Me that causes me to break out in to a series of hand-claps in the train station, once that music hits me I'm gone. I'm in a different world.

There are around 400 CD albums within sight of my where I am sat right now. There must be another 100+ distributed across my room. This doesn't always mean however, that I can always find something that I want to listen to. The restriction of an MP3 player than can hold only 200 songs is somewhat of a frustration to me. I have urges to listen to certain songs at certain moments, and if I can't gain access to it at that time I can feel the frustration build inside me. The unavailability of that song can cause misery for my work colleagues, my friends or my family. Of course there is no way of explaining this without sounding insane so it remains bottled up inside.

The Eagles' Desperado has long been my wallowing album. There is something about it that is somehow reassuring when I feel low. The Used's In Love and Death is seemingly able to eliminate most of my frustrations when played loud enough. Andrew WK's I Get Wet will get me fired up for a night out and Alabama 3's La Peste helps me relax after a long day.

I care not what you think of my taste in music, as these albums are entirely personal. There are a variety of other albums that I find myself listening to in situations that are ineffable or indistinct.

There was a time when I would enjoy going to nightclubs. There was a time when I could tolerate being in a bar that was playing the most god-awful hip-hop, rap, manufactured pop and soulless dance music. That time has gone. As soon as I lock in to the fact that the music is unlistenable, unenjoyable pap, I'm beyond the point of no return. Unless I have been destabilised enough by alcohol to be able to ignore it, my night is over.

Sometimes I don't leave the house, simply because I am enjoying what I am listening to. Sometimes I drive an extra five miles in the car just so I can finish listening to the album. Quite regularly I go for a walk on my lunch break simply so I can chill out and disappear into my own little world with my headphones on. Sometimes I just sit and enjoy silence.

My favourite refuge used to be the residential rehearsal room of my band. Often I could be found in there on my own, either writing in silence or playing whatever I felt like, as quiet or as loud as I liked. I really miss that room since we gave it up, because my bedroom simply doesn't provide the same working atmosphere.

Right now I am sitting in silence. I want a clear head to compose these words, and noises outside of my cranium are not conducive to that.

Don't try to tell me that you understand and that you're the same, because I know you're not. I love music more than I love life itself.

If I ever lost my hearing, suicide would become a viable option.

Without music, my life is meaningless.