Within the heart of Ian Curtis there existed a tumultuous world, much like the windswept landscapes of his homeland. As a composer of profound lyrics and an artist of captivating stage performances, he bore an unmistakable resemblance to a tempestuous ocean, tranquil on the surface yet raging with a storm beneath. It was a storm few could comprehend, fewer could alleviate, and none could pacify.

The calamitous seizures, an unforeseen curse of epilepsy, began to plague Curtis during the nascent years of Joy Division’s rise. These episodes, of an intensity unmatched and unseen, would not discriminate between the private quarters and the public stage. In the midst of a performance at The Rainbow in Finsbury Park, Curtis was seized by an attack so severe that spectators mistook it for a part of the act. This incident revealed the stark misunderstanding and unforgiving stigma that haunted the victims of epilepsy during the time.

Curtis’s fellow musician, Bernard Sumner, reflecting on the matter in later years, confessed their collective ignorance. He said, “We didn’t know any better. When he was ill, we didn’t understand what it was.” The veil of mystery surrounding Curtis’s condition and the subsequent isolation he experienced could be likened to a solitary traveler lost in the barren Siberian tundra, familiar faces all around, yet none understanding the depth of his suffering.

Not only was Curtis entrapped in a physical labyrinth, but he was also embroiled in a whirlpool of emotional turmoil. His sacred commitment to his beloved wife, Deborah, and their offspring was marred by his simultaneous yearning for Annik Honoré, a Belgian journalist. This constant tussle between commitment and desire left him fractured, like a precious crystal vase shattered into a million pieces.

Reflecting upon the silent torment of Curtis, Joy Division’s bassist, Peter Hook, wrote in his book, “The biggest problem was that he [Ian Curtis] hid it from everybody… He stopped sharing with us. He stopped talking to us.” This poignant statement underlined the walls of isolation Curtis erected around himself, ensnaring him further into the inescapable abyss of depression.

Ian’s despair permeated his art. His struggle with epilepsy and emotional turbulence found expression in his lyrics, especially in songs like “She’s Lost Control.”

However, the dawn of May 18, 1980, cast a shadow so dark that it devoured the glow of the upcoming Joy Division tour. Curtis, like a solitary moth drawn to the fatal flame, surrendered to the vortex of his own despair. His death reverberated through the halls of the music world, leaving his fellow band members and fans in a state of desolation.

The tale of Curtis’s life and untimely demise serves as a poignant reminder of fame’s darker side. His story echoes through time, bringing attention to the silent suffering of many and the importance of understanding and compassion. Much like a haunting Tolstoyan narrative, Curtis’s life paints a complex portrait of human struggle, a testament to the indomitable spirit that lies within the heart of every artist.

What are you listening to tonight? After that, call a friend you haven’t heard from in a long time and see how they’re doing.