So I've started to write a novel, or rather, a series of novels, four in total. They may never be published, they may never be read, but it's something I've always wanted to do. I don't want to get to the end of my life and look back and think "what if" or "should have". No fear, no regrets. For your viewing pleasure, here is a snippet from book 3, chapter entitled "Vodka Revs".
That familiar feeling was sinking in, threatening to create a long night of loneliness, anger, self hatred and paranoia. It was looking like another endless night of despair for Mike. He had an event to go to, some student party thrown by some company desperate for an influx of new minds. "Ha, if they get minds like mine, they'll be quickly wishing for the old ones" Mike whispered vehemently to himself. The long walk there to sit in fake happiness with people he didn't know for a cause he didn't believe in proved a less than tempting possiblity, but he knew he had to get out of his funk or he'd end up in trouble again. The sort of trouble leading to a late night of drinking by himself and turning himself into the hospital at 3 in the morning.
There has to be a time to change. A time when you decide that NO, that will not be your fate. It doesn't have to be that way. Armed with such thoughts, Mike picked up his phone and sent a group text.
"Hey guys, going to Vodka Revs tonight for some business thing, free cocktails! Anyone fancy coming?"
The usual false enthusiasm which was all he could seem to muster, true enthusiasm lost so far back it might never have been.
The sky darkened outside as he sat alone and waited for a response, the clouds sulking across the face of the moon while the wind moaned against the windows, complaining to be let in from the cold, adding to his sullen mood. One text, two, three, all excuses, too busy, too tired, not my thing, the usual reasons. After all, why would anyone want to head out in the cold to sit in a bar being talked at by falsely overenthusiastic young employees in the hope of sneaking one watered down cocktail too many?
"Yeah sure, what time?"
A response. And then another. Time for the game face. In truth, Mike was desperate for a drink, the cool feel of a cider in the throat, or better yet vodka and coke, double, ice of course to take up more space - more vodka, less coke. A little something to drown the self loathing. And a little company to make sure he didn't damn well drown himself while he was at it.
With a resigned sigh, he shuffled his coat on and started on the long walk into town, the close dark at first hugging him like a blanket, before the strange half light from the streetlights cloaked the world and made everything seem surreal, fuzzy and out of focus, and then suddenly too sharp as he came closer. A world outlined in stark shapes of shadow and relief. The kind of light in which you could walk forever, timeless, the world never changing, shapes and shadows blending, merging and splitting again. An endless, timeless world, for an endless, timeless existence.
And then suddenly, from a side street, into the harsh, glaring, too bright light of the main road, students drunkenly stumbling already, everything too loud, false people going about their false lives, forced happiness, boisterousness, postering, trying to emulate their idea of what a student should be, a parody of a parody. All that faked confidence, each and every person the centre of their own universe in which they must be the brightest star, each and every one of them a step away from going supernova, from shattering like a dropped mirror into a million tiny pieces. It was with these dark thoughts Mike arrived at the bar, sneering around at the hysteric masses, the fights waiting to happen, at the women who would no doubt end the night on their backs in some grungy bedroom and start their next day with painful heads and painful cunts as their rewards, shame burning hot upon their backs, only to do it all over again another night. The endless, pointless, hysteric futility with which humanity fills it's days.
A drink, a drink. Anything so he could join the foolish masses and make his own mistakes, his own regrets, stop THINKING once more and start DOING without a thought or a care. A drink, a drink. No consequences, no regrets. At least not until tomorrow. Tonight was all that mattered.
Thursday 21 February 2013
Thursday 7 February 2013
Depression and recovery.
This post is all about me. So sue me and call me self indulgent, grumble to yourself a bit and then go on living your life because it's really not that important and you have better things to be angry about. Probably.
I was not a popular kid. The same way a can of propane is not good at putting out fires. I was weird, quiet, some would say arrogant, but it wasn't arrogance, just self defence, and something missing from my head. I was the kid whom the unpopular kids picked on to make themselves feel better. Anybody who knows me now (presumably you do or you wouldn't be reading this) would probably call me eccentric, highly charged, overly sexual, more than a little bit weird, and a host of other, less savoury things. But never quiet. Never unconfident. Socially retarded perhaps, but on the over-the-top side of the spectrum. Believe me I count this as an improvement.
You wouldn't recognise me as a child. I needed routine. 7: breakfast (always cornflakes, regulation table spoon of sugar - don't hold it against me, I was a child). 12.30: lunch. Two ham sandwiches, a yoghurt, crisps, and a chocolate biscuit, consumed in that order. Dinner: 18.00, whatever was prepared for me. Any deviation from this pattern was enough to make me feel deeply uncomfortable, and resort to a strange need to grind my teeth together, a certain number of times, in just the right way, or it would feel WRONG.
I was deeply unhappy and intensely anti-social. I didn't understand why people spoke to each other - they never seemed to be saying anything important. I didn't feel the need to speak unless something NEEDED saying.
I was lonely. Cripplingly so. I looked at all these other kids going to parties, having friends, exchanging gossip and rumours and no doubt entirely magnified stories of adventures and conquests. I DESPERATELY wanted in, but the limit of my social interaction with other kids was when they were beating me over the head with the metal strap of a watch, spitting at me, spreading horrible rumours about me, and generally making my life as miserable as they could. Face it - kids are shit. Never again in your life will you ever face enemies so relentless, remorseless, and unforgiving.
I cried. A lot. I considered suicide, but always convinced myself I was just too cowardly to do even that. Looking back now I know that was a stupid way to think, but forgive me, I was young and emotionally immature. Even more so than now.
It felt like my life would never be anything more than deep upset, spurned advances, and crippling social insecurity. For much of my life I have had periods of time where even the act of getting up in the morning is impossible, because once you are up, it means you have to face everything again. Face the world, and everything, and everyone in it. Sometimes living was just too difficult and dying seemed the ONLY option. Some people may see this as grossly overacting, but consider this - if you get to a point where your wish to die overrides your natural, inbuilt self preservation instincts, something is seriously wrong. When the thought of what it would do to your family doesn't even figure in, because the NEED to be gone is simply THAT strong...that is not mere unhappiness to which one is overreacting. I was never the type of child or teenager to throw loud, dramatic wobblers, kick up fuss and a storm of reaction, and then go on next day as if nothing had happened. I internalised. I cried by myself. I never told my parents I wished to kill myself. This was something so deep, and so shameful, and yet so much a part of my life.
Letting go was one of the most difficult things I have ever done.
When depression has become your lifelong partner, always there hanging by your side, it becomes familiar. You forget it's possible to feel any other way. At best, a constant feeling of dread and deep seated unhappiness, and a feeling of WRONGness, like you've forgotten something important, that sort of deep seated unease you can't put a meaning to. At my worst, all logical thought was overtaken by a feeling so strong, so intense, so overwhelming...words cannot describe. This is not mere unhappiness or an off day. This is the point where death is the ONLY option, where the NEED to end everything is all pervading, where desperation takes hold.
I dealt with this throughout much of my childhood and throughout my entire time at University.
And yet, University was a different experience for me. Freed from the expectations of my friends and family, and the pre-conceived notions of who I was, I could be who I wanted to be.
Truth be told, I overdid me. I was ME as intensely as I could be, and damn the consequences. I alternately had a blast being the most extreme version of me I could be, and hit damning lows of utter despair, of late nights, tears, pills, knives, police and hospital visits.
I tried my best to keep all this side of me hidden throughout my time at University. A few close friends had a hazy idea of the buzzwords of the 21st century, depression and anxiety. Fewer, closer friends, or simply people who were in the wrong place at the wrong time, saw me in full flow and had to deal with the consequences. I wronged people. I hurt the people I loved. I was desperately unhappy at times and yet, I could be ecstatically joyful and energetic, both sexually and socially. I swung between the two extremes, but always endeavored to only show my, on the balance, more socially acceptable side. This is the side most of you will know. This is the side I chose to show you. Both sides were equally as genuine, and very much a part of who I was.
On the whole, I like to think people think good of me. On the whole, I like to think I made a good impression in my time in Nottingham. I'm so proud of all I achieved there, and of all the friends I made. On the whole, I'd like to think that those who did not know about my depression, are surprised by this post.
Now, my story is not all doom and gloom. Socially awkward, quiet, shy, suicidal kid I may have been, but University provided me with so many experiences, and so many friends and so much room and time to mature and grow. They say we learn by our mistakes - that being so, I reckon I must be a genius.
I truly flourished at University, in between the suicidal thoughts and the alcoholism. I was able to come out of my shell, and by god did I do so. The man I became in Nottingham was indistinguishable from the socially crippled child I was. Anyone who knows me now, if they could have seen me then, would not recognise me. I had so many experiences, met so many people, learned so many things,and have memories and friends I will cherish for the rest of my life. I may not get in touch with you as often as I should, but it doesn't mean I'm not thinking about you. Each and every one of you who touched my life in some way or another, who helped shape the me I am now.
And the depression? It's more or less a thing of the past. After 4 years of shunting me around on different SSRIs, I've finally been given a happy pill that works.
Today, I have a job, I have realistic dreams and the motivation to achieve them. I yearn to get back to Nottingham with all the good and bad memories it holds for me.
I have emotionally matured. No longer do I need alcohol to feel human. For the first time in my life I am truly confident, I'm excited for the future, I know who I am, I know what I want, I know how to get it, and I have the drive to succeed. I feel happy, in a way I never knew was possible. I'm no longer quite so manic. I'm still a little odd and I always will be, but it is not acted out in such desperation, such a massive swing between utter despair and intense elation. After so many years of holding on to my depression, walking side by side, hand in hand, I'm beginning to let go.
And for everyone who was expecting a more "Paul" like post, I leave you with this:
My new pills do not inhibit my sexual performance.
For the first time in 3 years...I CAN JIZZ AGAIN.
And it feels fantastic.
I was not a popular kid. The same way a can of propane is not good at putting out fires. I was weird, quiet, some would say arrogant, but it wasn't arrogance, just self defence, and something missing from my head. I was the kid whom the unpopular kids picked on to make themselves feel better. Anybody who knows me now (presumably you do or you wouldn't be reading this) would probably call me eccentric, highly charged, overly sexual, more than a little bit weird, and a host of other, less savoury things. But never quiet. Never unconfident. Socially retarded perhaps, but on the over-the-top side of the spectrum. Believe me I count this as an improvement.
You wouldn't recognise me as a child. I needed routine. 7: breakfast (always cornflakes, regulation table spoon of sugar - don't hold it against me, I was a child). 12.30: lunch. Two ham sandwiches, a yoghurt, crisps, and a chocolate biscuit, consumed in that order. Dinner: 18.00, whatever was prepared for me. Any deviation from this pattern was enough to make me feel deeply uncomfortable, and resort to a strange need to grind my teeth together, a certain number of times, in just the right way, or it would feel WRONG.
I was deeply unhappy and intensely anti-social. I didn't understand why people spoke to each other - they never seemed to be saying anything important. I didn't feel the need to speak unless something NEEDED saying.
I was lonely. Cripplingly so. I looked at all these other kids going to parties, having friends, exchanging gossip and rumours and no doubt entirely magnified stories of adventures and conquests. I DESPERATELY wanted in, but the limit of my social interaction with other kids was when they were beating me over the head with the metal strap of a watch, spitting at me, spreading horrible rumours about me, and generally making my life as miserable as they could. Face it - kids are shit. Never again in your life will you ever face enemies so relentless, remorseless, and unforgiving.
I cried. A lot. I considered suicide, but always convinced myself I was just too cowardly to do even that. Looking back now I know that was a stupid way to think, but forgive me, I was young and emotionally immature. Even more so than now.
It felt like my life would never be anything more than deep upset, spurned advances, and crippling social insecurity. For much of my life I have had periods of time where even the act of getting up in the morning is impossible, because once you are up, it means you have to face everything again. Face the world, and everything, and everyone in it. Sometimes living was just too difficult and dying seemed the ONLY option. Some people may see this as grossly overacting, but consider this - if you get to a point where your wish to die overrides your natural, inbuilt self preservation instincts, something is seriously wrong. When the thought of what it would do to your family doesn't even figure in, because the NEED to be gone is simply THAT strong...that is not mere unhappiness to which one is overreacting. I was never the type of child or teenager to throw loud, dramatic wobblers, kick up fuss and a storm of reaction, and then go on next day as if nothing had happened. I internalised. I cried by myself. I never told my parents I wished to kill myself. This was something so deep, and so shameful, and yet so much a part of my life.
Letting go was one of the most difficult things I have ever done.
When depression has become your lifelong partner, always there hanging by your side, it becomes familiar. You forget it's possible to feel any other way. At best, a constant feeling of dread and deep seated unhappiness, and a feeling of WRONGness, like you've forgotten something important, that sort of deep seated unease you can't put a meaning to. At my worst, all logical thought was overtaken by a feeling so strong, so intense, so overwhelming...words cannot describe. This is not mere unhappiness or an off day. This is the point where death is the ONLY option, where the NEED to end everything is all pervading, where desperation takes hold.
I dealt with this throughout much of my childhood and throughout my entire time at University.
And yet, University was a different experience for me. Freed from the expectations of my friends and family, and the pre-conceived notions of who I was, I could be who I wanted to be.
Truth be told, I overdid me. I was ME as intensely as I could be, and damn the consequences. I alternately had a blast being the most extreme version of me I could be, and hit damning lows of utter despair, of late nights, tears, pills, knives, police and hospital visits.
I tried my best to keep all this side of me hidden throughout my time at University. A few close friends had a hazy idea of the buzzwords of the 21st century, depression and anxiety. Fewer, closer friends, or simply people who were in the wrong place at the wrong time, saw me in full flow and had to deal with the consequences. I wronged people. I hurt the people I loved. I was desperately unhappy at times and yet, I could be ecstatically joyful and energetic, both sexually and socially. I swung between the two extremes, but always endeavored to only show my, on the balance, more socially acceptable side. This is the side most of you will know. This is the side I chose to show you. Both sides were equally as genuine, and very much a part of who I was.
On the whole, I like to think people think good of me. On the whole, I like to think I made a good impression in my time in Nottingham. I'm so proud of all I achieved there, and of all the friends I made. On the whole, I'd like to think that those who did not know about my depression, are surprised by this post.
Now, my story is not all doom and gloom. Socially awkward, quiet, shy, suicidal kid I may have been, but University provided me with so many experiences, and so many friends and so much room and time to mature and grow. They say we learn by our mistakes - that being so, I reckon I must be a genius.
I truly flourished at University, in between the suicidal thoughts and the alcoholism. I was able to come out of my shell, and by god did I do so. The man I became in Nottingham was indistinguishable from the socially crippled child I was. Anyone who knows me now, if they could have seen me then, would not recognise me. I had so many experiences, met so many people, learned so many things,and have memories and friends I will cherish for the rest of my life. I may not get in touch with you as often as I should, but it doesn't mean I'm not thinking about you. Each and every one of you who touched my life in some way or another, who helped shape the me I am now.
And the depression? It's more or less a thing of the past. After 4 years of shunting me around on different SSRIs, I've finally been given a happy pill that works.
Today, I have a job, I have realistic dreams and the motivation to achieve them. I yearn to get back to Nottingham with all the good and bad memories it holds for me.
I have emotionally matured. No longer do I need alcohol to feel human. For the first time in my life I am truly confident, I'm excited for the future, I know who I am, I know what I want, I know how to get it, and I have the drive to succeed. I feel happy, in a way I never knew was possible. I'm no longer quite so manic. I'm still a little odd and I always will be, but it is not acted out in such desperation, such a massive swing between utter despair and intense elation. After so many years of holding on to my depression, walking side by side, hand in hand, I'm beginning to let go.
And for everyone who was expecting a more "Paul" like post, I leave you with this:
My new pills do not inhibit my sexual performance.
For the first time in 3 years...I CAN JIZZ AGAIN.
And it feels fantastic.
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