13 Reasons Why

* TRIGGER WARNING - THIS POST INCLUDES DETAIL ON UPSETTING (FICTIONAL) EVENTS*

'13 Reasons Why'. The original Netflix series that has gripped nations, on the most harrowing of subjects and a series I have just finished. I had heard a lot about it, for Twitter wouldn't let me escape it and it was a series I had originally tried to avoid. I originally thought it would hit a bit too close to home for me given my own personal experiences.

The series is based around the story of an American high school girl called Hannah Baker who commits suicide. She makes 13 cassette tapes - one episode per tape - detailing the reasons why she did what she did and the people who caused it. She sends it to the people involved, encouraging them to pass it on when they've listened. Of course, as with all TV shows, there is a whole back story that winds it's way through the lives of her school peers. I will say no more.

One thing I can say, is that this show is not an easy watch. In fact, it's by far the most difficult thing I've ever seen on a TV screen. The show seriously advises you to be cautious if anything may trigger any upsetting feelings. It is of course fictional, but some of the images that are depicted can be dangerous for some people to watch. In the final episode, the suicide of Hannah isn't shied away from. In fact, it is shown in every gruesome detail. I had to fast forward through it.

I had read a couple of blogs on the show before I watched the opening episode, one of which implied that mental illness isn't discussed as a possible reason why Hannah committed suicide.  The blog post argued that the show is "glamourising mental illness." It argued that nothing was shown about the emptiness of Hannah, or the real feelings that depression exposes, but there are 2 major flaws with that argument.

The first, is that everyone's mental illness is different. Not all who suffer depression feel empty. Some do, but some don't, everyone is unique. It is abundantly clear that Hannah is suffering in many ways as the story unfolds. Secondly, we eventually see Hannah opening up to the counsellor about how she is feeling. About how she wants it to end, and how she doesn't care anymore and that she feels nothing. The counsellor doesn't stop her leaving the room. I think this shows a very real side to what Hannah was feeling and a grave, final mistake from a minor character in the series, who turns into a major reason for what happened.

Most of all though, I took away one moral from the story. There are a lot of main characters in this series, but the main one is a guy called Clay Jensen. Clay is the "inbetweener". Not bullied or seen as weird, but not one of the "jocks" in Liberty High School. Throughout the series, there are flashes of the feelings he develops for Hannah and again, it is clear the feelings are reciprocated. Yet neither of them say anything, at least until the damage is done. The shyness of Clay and the developing insecurities of Hannah lead to both of them hiding their feelings for each other.

The moral of the story, in my opinion? Always tell people that you love them. Don't live in regret wishing you could have said something before it's too late. In reality, it may sound daunting or odd; just to come out with such a deep feeling out of nowhere, but as we learn in this series, it is a mistake you could have to live with forever. In this case, it is a mistake that costs a life.

I must urge caution if you are thinking of watching this series. I cried a few times whilst watching and it can bring some dark memories for a lot of people who have been through something similar. But if you feel confident enough, I highly recommend it. It reminds us of a very important lesson in life. That it is sacred. It is to be treasured. To love.

That's all Hannah Baker needed.

Like Old Times

This past weekend reminds me of all the facets that were once my weekends of yesteryear. A lot of alcohol, a lot of action and very little sleep.

The story starts on Friday, with the news that we would be beginning the filming for the BBC documentary (see last post). Myself and a chap with a camera would be going down to the bog standard local league game between Kempston Rovers and Uxbridge, a mere ten minutes down the road from the desk I'm currently sitting at. It would involve simple conversations and filming some reactions. Nothing more. Nothing less...

So I had to have a clear head for that; for this documentary has to look professional. But my lust for the nightlife, the temptations of making new stories and escaping the everyday spiral that my day-to-day life is becoming was too much. A bottle of whisky was bought. Another Friday night loomed large.

11 hours later, at roughly 5am, I stumbled back through the door of my one bedroom flat; the regrets and wonders of another night stored safely in the memory bank. Knowing full well I shouldn't be doing this; that it will all come back to bite me eventually yet not having the will power to beat the urges. The same, never-ending urges.

I have to be awake in 8 hours, which is fine as I neck mug after mug after mug of water in a desperate attempt to save myself from the impending hangover that are getting worse with age. Living the life of an 18 year old when you're nearly 26 is downright stupid.

I take my medication, as is the habit, knowing that I may as well be eating smarties instead of taking quetiapine. The alcohol cancels it out. It always has done and it always will. I try and sleep. My head is filled with the pain my Mother would feel if she knew I'd started this cycle again. The nervous energy of what lay ahead for the day, knowing I may get abuse or worse. The regrets...

I can't sleep. I look at the clock and it's 07:55. If I go to sleep now, I'm not waking up.

In the midst of these pages are the stories from the BP days. Working night shifts followed by cricket matches followed by night shifts followed by cricket matches. 72 hours of flat out action with mere hour naps in between. This weekend reminded me of those as I got up, got re-dressed and went down to the cricket club to help. I was probably still drunk as I unloaded the delivery for the weekend's Cricket Force work.

After a few hours of wandering around like a zombie, can of red bull in hand, I decide to call it a day. In the blink of an eye, I am home, as if I zoned out and walked on auto pilot.

At 2pm, again in the blink of an eye, I'm at the football ground, welcoming the camera man and talking to people. I can't even remember the conversations I had; the only detail of the whole encounter being that we received 100% positive answers. Good, yes. Television worthy? No.

I get home, the mammoth day has come to an end. One of the highlights of my year awaits on the other side of a much-needed sleep.

Yesterday, I was in Covent Garden once more - specifically the Café de Paris - for the London Eurovision Party. For the third year in a row, we had bought VIP tickets, gaining prime seats for the 4 hour extravaganza of Eurovision acts from past and present. In past years, we had managed to get backstage to talk to the stars. This year, it was much stricter. I wasn't holding my breath.

It was an incredible night, as always. I spent way too much money (that I don't have) as we sang and danced our way through the line-up before joining a few friends on the dance floor downstairs. This is where my drunken, attention-seeking mind took over. Despite claiming I "wasn't so bothered" about getting backstage this year, it turns out I was. I managed to borrow a friend's Access All Areas pass and there I was, a now familiar scene of a free bar with the stars.

Except I have since realised that I was a bit of an arse last night. Not only did I put undue pressure on a friend to give me his pass, I then left him and a couple of other friends behind in my quest to be important. Is this the person I've become? Wanting to be top dog and not a lonesome peasant? Doing anything I can to be the centre of attention and the guy that must be liked at any cost? I feel awful about the events that took place in the early hours of this morning and despite it being an amazing experience once again, it feels a tad hollow in the cold light of day.

Hopefully I've learnt my lesson.

But despite this weekend of action, I have come away with one overriding feeling. That of selfishness. Not just last night, but this last month, I am choosing the easy path again, knowing where that road leads. My mindset at the moment is to live the high life by any means possible, not considering the consequences big enough, before its too late.

So why don't I stop? Why don't I change? Why can I not resist just one more huge night out? Maybe it's narcissism. Maybe Mum was right; I have to stop considering myself better than everyone else. I am far from it.

"Who cares about money? You can't take it with you!" It's a sound bite I've used a lot recently, in the desperate and foolish attempt to justify the way I am dealing with what is a very bad relapse. It's the wrong way, but I know no other.