Empty Rooms

I look up at your broken bricks
as I walk past on a rainy afternoon.
That life I was promised those years ago,
shines as bright as a full moon.
I think back to those crazy nights,
of screams and whispers of thought.
Those empty words and empty secrets,
now blessed with empty rooms.

Much history resides in this gloomy edifice,
the remains of morbid mistreatment.
Grief-stricken and shocked,
all three times I was there,
only memories have beaten the clock.
Those empty promises and empty pacts,
now blessed with empty rooms.

The demons of past and present
are locked inside that nest.
From both sides of the coin,
that world was too tough
to swallow and to digest.
But I’m here now,
walking past on the outside.
Past the empty pledges and empty oaths,
now blessed with empty rooms.

I will continue to walk past you,
with a grand smile across my face.
Your existence is now futile
and I have won this race.
Your purpose is now gone,
your raison d'être, dead.
I will now live my life
with vigour and with no dread.

I will continue to walk past you,
with a grand smile across my face.
Past the empty words and empty secrets,
now blessed with empty rooms.

Opening Up

I have never been very good at talking about things. Despite everything that has happened, the stories of which reside in these pages, I am still quite bad at being open and honest with how I'm feeling. I'm getting better, slowly but surely, but I do still bottle things up. I was blessed with my Father's stubbornness.

For the past couple of weeks, I've been reading an autobiography written by Robbie Rogers, a professional footballer in the USA who happens to be gay. He speaks about how he couldn't communicate his secret in fear of the reaction. That's the best way to describe why I can't open up. The fear of the reaction. Everything from my sexuality to battling depression, I would always be scared that those closest to me would turn around and laugh it off, or tell me to get on with it. When you think that way for so long, it becomes a deeply engrained part of your personality. A particularly stubborn stain on your bright white shirt.

It was the very reason I started this blog in December 2009. Writing things down was a way of getting things off my chest. It wasn't as effective as physically telling someone, but it was better than nothing. Writing was, and still is a form of therapy for me.

Robbie Rogers used e-mail to communicate his secrets, which reminded me of the time when I used to as well. Except in my case, the recipients were sat in the same building as me. I would be upstairs in my bedroom while my parents sat downstairs watching TV, and I would type out my feelings and e-mail it to them. I would never get a response via e-mail. I would wait anxiously for the unmistakeable sound of footsteps up the staircase and the faint knock on the bedroom door. Mum would be on the other side, as she'd try and coax answers out of me.

It sounds ridiculous now, but I was so scared of actually talking about it, that I felt it was the best way. Reading about Robbie Rogers' emails reminded me of the email I sent to my parents when I admitted I needed psychiatric help. A huge moment for someone so young and it was the signal for the long journey to recovery.

Due to the wonders of modern technology, I managed to find this email. I have read it back countless times this evening, as the memories of typing it come flooding back...

...

Dear Mum & Dad

I have no idea whether or not I am doing the right thing here, by typing out my feelings like this, but I cannot keep my feelings to myself a day longer. Every single night, I lie here telling myself that I will face up to my problems tomorrow. I will tell Mum what is going on, and I will go to a doctor and seek help. Every single night, I cry myself silently to sleep, hoping that tomorrow is the day I finally face up to it. When morning comes, I have lost my bottle. This is why I am typing this out at 3am, and emailing it to you. I know I won’t be able to tell you face-to-face, and by the morning, I’d have somehow lost my nerve. Somehow, in the few hours I have been asleep, I have convinced myself that I can continue fighting this on my own. A wave of disappointment hits me, and most mornings, I do not want to be awake. I suppose this is why I try and stay in bed for as long as possible. I don’t want to face the outside world. All I want is to forget what is happening to me, and go back to sleep, the only place where I don’t have to think about what is going on. From the outside, it just looks like laziness... And even now, it sounds like an excuse... For years, I have felt I stood a chance in fighting whatever is going on in my head, by myself, without needing to involve others. I know it can’t go on like that.

I cannot imagine how frustrating I must be to live with. The expectation when I start something new, the feeling that maybe I have found something that I can stick to, only to watch me fall apart and fail, again. However much it looks like that I am not bothered with what I do with my life, I can guarantee that no one is more ashamed of it than me. I want, more than anything in the world, to be normal and happy. Whatever lives inside my head is stopping me from being that. Not every day is a bad day. Some days, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, I can be myself. But on the bad days, (what I call the ‘dark days’), I can see only black. The description sounds stupid, but all I can see is negativity, no light at the end of a never-ending tunnel and darkness. I see no future, so I see no point in trying to fight for a future that isn’t there. Reading it back, it makes little sense. But that is the only way I can describe it.

I’m finding it very difficult to explain how I’m feeling, even without the pressure of talking face-to-face. My head is an absolute mess. I usually get the impression that you don’t understand how I’m feeling. To be honest, I don’t blame you. I know on countless occasions, you have told me that going out and keeping busy will make me feel better, but on bad days, this is the last thing I want to do. Again, I wouldn’t expect you to understand. You say things like, “everyone has miserable days", but this is different. Not everyone cries themselves to sleep at night. Not everyone has the best friends a guy could ask for, yet feel so alone. Not everyone has something inside them that physically stops them from progressing. For that is what this is. A physical illness. It is not a case of “something to get over” or to “get on with”. Whatever this is, is physically stopping me from getting on with my life. It is physically stopping me from applying for jobs, it physically stopped me from surviving University, and it will continue to physically stop me until I sort it out. I know that now. I need you to understand that this is physical. It is very real. It is not a figment of my imagination, or something I can beat with a bit of “positive thinking”, or giving it some time to go away on its own. I need a program of sustained professional help, from some sort of counsellor or psychiatrist. It is this I need help with. Quitting job after job, and quitting university was not a case of avoiding hard work, but a case of this ... This thing inside me. This thing that makes me panic and worry and think the worst things. I cannot get past it.

I have said many times, that all I want is to be left alone. It sounds incredibly stupid, but these are the times I need you the most. Like last Tuesday, (and a few other times), where Mum shouted at me for still being in bed. I know what it looked like. It looked like extreme laziness, but that was me in an extremely fragile state, of which you weren’t to know. All I wanted was to be shut off from the world, until I felt safe enough to come out. One thought led to another, which led to what you could call, a breakdown. I have had these in the past. The time I ran away from home, when I was still in Year 13. The time I ended up ringing you at 5am, after a heavy night in Manchester, and revealed all about my sexuality. My sexuality is something I am not bothered with anymore. I have accepted who I am on that front, and I talk openly to my friends about it, and even take a bit of “banter” about it from them, all in good faith. However, both of these times, and a few more that you do not know about, I genuinely thought about taking my own life. It had got so bad, and I could see nothing good about anything, that it seemed like the only option. Thankfully, I think I could never do anything like that. But I know for certain I cannot live the rest of my life, fearing the next day.

I’m sorry it has had to come to this. Writing it down in some sort of letter, and e-mailing it. Even the thought that I cannot open up normally to my own family sends me into despair. You may still not understand a single word of what I have written, but that is the best way I can describe it. When you read this, probably tomorrow evening when you open your emails, I will most probably be upstairs in my room, trying to avoid things. If you come up and speak to me, I will most definitely try and avoid answering questions, and persuade you to leave me alone. I don’t know why that is. Show me this letter, and tell me it has to be sorted now. We can plan a trip to the doctors and take it from there. I need you to do this for me because, as extraordinary as it may sound, I will probably have convinced myself that there is nothing there to treat. I will have persuaded myself that this is nothing I can’t handle myself. It sounds crazy, I know. I will probably need you to come with me to these sessions as well, however much I dislike the idea at the time. It is an impossible situation to put you all in, especially Mum, seeing as you are home more often than not. Despite probably running on empty with the patience you have given me, I need you now more than ever.

I hope you are not angry reading this. Clicking ‘Send’ on the e-mail may well be the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but it is my last shot in letting you all know what is happening to me. It’s going to be a long road, but I need you all to help me through it. At times, I will be incredibly reluctant to seek help, as I am the sort of person that doesn’t like other people helping me. I cannot thank you enough for the help you have tried to give me, even if it has looked like I have thrown it straight in the bin. I will understand if you don’t want to help me anymore, but I hope you have enough left in you to help me overcome my biggest hurdle.

Tom x


...

Lights, Camera, ACTION!

If you follow me on any social media channel going, you'll know that I have spent much of this past week filming a documentary on homophobia for the BBC. I mentioned it in this blog a while back, but it got delayed for one reason or another. This past week, I have learnt a lot about the world of television, met some incredible people and made some amazing memories.

On Tuesday, we spent a few hours in the morning asking questions to football fans in my hometown of Bedford. We asked them about the lack of diversity in football, the absence of an out gay footballer in top-flight leagues and what can be done about it. I won't give the answers away, but we got some interesting responses! Tuesday was the small stint, as we strolled around Bedford town reigning people in, as if we were internet salesmen.

The real action began yesterday (Friday), with a whole day filming in my flat, in the local LGBT bar and at Kempston Rovers FC. We started off the day in my humble abode; the living room was temporarily transformed into a film set. My small coffee table was shunted to one side as Alfredo the Camera Man messed about with different angles and lighting as we milled around.

Before I go any further, the phrase "milling around" is one that took on a new meaning for this weekend. You'll know what I mean when I explain what happened.

So, about 30 minutes of trial and error, finding the absolute perfect degree of lighting and the best angle, myself and my friend Robbie began our conversation on the issue of homophobia in football. Again, I won't give too much away, but we got a lot of compliments on how comfortable we were on camera and the nature of our conversation. Robbie asked a lot of probing questions and I think we did really well. The conversation continued outside, as we were filmed walking towards the pub. The walk from my flat to the pub is about ten minutes max, but this particular walk took 3 or 4 times longer. The main road towards the pub is a hub of activity, and we got a lot of awkward looks as a full film crew followed us down the road.

"Are you BBC News?!" shouted one onlooker. We smiled and waved him on... We got a lot of that...

The conversation continued at the pub, as we bought an early afternoon pint. Most of it had gone by the time we actually started filming again. The lighting had to be perfect etcetera etcetera. I do appreciate that these things need to be spot on, so we waited patiently talking about anything. The Champions Trophy final. Funny incidents from the club. The surreal nature of being in a BBC documentary...

We had probably been at it for a few hours before we made the trip to our third and final location, Kempston Rovers FC. Robbie's official job was done, but he came along to have a look. I knew that we would be filming a lot of my personal story for the rest of the day, so had to re-focus and reassure myself that I was doing the right thing, for the greater good.

On paper, the idea of telling my own story of homophobia in football sounded like a really great and noble one. When it came to actually doing it, in front of a camera knowing that this was definitely going to be broadcast was another kettle of fish. However, before we got to that, we worked on a few theatrical shots to fill the gaps between the content. We come to another personal hurdle to jump, and it's one that I wasn't expecting...

The idea from the directors was that they would film as I got changed from my "normal" clothes into a football kit. It's a go-to shot for filming anything football related it seems. As soon as they suggested it I thought, "Uh oh". My kebab and JD filled stomach isn't ready for BBC exposure just yet! It's not a topic I've touched upon very much, but I, along with a lot of people I suppose, are quite body conscious. Not to the degree of it being dangerous - I'm not that fussed about getting my body out. I don't do anything to help myself in all honesty, (he types as he scoffs quickly-bought chicken and chips), but this is a show that will (hopefully) be watched by thousands of people. This was a tad different.

However, the shot was simply from behind me, with my upper back and head in shot as I changed my shirt. I am quite lucky that I've got broad shoulders so it actually looks like I'm quite athletic (I say in hope!). It's just the beer belly where things get messy! It was very odd being asked to change from normal shirt to football shirt about ten times while they got the perfect shot, but I was kinda glad when we called "cut!" for the final time on that particular segment.

Things got serious outside, as we filmed more theatrical shots that included a camera going round me in circles as I did some kick-ups and tricks, which was pretty cool. It was nice to know that I've still got the moves! Hopefully they'll make the final cut! Then, possibly the most important part of the whole documentary for me, was my own personal story of experiencing homophobia on the football pitch a couple of years ago. The whole story is a few posts back on this blog, so if you want to know more, then hunt that down. But that took a good hour and it was very, very tough.

It's only been a few months since I've spoken about what happened before, but the reality of what we were actually doing here really hit home at this point. It's one thing writing about what happened. It's quite another knowing you're going to be on TV talking about it. We got through it though, even if hayfever was severely impacting my ability to talk properly at this point, and after a couple more theatrical shots of me trying (and failing) to smash the ball into the top corner of an empty goal, we called it a day. 8 hours later...

We move on to today, the final day of filming. I had to make the two-hour trip to Beckenham, South East London for this one, at a place called 'Goals', which was a huge place made up of 10 five-a-side pitches and a neat bar/café. It was a pretty impressive place, and it was also the location of a game that was going to happen between a gay-friendly side called London Titans and a "normal" 5-a-side team.

(For the purposes of explanation, I'm going to use "gay friendly" and "normal" to differentiate. Don't read anything into it!)

It was a few hours before we started working at all, as I arrived at 10am and the rest didn't turn up until about 1 o'clock. Again, (I'm not sure why), the directors wanted footage of the Titans getting changed into their kit. A couple of them found this slightly odd, (I got the impression one of them had serious reservations about getting his kit off in front of camera - which is fair enough - it is quite an ask if you're quite conscious about it), so the "normal" side did that bit. A couple of them were pretty hot to be fair, so they had no qualms about showing off in front of camera!

Another delay as the film crew got out their perfectionist hats once more as we took a few takes to film me putting my gloves on. As soon as we had done that, we were out on the pitch. Myself in goal, Calum, Jasper, Joe and Charlie out on pitch. We also borrowed a 6th player as a sub, a very good player called Az, for good reason, as it was ABSOLUTELY SWELTERING.

Now, I never knew how difficult it is to play football in near 30 degree heat, but I can tell you it is not very pleasant. The nearest I can get to was a weird early October heatwave about 5 or 6 years ago, when I refereed a game in similar temperatures, but we were out on that pitch for a good few hours today. I was wearing a long-sleeved goalkeeper jersey with thick goalie gloves on, and within half an hour, I could feel myself losing weight.

Yes, that's probably a good thing.

Our 40-minute game, (that was extended to nearly 50 minutes for reasons unknown*) was actually extremely competitive. Here were two teams, playing in a recreational game of 5-a-side with nothing riding on it, taking it very, very seriously. I knew it wasn't going to be a casual kick around, but within 5 minutes, I realised I had to be on the very top of my game. I didn't want to let down my new teammates, as I worked out very quickly that we were, in effect, representing a whole community out there. We didn't want to lose, or even worse, whitewashed, especially as it was all being filmed. I played pretty well, considering it was the first time I'd played in goal in over two years. There were no calamities and I made a few decent saves but we lost out in the end by a couple of goals.

It was extremely warm work. I struggled out there and I did nothing but make a few saves. The guys who were running around doing all the hard work were absolutely spent by the end of the game. A couple of them admitted to feeling light-headed. The production team wanted to carry on doing some more shots and theatrical set ups and you could sense the players getting more and more annoyed and flustered as they were asked to repeat and repeat and repeat for another hour after the actual game had finished.

I can tell you, if I heard the phrase, "That's perfect! Let's do it again!" one more time, I'd have walked off. This whole experience has been absolutely incredible, but the one minor flaw in it is the sheer amount of "milling around" that was done. I would hazard a guess that I was on set for around 24 hours this week, and I was involved in about 2 or 2 and a half hours worth of film, that will be cut down to accommodate a 30-minute documentary.

That's a lot of waiting.

One final sum up of the events later, involving me lacing up my trainers with rainbow laces, and after being on set for nearly 11 hours, I started my journey home with a smile on my face. At times this experience has been long-winded. Our original plan was to film in April/May and for it to be broadcast by now, but it didn't turn out that way. There was also a brief scare as I had to find someone to cover for me at work for today's filming - the main part of the documentary - or face being dropped from it altogether which would have been heart-breaking given how much I have looked forward to doing this, and the sheer importance of the topic we were facing. However, it all worked out in the end and I simply cannot wait to see and hear the final product.

If ever anyone else gets an opportunity to do something similar, for whatever reason, do it. Be prepared for a lot of waiting and a lot of constant and seemingly needless adjustments along the way, but when you actually get down to filming it, the experience of being on camera is amazing. It's a brief glimpse into the world of a film star. To say that you've been the subject of a documentary about trying to make a positive change is just brilliant and something I'll remember forever. I'm really looking forward to the reaction it gets and if anything changes as a result.

The documentary is going to be broadcast on Thursday 3rd August on BBC Three and on iPlayer, with a radio documentary also in the pipeline (details of which are TBC). Put it in your diaries!

*We think the directors tried to extend the game so we had a chance of winning... We didn't.

One Year On From Pulse

On 12th June 2016, Omar Mateen shot dead 49 people and seriously injured another 58 in the worst mass shooting in American history and the deadliest act of terror since 9/11. The attack took place at Pulse Nightclub in Orlando, Florida on a special Latino night for the LGBT community.

I don't tend to remember specific details about these sorts of events. Who would want to? But I didn't have to look any of that up whilst typing this tonight. I remember the exact amount of people who died. I remember the exact amount of others who were injured. I remember the nature of the night it happened. And I remember the name of the callous coward who committed the atrocity. I remember the exact moment as I saw the BBC break the news and the stream of comments on Twitter afterwards. I remember the hours, watching intently into the early morning, as if I was watching some sick horror movie but with tears streaming down my face. I remember the pain.

This happened miles away, on the other side of the world's largest ocean, but the impact it had on me, and many others was profound. Even a week later, the lonely LGBT bar in our non-important town of Bedford in England was quiet. The idea of a safe place for queer people had been smashed before our very eyes, in bloodshed and in war. All of a sudden, despite this murder taking place in a far away land, I felt a tinge of anxiety. That safe place had gone.

I remember the very first time I stepped foot in a gay bar. The Barley Mow, standing tall for nearly two centuries, welcomed it's newest member. A whole new world of camp, of drag queens and language. A plethora of camp; a concoction of dance moves, wigs and in-jokes creating a brand new world. A bubble of fun and ridiculous cocktails.

On 12th June 2016, the bubble burst.

It's difficult to explain the emotion of that night. Part of me felt immense pain, yet part of me felt like I shouldn't. I didn't know any of these people. I have never even been to the States. Yet, I knew of their struggles. Their desperation to be themselves and to be accepted and that huge sense of relief when you step inside four walls that accept you. Where you can be as gay as you damn well wished without fear of repercussion or violence. In a very small yet significant way, I felt connected to them.

That night, I took my Pride flag from out of my work bag and pinned it to the bedroom wall above my bed. It remains there to this day, reminding me how lucky I am. How lucky that I wasn't born 30 years ago and lived through the extreme prejudice and the AIDS crisis. How lucky I am that I was born in a country that (eventually) gave us equal rights, and not Iran or Chechnya. How lucky I am that there were people out there who were willing to give their lives and their blood so we could live ours so freely.

And I prayed.

I don't know why. I am by no means religious, but I did so because I wanted those 49 people to end up in a place where they could be happy. In sheer desperation I suppose, I wanted there to be a God so that he could comfort them. I prayed for those 49 souls to be given the opportunity to be themselves, wherever they may be and to continue living the lives their predecessors had granted them.

Life Goes On

Hello. Been a while...

I haven't neglected this blog on purpose. I usually have words to write, or problems to digest but everything has been going so swimmingly lately, it's hard to know what to put. With the copious amounts of problems written in these dark pages, it feels odd to write in it with nothing to say. Apart from the fact that life is good. Life goes on.

The whole documentary life has been a bit stop-start recently, but with confirmation of the first filming date on 10th June (shit, that's in 9 days time!) that really will kick on from now. I believe the broadcast date is on 4th August, so I will be plugging that 'til kingdom come closer to the time. I was thinking about the whole thing earlier, whilst coasting along the country roads of Maulden in my new job that I have settled into like a duck to water. It really is such a unique and amazing opportunity and I am so excited to get going.

Ahh yes. The new job. Of course, things weren't going well in the old one but this new jaunt into the working life, a mere delivery driver for Argos, is right up my street. It only took me eight years, but the fear of being judged for what you do for a living is gone. I happily walk to work sporting my bright yellow Argos hi-vis and have since worked out that no one really gives a damn. Working as a 'Data Analyst for the NHS' sounds pretty up market after all. That isn't why I pursued that kind of work, but it played a tiny part in me not looking for something I enjoyed but may be seen as crap. Or "not ambitious enough". Or "not fulfilling my potential".

It's always been a weakness of mine. I do care of what people think of me, and this stretches back to the school days.

I remember times when I loved playing snooker with my Dad, but was embarrassed about walking the short walk from the car to the snooker hall, cue in hand, in case anyone from school saw me and took the mickey for liking snooker. It's utterly ludicrous looking back on it, but that's just who I was. In some ways, it still is who I am. But I've been through too much to care a lot these days.

So, that's basically it. A smooth road lies ahead, and I'm very confident I can keep it smooth. This is a brand new feeling... And I like it very much!