Time To Face The Music

Yet again, we find ourselves in a familiar situation. Another weekend in Manchester and after last time, I honestly didn't think things could get more inconvenient and/or messy. Delete as appropriate. The only difference from last time is that I never intended for it to get to that stage...

Again.

Last time, I was in serious need of a let-loose session, a time where I didn't care what happened to me, I just wanted to feel lost and free without anything to think about. This time, I was just intending to get merry and enjoy being around the best friends I could hope for. This is where the story begins.

Friday afternoon, 2pm. Time to leave. The journey was slightly different to last times, as we had to pick Kets up from Coventry, so a slight diversion needed. I was never anticipating 5 and a half hours of driving though and by the time we got there, in darkness, at 7.30pm, I felt a little bit jaded. But a party was happening, so party I would. The pre-drinks was a fairly quiet affair, me sitting in the corner with my Jack Daniels and coke while people left and came back again after changing into party clothes. I think we left at about 10.20pm in the end. To Font, we go.

The scene of last times events, and I was determined to not leave in the same state. I took it easy, with flashes of madness. A couple of hours later, and a few cocktails inside my stomach, and half of another one all over my jeans, (accidental barmaid collision), we went on our way to Factory. The final resting place of my old guts. Hopefully, I would last longer than 20 minutes this time...

I did. In fact, I lasted much longer, but the place itself wasn't amazing. No good music on offer mixed with the club version of the Hillsborough disaster plus a modicum of tiredness, meant we had a fairly early night. After a brief excursion to some kebab place, in which I got abused by a Nigerian bouncer who told me to, "shut the fuck up", because I questioned his demands for us to move, we got a couple of cabs home and to sleep.

Well, I say, "to sleep". I don't know if anyone has tried sleeping on cold, hard, wooden flooring with only the help of a blanket and a rather hard cushion, but it is as impossible as finding your way out of Coventry without having to use the Ring Road that has no exits. It didn't happen, and the only bit of sleep I got was severely cut short by Beddoe's flatmates amusingly crashing in with a road sign and a large amount of noise. Of this, I was grateful, as it gave me something to do as we headed downstairs for a bit of 'Annoy Beddoe'. Common practice in the household, I hear. Pictures prove the habitual drunken times. However, at about 5.30am, people drifted off to bed, leaving me to try and battle the hard floor with a bit of will power. None of which I have. I tried sleeping in the car, which was just as impossible thanks to the Arctic temperatures, so at 8am, I gave up and sat reading the local paper until 11am, as people started to awake from their comfortable hours of sleep on soft material.

Luckily, Beddoe gave me the opportunity of a good few hours kip in his bed as the others went to wherever they did. I forget now. But, there was no excuses for missing out on the Saturday night, which I have inclined to on a couple of occasions when Beddoe lived in Halls. The plan was to go to the favourite, 5th Avenue, as Beddoe had been invited to a birthday do there, so we were back at it again. I sifted my way through a few double JD and cokes and I was in a good mood as we walked back out in the cold, jumping in a minibus, on the way to a night where I was convinced I would get drunk, but not too drunk.

You see, sometimes it works out that way. But when a club offers a double vodka Red Bull for the same price as a single, sometimes, it doesn't. Combined with good music and the fact that Beddoe's mate, Chris, was making us laugh with quirky jokes in his northern accent, things got... happy. I didn't think I had had that much. I worked out a (much) later time, that I had spent only £25. A fraction of the amount I had spent last time. However, after seeing off a fair number of VodBulls, things got a bit hazy.

I don't remember walking out of the club. The only thing I remember is being threatened by a Manc woman for walking near her. I recall saying, "I don't want any trouble, I just want to go home". The next thing I knew, I was on the floor, with Beddoe's tasty Spaghetti Bolognese in a pile on the floor in front of me, and I was severely shaking. I was lucky that a few friendly passers-by rang an ambulance. I remember lying on that floor for a fair amount of time, just wanting it to end. The bad thoughts, the fact that I had left myself drift into the same drunken position yet again, thinking that anything is better than this. Anything.

The paramedics turned up, in their almost rude but helpful manner. They don't like it when they have to deal with self-inflicted rubbish like this. I was helped into the ambulance and I was on my way to Manchester Royal Infirmary. The 2nd time I had ended up in hospital because of drink. This time though, it was much worse.

I could feel the phone in my pocket vibrating, constantly. I knew people were trying to find out if I was OK, and the worry they must have felt... I remember thinking that no one would want to be around me during this time, so I settled down for a night-shift of recovery. Once, I had ended up in Bedford Hospital, they gave me loads of fluids, and I was ok in a few hours. Not this one. They shoved me in Cubicle 3. A boiling hot room with the most uncomfortable of beds, but I could do nothing but cry. Why have I done this again? I was rock bottom. I texted a few close friends, none of which were in Manchester, and told them that I was useless. Told them I was considering doing the unthinkable. Mountaneous calls came and went, unanswered, while I lay and cried my heart out. This was the end...

...

After a couple of hours, I was awoken by the voice of Beddoe. I could hear him outside asking where I was and a few seconds later, he was in giving me a huge hug that showed relief. He was with Billie, and we sat for a couple of hours. Talking. Things turned bad though. The depressant was working it's magic, and I started to open up a bit. I told them how I couldn't deal with all the problems anymore, and I had to do something. It was 5am, when I told Beddoe, after many tears from all parties, especially me, to tell Mum everthing. Ring her, text her, I don't mind. Just tell her everything. It really wasn't fair on Beddoe. He had had a lot aswell, yet the text he wrote to my Mum was perfect. A perfect reflection on what had gone through my mind for the last 3 years. I then rang Mum, not perturbed by the fact it was stupid o'clock and told her everything, from the horses mouth.

It's all out there. The rents know I'm bi-everything. In fact, they had known for ages. It turns out, I was worrying so much over something they already knew about.

After 8 hours of trying to find a comfortable position on that god-awful bed, I was seen to by a General Health Nurse, who recommended that I need professional help. I suppose it's time I stop being so stubborn and accept that people are trying to help, and not make things worse. After another phone call to Mum and my sister, to who I apologised for my silence for the past week over last week's events, I reached Beddoe's house. 11am it was, when I walked in through the door and was presented with a sea of faces. Faces that smiled, and then laughed with a mixture of impressiveness and pride. I wasn't really in the mood to explain to them all, although I felt relieved that it was all out in the open. I just needed sleep. Everyone looked incredibly jaded.

It turns out I wasn't the only one who had let loose. But I was the only one to create stories that no one could script. And honestly? I've learnt this weekend, that people who you should trust, can be trusted. It sounds so simple.

I won't say something like, "I'm never going to let myself get to that stage again", because I've said that a few times now, and then look what happens! I will let life live it's course, with the help of people I need in my ears. I drove home, just about, tonight, thinking about what I would say to Mum and Dad when I got in. I drove home, in an almost silent car, just thinking about what the next few weeks have in store. Tough times ahead, my friends. Tough times.

But finally, as the X-Factor voiceover man once famously said... It's time, to face, the music.