Bearing in mind this time tomorrow I may be sinking into my drinking trousers, I'll use tonight to review what has been an interesting year. I've made progress, backed myself up on occasions and become more independent, but the battle continues. Though bearing in mind we've all survived the Mayan apocolypse, it's been an achievement for us all, no?
Putting last week's horror show out of my mind, I have reached the conclusion that 2012 has provided me with more moments that I can look back on and be proud of. I can safely say that I have done better in 2012 than I have done in previous years. By "better", I mean controlling my illness better, doing more to be proud of and being more secure. I have been in employment for 11 of these 12 months, I've been mostly comfortable at work and done well, but most importantly in my mind, I have held my own in situations where, in the past, I have crumbled. I have become more assured of my actions and been (largely) more confident in my own abilities and this is one thing I hope to improve on in 2013.
There are three moments in 2012... Three actions that I could not have dreamed of doing in 2011. The largest and most life-changing of these actions is without a shadow of a doubt, my "coming out". My close friends and family knew yes, but "coming out" to everyone, (or at least everyone who has Facebook and Twitter!) was a huge, huge step in accepting myself more than anything. The reaction I got just confirmed it, and I am now happy with that part of me, when this time last year, I wasn't. I can now be more open with who I am, and be myself around everyone. Not having to hide the facts is a huge relief. Not having to comment on "which girl you find the hottest" with any amount of seriousness and not having to deflect questions on the absence of a girl on my arm. Even having the licence to say Tom Daley is hot on Twitter is something I love having. I wouldn't have dared do such a thing 12 months ago.
Number 2 on the list is the FA fiasco. Way back in April, if you remember that far back, I was involved in a dispute with the FA that ended with me giving up my status as a football referee. I stood up for my own beliefs with surprising strength and carried out actions that I wouldn't usually have dared do. Going to the papers and defending myself is, again, something I would never have done 12 months ago. If you'd have asked me in December 2011, "Would you publish your beliefs in a paper when there is a risk of a backlash?", the stout answer would have been - no. No way. In April, it was a yes. That's huge.
And number 3, was the Bedford Cricket Club revolution. That Friday evening in September where I stood up in the heated auditorium of the pavilion and pretty much said that the management should go. The one person to instigate change, and once more, that wouldn't have been something I would even have thought about doing in 2011. I would have feared the potential loneliness of the situation too much and kept my mouth shut. But not this year.
I proved to myself that if I believe strongly enough in something, I will fight for it until change is made or I feel like I can do no more. For someone who doesn't like confrontation, or fight - that is a great achievement.
I don't have any resolutions for 2013 as such. I just want to continue the good work I've done in 2012 and build on that. I want to be able to believe in my abilities better and act on those beliefs. This evening, I have started that by jotting down a few ideas on a book I want to write. Instead of pressuring myself to succeed though, I'm just going to let it flow. Work on it when I want to work on it, and set no deadlines whatsoever. I think that's best. As for everything else in my life, I'm just going to wing it. See what happens, and just try my best.
For you can ask no more of a person.
Monday, 31 December 2012
Friday, 28 December 2012
The Mini Diaries
It's Saturday 8th December, 6.45pm. I'm about to conduct a little experiment. It may work, or it may not. I've tried explaining what depression feels like, but I don't have the ability to justify it's brutal nature in the space of a few hours. I want to build the feeling, treat it for what it is - A merciless demon. No one likes talking about this sort of subject. I'm fairly sure no one likes reading about it either, but then if no one educates themselves on what is a dangerous illness, how is the taboo to be broken? I can only talk of my own experiences, and if I can help just a single person open up, I will consider this constant berating of you all about a tragic subject, a success.
Even I, when I'm feeling on top of the world, as if nothing can touch me, can forget what it feels like momentarily. If you've ever felt the weight of the Earth on your shoulders, you'd want to forget it aswell. Living in fear of the monster is no way to be living life.. Right now, I am fine. It's Saturday evening, I'm readying myself to avoid The X Factor and all is well. I have spent my evening with surprising efficiency, revamping my CV with the help of Mr.Magic himself, and researching into a possible new career path. It is unlikely, as I have a tendency to doubt myself beyond reason, but a lot of people have said I should consider going into journalism. My blogs are good enough, people say, but I know that journalism as a career is a lot more than just writing. The research, the pressure, the competitiveness and the phone calls. I'm not so sure. But to know that people enjoy these waffling pieces of nonsense is quite reassuring. However, I have a constant black cloud just waiting around the corner. I KNOW that another "episode" will rear it's ugly head. It is almost inevitable. Hopefully, as I am trying to show the difference between "good" me and "bad" me, I hope I will have enough presence of mind to type what I am thinking in here when that "bad" time comes. Should I be living life constantly thinking about the next time I feel depressed? Probably not. But one cannot help it. Can you notice the difference?
...
It is now Monday 10th December, 2:17am. I have spent the whole Saturday night and Sunday fighting, and I cannot do it any longer. It's been possibly the most boring weekend on record and I am annoyed I have spent the entirety doing fuck all. It is dark, with no one around and I have let the monster in. The previous words of this post were typed when my mind was in a secure place, but now, it is not. I've just read a letter I sent my parents about a year ago, and realise I am still in a similar place now than I was back then. I am yet to reach the irrational stage. I know this period will end sooner or later, (for my sake, I hope more than anything it is sooner), but it doesn't make it any easier. How am I feeling? I feel a bleak future ahead of me. I am looking at everything negative in my life and they seem so much more prominent than the positive aspects. I feel like I can be so much more, but I fear failure, which holds me back. This is the ugly me. The positive side of me would exclaim that I have it so much better than a lot of other people, but that is shoved to the background, with the entirely negative views in the fore. The negative views being that everyone else is so much better than me. So how can I possibly beat them? The only logical conclusion that a negative brain can reach is : I can't. This makes me feel useless. Even typing out this post right now, I imagine people reading it and saying, "I wish this guy would stop drowning us in sorrow - We don't need it". I'm sorry. I am desperate to help others, desperate to combat the stigma of this horrible, horrible illness and desperate to make people realise this is not an act. But, sometimes, people just don't care enough.
In the midst of the darkness, I don't want to see anyone. I lie in the bedroom with the curtains drawn and nothingness washes over me like a sluggish wave. Whatever is happening to me is somehow my own fault. I have done something wrong, something so huge I can't even see it. I am inadequate and stupid, without worth. The world is suspended, as I am no longer a part of it. This place is the scariest place for a mind to enter. Letting the thoughts stack up, as if it were a Jenga set, is a habit I am trying to cease, but it is extremely difficult. I have yet to reach the stage where the Jenga tower collapses, but it sure has wobbled a few times. Stuck in the middle of this - whatever "this" is - I cannot do anything. I have the inablity to move. Simply getting out of bed is quite literally impossible, because I am scared of what awaits on the other side of my bedroom door. Failure and unrest. Irrationality causes this. Somehow, you think everyone who has ever disliked you is waiting on the other side of that door, and although this is nion impossible, your brain somehow tells you that it is. "What if?" - The most dangerous phrase of the English language.
I'm typing things out, then deleting them, fearful that the words sound stupid and attention-seeking. I fear people at the moment, but at the same time, I want people to listen. I want help, but at the same time, I want to be left alone. It's impossible, I know. I'm going to stop writing now, in fear of babbling and destroying what this post is setting out to achieve. I hope I have explained well enough what this is...
...
Interesting. It's Wednesday 12th December, mid-afternoon - about 4pm. You see, reviewing the two different phases as I look back on them, even I learn something about myself. Seeing it all on one page allows me to find out what I'm like when I'm good and what I'm like when I'm bad. When I'm good, I am considered, thoughtful and honest. When I am bad, I have a tendency to contradict myself, (Notice the two phrases, "I am yet to reach the irrational stage" and "Irrationality causes this"), and I think I want attention, using swear words to try and make myself sound more desperate. I'm going to keep this post on hold and type out a couple more random entries, when the time feels right. Hopefully, one more when I'm feeling very ambitious and happy and another when I'm not. (Frankly, I hope it takes months to come to that bit, but I can guarantee it won't!)
...
Quite funny really that the next negative stage can hit one-quarter of a day later. These stages have the ability to materialise out of nowhere, with the surprise of such feelings having the ability to hit hard. I'm not feeling as bad as I have done recently, but I'm reflective. I've just written another blog post about my recent bout of problematic thinking - something I feel the need to document so I don't bottle it up. This is an "in between" phase if you like. The middle man between where I was on Monday night and me at my best. I am rational, but thinking negatively, heading in one direction only. Thankfully, its late. I'm tired and it has been a long day so sleep shouldn't be hard to come by. I look forward to tomorrow as I show more of the delights of Bedford to a new friend, and we can catch up on recent events over a nice lunch. Sunday is the day I will start to feel great, as my "old" friends begin their return for Christmas. I'm always best when I have my best friends around me. I feel safe. A feeling I haven't really felt for a while...
...
Sunday... No... Monday 17th December, 00:01. I have to wake up for work in 7 and a half hours, but I am in such high spirits. My weekend has been of the immense variety, as those who were once at university have converged for the Christmas festivities. I imagine the next few weeks are going to be great. I had a night out last night, in which I took it easy and managed to have huge fun in the process, which made me think why I don't always just "take it easy". Today I had cricket practice, had a catch up with Magic Man at Harvester before going to the pub to fail at the weekly pub quiz but have many laughs along the way. My face aches because I laughed so much. I have a long and busy working week ahead of me, but the memories of this weekend, and the anticipation of the next should be more than enough to keep me going. I do have to remind myself to not get carried away though. Keep my feet on the ground, but there's nothing to stop me enjoying what is a good patch at the moment. I'm happy.
...
Thursday 20th December, 16:25. Nothing can touch me now. I'm on cloud nine as Christmas approaches and I am surrounded by people who are in the party spirit, which is much more my style. You'll probably be waiting until 2013 for that crappy mood blog. Frankly, that's a good thing.
...
Christmas Eve, 23:02. I'm not in a good way. Even I didn't see this coming. The realisation of what Christmas really is has made me thoroughly unhappy and that won't go away until everything is back to normal. Despite spending weeks upon weeks looking forward to the festive period, I now want Friday morning to come. Back to work please. Back to normality.
I'm about to sound like a right idiot. A moron, a loner and an absolute scrooge. This family business is really, really getting to me. I feel like I should be with them, because everyone else is, but I really don't want to go downstairs. I fear them. I am actually scared that they will say, "Oh, nice of you to join us", or something as equally degrading or cold. For the past couple of hours, I've been reading tweets like:
"Gathered around the tree, with a cold beer and surrounded by family. This is perfect"
"Christmas TV. Food. And great company."
"Christmas is the greatest time of the year. A time you appreciate everyone and everything".
Sorry, but I don't think I do. I know that's probably wrong and bad, but then who dictates what is wrong and bad? Why am I not allowed to sit here on my own and do what I want? Why do I feel under extreme pressure to do what everyone else is doing at Christmas? Why am I different?
I'm fairly certain I don't have the same thought processes as most people. I don't understand why people do the things they do. People complain about doing something and then do it anyway. Why? The common joke of visiting the in-laws at Christmas as being dreadful, but people do it regardless. Why? Apparently I'm good at writing down what I think, but I'm pretty sure you're all wondering what on Earth I'm talking about. Fuck rationality.
This is awful. I despise myself when I am like this. I am jealous of everyone else as they glide through their faultless lives, watching TV without a care in the world, whilst I drown in sorrow, scared of even confronting my own family. I know tomorrow, I am going to have to fake a smile and fake enjoying myself, for the sake of everyone else, and to avoid "being selfish". When in fact, if you stop and think about it, it should be the other way round. They are the selfish ones for completely ignoring the most dangerous illness, for the sake of a Pagan festival. For asking me to put on an act to avoid ruining it for everyone else, completely forgetting what I might actually be going through. I'm suddenly expected to not play up, so I don't upset anyone else.
I shouldn't say this, but I'll say it anyway. Right now, I want to go. I just want to run. As far away from everyone as possible. I am dreading tomorrow. So, so much.
...
Boxing Day, 02:43. I bottled it, big time. Frankly, lying in bed at 9.30 this morning was the most difficult stage of my life in recent times. I was completely torn between not wanting to go downstairs, and making everyone else upset - which made me feel worse knowing that was a possibility. The possibility that me, being me, had the potential to ruin Christmas. I did make it downstairs, eventually, after a lot of tears and a splattering of welcome understanding, but opening presents was absolutely dreadful. I despise present opening. The magic of being a kid has been well and truly washed away and replaced by having to come up with an original phrase of thanks for every gift - None of which I felt I truly deserved. I still don't think I should have got any presents, for I don't think I have deserved them. I have not worked hard enough, I have been a constant pain in my own family's year and I fear even my friends are starting to wonder why they put up with me and my monster. Why buy presents just for the sake of it? I did say I didn't want anything, ages ago, but I gave in to the persistance that I must have something to open on Christmas morning. When this morning came, I wish I hadn't given in.
Knowing I didn't want the presents I had been bought made me feel worse, as if I should just act as if I wanted them, but after a morning of milling around, trying more than anything to be cheerful and "christmassy", I just could not do it any longer. After lunch, I made my way upstairs and disappeared. I don't even remember last Christmas being as bad as this one.
And now it's 3.30am. I have to be awake in 4 hours to make the trek to Manchester, and I feel bad, if not worse, than I did earlier. Once more, I fear the morning. I simply do not want to go. But at the same time, I do not want to make everyone upset, and I do not want to be the reason to ruin the festive season. I almost know what's going to happen. I'll drift off to sleep, wake up laying in my own tears, and cry amongst my family imploring me to get up, before I hear the loud, crass shouts of my Dad saying, "Just leave him, I'll go on my own". Leaving me to feel like I've let everyone down, as usual. Almost the worst thing about this, is that I had completely and genuinely forgotten what Christmas does to me. Why didn't I remember this time last year? The internal fighting in my brain, the drama of Boxing Day, the anxiety. Why did I think this year was going to be different?
This is terrible. Really, really terrible. Prolonged agony across a time that is supposed to be joyous. If you're one of those people that claims depression is just a figment of the imagination, a reason to avoid the challenges of life, consider this. Despite not being that fussed following Man Utd, I LOVE going to Old Trafford. It doesn't happen very often. The buzz of a matchday is a feeling I never want to forget, but this morning, that buzz has been completely wiped out by a fear. A fear of your own flesh and blood. Just imagine that. Irrational fear of something I know has developed inside my own head, but I cannot get rid of. There is simply nothing I can do but hope this goes away. Nothing. And after 3 days of constant torture, I'm starting to fear that maybe this time, it will not disappear. I want out.
...
Friday 28th December, 1:07am. I never even made it to Manchester. I never even made it out of bed. Frankly, it was impossible. I avoided the potential episode of despair I envisaged by leaving a post-it note on my bedroom door, telling everyone else on the other side to leave me be. That bedroom door of mine was the tangible symbol of the barrier between Heaven and Hell. Bearing in mind, I was in a state of absolute terror, having gone past that "irrational" stage on to a period that I cannot even explain with words, the decision to tell them via post-it note was probably right. I shouldn't have to do that, but in these extreme circumstances, it was probably the best way. I have no idea what a slanging match with my family would have done to my insides, but the result would not have been good. After spending Boxing Day in a worse state than Christmas Day, I am officially very disappointed and drained though. I honestly believed I would enjoy the festive period, but the anxiety of it all got to me in a way I have only ever experienced a few times in my life. It was vicious, unequivocal and raw. Naturally, my sleeping pattern is ruined, and it's gone 2am with me wide awake, but about to go to bed anyway, as I try to gain some sleep before the return to normality tomorrow. Work beckons, and frankly, I'm relieved that is the case. After one of the worst Christmas periods on record, I'm looking forward to getting back into the swing of a normal life.
...
I think we'll leave it there. This experiment didn't really pan out as I had expected. Yes, it just turned into a set of mini-blogs, but I was secretly hoping to spot some sort of pattern to the madness of depression. What is has taught me instead, is that it is random. It is lethal and unforgiving, and although I am now feeling a lot better, I am still wary. The next few months are going to be very tough indeed, and knowing that this is practically a certainty doesn't make me feel well at all... I don't like Winter, and Winter doesn't like me. Bring on Summer!
Even I, when I'm feeling on top of the world, as if nothing can touch me, can forget what it feels like momentarily. If you've ever felt the weight of the Earth on your shoulders, you'd want to forget it aswell. Living in fear of the monster is no way to be living life.. Right now, I am fine. It's Saturday evening, I'm readying myself to avoid The X Factor and all is well. I have spent my evening with surprising efficiency, revamping my CV with the help of Mr.Magic himself, and researching into a possible new career path. It is unlikely, as I have a tendency to doubt myself beyond reason, but a lot of people have said I should consider going into journalism. My blogs are good enough, people say, but I know that journalism as a career is a lot more than just writing. The research, the pressure, the competitiveness and the phone calls. I'm not so sure. But to know that people enjoy these waffling pieces of nonsense is quite reassuring. However, I have a constant black cloud just waiting around the corner. I KNOW that another "episode" will rear it's ugly head. It is almost inevitable. Hopefully, as I am trying to show the difference between "good" me and "bad" me, I hope I will have enough presence of mind to type what I am thinking in here when that "bad" time comes. Should I be living life constantly thinking about the next time I feel depressed? Probably not. But one cannot help it. Can you notice the difference?
...
It is now Monday 10th December, 2:17am. I have spent the whole Saturday night and Sunday fighting, and I cannot do it any longer. It's been possibly the most boring weekend on record and I am annoyed I have spent the entirety doing fuck all. It is dark, with no one around and I have let the monster in. The previous words of this post were typed when my mind was in a secure place, but now, it is not. I've just read a letter I sent my parents about a year ago, and realise I am still in a similar place now than I was back then. I am yet to reach the irrational stage. I know this period will end sooner or later, (for my sake, I hope more than anything it is sooner), but it doesn't make it any easier. How am I feeling? I feel a bleak future ahead of me. I am looking at everything negative in my life and they seem so much more prominent than the positive aspects. I feel like I can be so much more, but I fear failure, which holds me back. This is the ugly me. The positive side of me would exclaim that I have it so much better than a lot of other people, but that is shoved to the background, with the entirely negative views in the fore. The negative views being that everyone else is so much better than me. So how can I possibly beat them? The only logical conclusion that a negative brain can reach is : I can't. This makes me feel useless. Even typing out this post right now, I imagine people reading it and saying, "I wish this guy would stop drowning us in sorrow - We don't need it". I'm sorry. I am desperate to help others, desperate to combat the stigma of this horrible, horrible illness and desperate to make people realise this is not an act. But, sometimes, people just don't care enough.
In the midst of the darkness, I don't want to see anyone. I lie in the bedroom with the curtains drawn and nothingness washes over me like a sluggish wave. Whatever is happening to me is somehow my own fault. I have done something wrong, something so huge I can't even see it. I am inadequate and stupid, without worth. The world is suspended, as I am no longer a part of it. This place is the scariest place for a mind to enter. Letting the thoughts stack up, as if it were a Jenga set, is a habit I am trying to cease, but it is extremely difficult. I have yet to reach the stage where the Jenga tower collapses, but it sure has wobbled a few times. Stuck in the middle of this - whatever "this" is - I cannot do anything. I have the inablity to move. Simply getting out of bed is quite literally impossible, because I am scared of what awaits on the other side of my bedroom door. Failure and unrest. Irrationality causes this. Somehow, you think everyone who has ever disliked you is waiting on the other side of that door, and although this is nion impossible, your brain somehow tells you that it is. "What if?" - The most dangerous phrase of the English language.
I'm typing things out, then deleting them, fearful that the words sound stupid and attention-seeking. I fear people at the moment, but at the same time, I want people to listen. I want help, but at the same time, I want to be left alone. It's impossible, I know. I'm going to stop writing now, in fear of babbling and destroying what this post is setting out to achieve. I hope I have explained well enough what this is...
...
Interesting. It's Wednesday 12th December, mid-afternoon - about 4pm. You see, reviewing the two different phases as I look back on them, even I learn something about myself. Seeing it all on one page allows me to find out what I'm like when I'm good and what I'm like when I'm bad. When I'm good, I am considered, thoughtful and honest. When I am bad, I have a tendency to contradict myself, (Notice the two phrases, "I am yet to reach the irrational stage" and "Irrationality causes this"), and I think I want attention, using swear words to try and make myself sound more desperate. I'm going to keep this post on hold and type out a couple more random entries, when the time feels right. Hopefully, one more when I'm feeling very ambitious and happy and another when I'm not. (Frankly, I hope it takes months to come to that bit, but I can guarantee it won't!)
...
Quite funny really that the next negative stage can hit one-quarter of a day later. These stages have the ability to materialise out of nowhere, with the surprise of such feelings having the ability to hit hard. I'm not feeling as bad as I have done recently, but I'm reflective. I've just written another blog post about my recent bout of problematic thinking - something I feel the need to document so I don't bottle it up. This is an "in between" phase if you like. The middle man between where I was on Monday night and me at my best. I am rational, but thinking negatively, heading in one direction only. Thankfully, its late. I'm tired and it has been a long day so sleep shouldn't be hard to come by. I look forward to tomorrow as I show more of the delights of Bedford to a new friend, and we can catch up on recent events over a nice lunch. Sunday is the day I will start to feel great, as my "old" friends begin their return for Christmas. I'm always best when I have my best friends around me. I feel safe. A feeling I haven't really felt for a while...
...
Sunday... No... Monday 17th December, 00:01. I have to wake up for work in 7 and a half hours, but I am in such high spirits. My weekend has been of the immense variety, as those who were once at university have converged for the Christmas festivities. I imagine the next few weeks are going to be great. I had a night out last night, in which I took it easy and managed to have huge fun in the process, which made me think why I don't always just "take it easy". Today I had cricket practice, had a catch up with Magic Man at Harvester before going to the pub to fail at the weekly pub quiz but have many laughs along the way. My face aches because I laughed so much. I have a long and busy working week ahead of me, but the memories of this weekend, and the anticipation of the next should be more than enough to keep me going. I do have to remind myself to not get carried away though. Keep my feet on the ground, but there's nothing to stop me enjoying what is a good patch at the moment. I'm happy.
...
Thursday 20th December, 16:25. Nothing can touch me now. I'm on cloud nine as Christmas approaches and I am surrounded by people who are in the party spirit, which is much more my style. You'll probably be waiting until 2013 for that crappy mood blog. Frankly, that's a good thing.
...
Christmas Eve, 23:02. I'm not in a good way. Even I didn't see this coming. The realisation of what Christmas really is has made me thoroughly unhappy and that won't go away until everything is back to normal. Despite spending weeks upon weeks looking forward to the festive period, I now want Friday morning to come. Back to work please. Back to normality.
I'm about to sound like a right idiot. A moron, a loner and an absolute scrooge. This family business is really, really getting to me. I feel like I should be with them, because everyone else is, but I really don't want to go downstairs. I fear them. I am actually scared that they will say, "Oh, nice of you to join us", or something as equally degrading or cold. For the past couple of hours, I've been reading tweets like:
"Gathered around the tree, with a cold beer and surrounded by family. This is perfect"
"Christmas TV. Food. And great company."
"Christmas is the greatest time of the year. A time you appreciate everyone and everything".
Sorry, but I don't think I do. I know that's probably wrong and bad, but then who dictates what is wrong and bad? Why am I not allowed to sit here on my own and do what I want? Why do I feel under extreme pressure to do what everyone else is doing at Christmas? Why am I different?
I'm fairly certain I don't have the same thought processes as most people. I don't understand why people do the things they do. People complain about doing something and then do it anyway. Why? The common joke of visiting the in-laws at Christmas as being dreadful, but people do it regardless. Why? Apparently I'm good at writing down what I think, but I'm pretty sure you're all wondering what on Earth I'm talking about. Fuck rationality.
This is awful. I despise myself when I am like this. I am jealous of everyone else as they glide through their faultless lives, watching TV without a care in the world, whilst I drown in sorrow, scared of even confronting my own family. I know tomorrow, I am going to have to fake a smile and fake enjoying myself, for the sake of everyone else, and to avoid "being selfish". When in fact, if you stop and think about it, it should be the other way round. They are the selfish ones for completely ignoring the most dangerous illness, for the sake of a Pagan festival. For asking me to put on an act to avoid ruining it for everyone else, completely forgetting what I might actually be going through. I'm suddenly expected to not play up, so I don't upset anyone else.
I shouldn't say this, but I'll say it anyway. Right now, I want to go. I just want to run. As far away from everyone as possible. I am dreading tomorrow. So, so much.
...
Boxing Day, 02:43. I bottled it, big time. Frankly, lying in bed at 9.30 this morning was the most difficult stage of my life in recent times. I was completely torn between not wanting to go downstairs, and making everyone else upset - which made me feel worse knowing that was a possibility. The possibility that me, being me, had the potential to ruin Christmas. I did make it downstairs, eventually, after a lot of tears and a splattering of welcome understanding, but opening presents was absolutely dreadful. I despise present opening. The magic of being a kid has been well and truly washed away and replaced by having to come up with an original phrase of thanks for every gift - None of which I felt I truly deserved. I still don't think I should have got any presents, for I don't think I have deserved them. I have not worked hard enough, I have been a constant pain in my own family's year and I fear even my friends are starting to wonder why they put up with me and my monster. Why buy presents just for the sake of it? I did say I didn't want anything, ages ago, but I gave in to the persistance that I must have something to open on Christmas morning. When this morning came, I wish I hadn't given in.
Knowing I didn't want the presents I had been bought made me feel worse, as if I should just act as if I wanted them, but after a morning of milling around, trying more than anything to be cheerful and "christmassy", I just could not do it any longer. After lunch, I made my way upstairs and disappeared. I don't even remember last Christmas being as bad as this one.
And now it's 3.30am. I have to be awake in 4 hours to make the trek to Manchester, and I feel bad, if not worse, than I did earlier. Once more, I fear the morning. I simply do not want to go. But at the same time, I do not want to make everyone upset, and I do not want to be the reason to ruin the festive season. I almost know what's going to happen. I'll drift off to sleep, wake up laying in my own tears, and cry amongst my family imploring me to get up, before I hear the loud, crass shouts of my Dad saying, "Just leave him, I'll go on my own". Leaving me to feel like I've let everyone down, as usual. Almost the worst thing about this, is that I had completely and genuinely forgotten what Christmas does to me. Why didn't I remember this time last year? The internal fighting in my brain, the drama of Boxing Day, the anxiety. Why did I think this year was going to be different?
This is terrible. Really, really terrible. Prolonged agony across a time that is supposed to be joyous. If you're one of those people that claims depression is just a figment of the imagination, a reason to avoid the challenges of life, consider this. Despite not being that fussed following Man Utd, I LOVE going to Old Trafford. It doesn't happen very often. The buzz of a matchday is a feeling I never want to forget, but this morning, that buzz has been completely wiped out by a fear. A fear of your own flesh and blood. Just imagine that. Irrational fear of something I know has developed inside my own head, but I cannot get rid of. There is simply nothing I can do but hope this goes away. Nothing. And after 3 days of constant torture, I'm starting to fear that maybe this time, it will not disappear. I want out.
...
Friday 28th December, 1:07am. I never even made it to Manchester. I never even made it out of bed. Frankly, it was impossible. I avoided the potential episode of despair I envisaged by leaving a post-it note on my bedroom door, telling everyone else on the other side to leave me be. That bedroom door of mine was the tangible symbol of the barrier between Heaven and Hell. Bearing in mind, I was in a state of absolute terror, having gone past that "irrational" stage on to a period that I cannot even explain with words, the decision to tell them via post-it note was probably right. I shouldn't have to do that, but in these extreme circumstances, it was probably the best way. I have no idea what a slanging match with my family would have done to my insides, but the result would not have been good. After spending Boxing Day in a worse state than Christmas Day, I am officially very disappointed and drained though. I honestly believed I would enjoy the festive period, but the anxiety of it all got to me in a way I have only ever experienced a few times in my life. It was vicious, unequivocal and raw. Naturally, my sleeping pattern is ruined, and it's gone 2am with me wide awake, but about to go to bed anyway, as I try to gain some sleep before the return to normality tomorrow. Work beckons, and frankly, I'm relieved that is the case. After one of the worst Christmas periods on record, I'm looking forward to getting back into the swing of a normal life.
...
I think we'll leave it there. This experiment didn't really pan out as I had expected. Yes, it just turned into a set of mini-blogs, but I was secretly hoping to spot some sort of pattern to the madness of depression. What is has taught me instead, is that it is random. It is lethal and unforgiving, and although I am now feeling a lot better, I am still wary. The next few months are going to be very tough indeed, and knowing that this is practically a certainty doesn't make me feel well at all... I don't like Winter, and Winter doesn't like me. Bring on Summer!
Monday, 24 December 2012
Scrooge
I'm a little concerned this evening, (or morning...), and I'm not entirely sure why. Or even entirely sure if I should be. It's officially Christmas Eve, and I find myself in the midst of a nervous patch. I have looked forward to this Christmas period for so long, yet as the big day approaches, I am starting to become anxious. Memories of the past few Christmas' have come flooding back, and the vision of me being the ultimate scrooge in times of bad, and although my circumstances have improved since the darkness of 2010, I still fear the rigmarole. The routine of Christmas morning, the visit of family members, even the pulling of crackers and pretending to laugh at the awful jokes. The realisation that when the afternoon comes, it really is just another day but with a bit more food. I am a firm believer that the build-up to Christmas Day is better than the day itself, almost like a night out that is billed to be the best one yet, then you end up carrying someone home at midnight through over-exertion. I miss the extended holidays, where you have three weeks to enjoy the mountaneous pile of presents you received to their fullest extent before going back to school in the middle of January. Playing outside in the snow until you become so cold that an ice cube has formed around your being. I think I know what the problem is. I'm growing up.
I don't like growing up. I miss being 12 years old, when the excitement of Christmas Eve was too much to handle, so much so, that the day drags so much and you end up crying through frustration ... Was that just me? ... Whatever. I'm concerned that I can no longer get away with being "the kid" and I have no choice but to be adult at this time of year. The fun has been extinguished to be replaced by an organised and efficient yuletide. I think I'm mostly nervous about the whole concept of family. I think it's clear to a lot of people, that I am not a family man. Christmas is a time where families spend time together, and this makes me nervous. Especially when it comes to family outside the immediate. Auntie, Uncle, cousins and this year, new additions. Everyone I know is pretty close to their cousins etcetera, but I am not. My Auntie and Uncle came into my place of work the other week and turned around in surprise as they remembered I did indeed work at a post office. My cousin deleted me off Facebook for some unknown reason a while back. It's just these sorts of things that make me wonder why all of a sudden, we have to act like we're the closest of family members at Christmas, when we're clearly not. Why do it for a day and then stop? We never talk. We never communicate in any way shape or form, yet suddenly at Christmas, we're one big happy family, before going back to normal on the 27th. Why?
Something tells me I shouldn't be airing family matters in here, because apparently it's private, but I think what I choose to tell is my own business.
Hmm... At least Boxing Day this year is going to be less drama-filled than last year, (fingers crossed). I do remember last year pretty well, as I was absolutely all over the show. This year, instead of going south to Portsmouth, I'm heading north to Manchester and to Old Trafford which should be a good day out. Plus, I'm confident that the gifts I've bought this year are pretty well thought-out, although technically, I didn't think them out at all. There are positives to be taken from this time of year, but I just can't help but feel anxious about it all. I haven't really felt amazing for a couple of days really, but that's simply due to a lack of activity. The antics experienced on a Friday night on the tiles, getting in at gone 5am, and then reverting to the sleeping pattern of an owl hasn't helped matters. Friday night was incredible. A night that you can look back on and stream out an hour's worth of memories on a rainy day. Awesome.
However, I fear that's as good as it's going to get. I'm still relatively sure that these 4 days I have off will be good fun, but there are going to be moments where I just want to be alone, when I can't be. It's just who I am. I can be a good laugh in company, and apparently I can be funny, but I don't think I can be in sustained company constantly. I need time alone, to gather my thoughts and compose myself before the next barrage of companionship. I'm not sure I'm going to get that in the next few days, and this scares me. Is that wrong? Sometimes I lament my differences. It's why I quite like my job. Although at times it can be monumentally boring, there are times I can just enjoy my own company and get paid for the priviledge. Sometimes, people annoy me and I don't know why. Sometimes, people's mere existence can get on my nerves. Sometimes, and only SOMETIMES, I do wish I was the only person on the planet. So I don't have to deal with convention. Does that make sense?
I'm going to give you a brief, appropriate example. Christmas cards. The practice of Christmas card sending. Why? Why do people do it? Spending money on sending a card, just to receive one back, sometimes spending pounds and pounds sending cards halfway round the world. I will never understand why people send hundreds of cards. Never. It's human convention, and people feel like they must do it. Just in case others get annoyed. Just like a lot of things in society, I do not and never will understand it.
I'll stop there before it turns into an extended rant. The old adage, 'Christmas is for kids', does make some sense. The presents, the excitement, the fun. It does evaporate. Even now.
I don't like growing up. I miss being 12 years old, when the excitement of Christmas Eve was too much to handle, so much so, that the day drags so much and you end up crying through frustration ... Was that just me? ... Whatever. I'm concerned that I can no longer get away with being "the kid" and I have no choice but to be adult at this time of year. The fun has been extinguished to be replaced by an organised and efficient yuletide. I think I'm mostly nervous about the whole concept of family. I think it's clear to a lot of people, that I am not a family man. Christmas is a time where families spend time together, and this makes me nervous. Especially when it comes to family outside the immediate. Auntie, Uncle, cousins and this year, new additions. Everyone I know is pretty close to their cousins etcetera, but I am not. My Auntie and Uncle came into my place of work the other week and turned around in surprise as they remembered I did indeed work at a post office. My cousin deleted me off Facebook for some unknown reason a while back. It's just these sorts of things that make me wonder why all of a sudden, we have to act like we're the closest of family members at Christmas, when we're clearly not. Why do it for a day and then stop? We never talk. We never communicate in any way shape or form, yet suddenly at Christmas, we're one big happy family, before going back to normal on the 27th. Why?
Something tells me I shouldn't be airing family matters in here, because apparently it's private, but I think what I choose to tell is my own business.
Hmm... At least Boxing Day this year is going to be less drama-filled than last year, (fingers crossed). I do remember last year pretty well, as I was absolutely all over the show. This year, instead of going south to Portsmouth, I'm heading north to Manchester and to Old Trafford which should be a good day out. Plus, I'm confident that the gifts I've bought this year are pretty well thought-out, although technically, I didn't think them out at all. There are positives to be taken from this time of year, but I just can't help but feel anxious about it all. I haven't really felt amazing for a couple of days really, but that's simply due to a lack of activity. The antics experienced on a Friday night on the tiles, getting in at gone 5am, and then reverting to the sleeping pattern of an owl hasn't helped matters. Friday night was incredible. A night that you can look back on and stream out an hour's worth of memories on a rainy day. Awesome.
However, I fear that's as good as it's going to get. I'm still relatively sure that these 4 days I have off will be good fun, but there are going to be moments where I just want to be alone, when I can't be. It's just who I am. I can be a good laugh in company, and apparently I can be funny, but I don't think I can be in sustained company constantly. I need time alone, to gather my thoughts and compose myself before the next barrage of companionship. I'm not sure I'm going to get that in the next few days, and this scares me. Is that wrong? Sometimes I lament my differences. It's why I quite like my job. Although at times it can be monumentally boring, there are times I can just enjoy my own company and get paid for the priviledge. Sometimes, people annoy me and I don't know why. Sometimes, people's mere existence can get on my nerves. Sometimes, and only SOMETIMES, I do wish I was the only person on the planet. So I don't have to deal with convention. Does that make sense?
I'm going to give you a brief, appropriate example. Christmas cards. The practice of Christmas card sending. Why? Why do people do it? Spending money on sending a card, just to receive one back, sometimes spending pounds and pounds sending cards halfway round the world. I will never understand why people send hundreds of cards. Never. It's human convention, and people feel like they must do it. Just in case others get annoyed. Just like a lot of things in society, I do not and never will understand it.
I'll stop there before it turns into an extended rant. The old adage, 'Christmas is for kids', does make some sense. The presents, the excitement, the fun. It does evaporate. Even now.
Thursday, 20 December 2012
I Wish It Could be Christmas Everyday
Not quite literally. Having Christmas everyday would be largely impractical, expensive and after a while, probably quite boring, but in terms of me and the old life, I do wish the whole year was like this. There are happy fluids flowing around my brain, all of my friends have returned from their university ventures and I seem to be largely occupied, hence the lack of blog. It feels like a long time ago that I was bemoaning the lack of drive I feel, as I now don't feel alone in being like that. Everyone is winding down for what I'm certain will be a superb festive period.
After the busy first couple of days at work, in which I was largely bored and running around like it was the end of the world, I have simply enjoyed the company of good friends, and old. On Tuesday evening, I was treated to a Harvester from Monsieur Field, (we're doing rounds!), where we had a good old catch up on events that mainly included our rants and his upcoming globetrotting. I then walked to the pub, found out I was late for the quiz and squeezed into the group to contribute to what was a losing effort in the end. Can someone tell me this actually. Robbie Williams kicked footballs into the crowd at his gigs didn't he?
Yesterday, I spent a very quick and generally uneventful morning at work, before a certain Kettle appeared on the other side of the glass at a good time and I accompanied him and Billie to town for lunch and a coffee, before heading off to the cricket club for a meeting with a pair of businessmen who are interested in hiring out the clubhouse for the winter and use it as a bar. This was the only time of this week where I have felt uneasy. These two gentlemen were asking me questions I didn't know the answers to, so we merely had to wait in near silence, waiting for the more knowledgeable secretary to turn up, whilst the two strangers walked around the freezing clubhouse trying to look interested in the design on the door to the toilets. They didn't look that impressed, bearing in mind the clubhouse is quite run down and... cold. Well, it is Winter after all! After walking home in the rain, I had a much needed power nap before a school reunion!
Now. After recent blogs, I would be lying if I were to say I wasn't expecting some questions. I wasn't nervous of answering them, but I was expecting people to say, "So Mitten, gay huh?" But they never came. I was sat at the end of the table, trying not just to digest my curry, but also the conversation which were as varied as old school memories, superhero films, murder laws and trying to find out what people had been up to since we left school in.... 2009! Blimey... That was a while back... It turns out my old friends from school hadn't changed at all much and they were pretty much the same as I remember, but then again, it was only 3 and a half years ago, so I would certainly have been surprised if they had grey hair and a mortgage. We then went to The Barley Mow, (again, I was certainly expecting a few lines aimed in my direction!), but, again, they never came and we enjoyed a couple of drinks over a few games of pool and listening to Burkitt murder his way through some Dean Martin on the karaoke machine before calling it a night. This was probably a good thing as I was about to go up and suggest a bit of One Direction!
After the hectic few days then, I woke up at half 1 this afternoon, which is much more like the old me and have done literally nothing since! Tomorrow looks set to be a crackerjack as a Friday night out on the tiles looks certain with... everyone! Another reunion!
Christmas is most certainly here, and it's great to be able to play a full part in it. Enjoying it in its entirety is a priviledge I haven't really had in a few years, so I CANNOT WAIT! Can you tell?
After the busy first couple of days at work, in which I was largely bored and running around like it was the end of the world, I have simply enjoyed the company of good friends, and old. On Tuesday evening, I was treated to a Harvester from Monsieur Field, (we're doing rounds!), where we had a good old catch up on events that mainly included our rants and his upcoming globetrotting. I then walked to the pub, found out I was late for the quiz and squeezed into the group to contribute to what was a losing effort in the end. Can someone tell me this actually. Robbie Williams kicked footballs into the crowd at his gigs didn't he?
Yesterday, I spent a very quick and generally uneventful morning at work, before a certain Kettle appeared on the other side of the glass at a good time and I accompanied him and Billie to town for lunch and a coffee, before heading off to the cricket club for a meeting with a pair of businessmen who are interested in hiring out the clubhouse for the winter and use it as a bar. This was the only time of this week where I have felt uneasy. These two gentlemen were asking me questions I didn't know the answers to, so we merely had to wait in near silence, waiting for the more knowledgeable secretary to turn up, whilst the two strangers walked around the freezing clubhouse trying to look interested in the design on the door to the toilets. They didn't look that impressed, bearing in mind the clubhouse is quite run down and... cold. Well, it is Winter after all! After walking home in the rain, I had a much needed power nap before a school reunion!
Now. After recent blogs, I would be lying if I were to say I wasn't expecting some questions. I wasn't nervous of answering them, but I was expecting people to say, "So Mitten, gay huh?" But they never came. I was sat at the end of the table, trying not just to digest my curry, but also the conversation which were as varied as old school memories, superhero films, murder laws and trying to find out what people had been up to since we left school in.... 2009! Blimey... That was a while back... It turns out my old friends from school hadn't changed at all much and they were pretty much the same as I remember, but then again, it was only 3 and a half years ago, so I would certainly have been surprised if they had grey hair and a mortgage. We then went to The Barley Mow, (again, I was certainly expecting a few lines aimed in my direction!), but, again, they never came and we enjoyed a couple of drinks over a few games of pool and listening to Burkitt murder his way through some Dean Martin on the karaoke machine before calling it a night. This was probably a good thing as I was about to go up and suggest a bit of One Direction!
After the hectic few days then, I woke up at half 1 this afternoon, which is much more like the old me and have done literally nothing since! Tomorrow looks set to be a crackerjack as a Friday night out on the tiles looks certain with... everyone! Another reunion!
Christmas is most certainly here, and it's great to be able to play a full part in it. Enjoying it in its entirety is a priviledge I haven't really had in a few years, so I CANNOT WAIT! Can you tell?
Wednesday, 12 December 2012
That Old Dilemma
I went to a cricket meeting this evening. Boring it may sound, and you'd probably be right. As I have committed myself to this venture however, I thought it would be right to try and get in with the crowd, and start spreading the word, as it were. I am young, new to the scene of background goings-on, and it is useful if I start introducing myself to the "bigwigs" at the new brand new Bedfordshire Cricket Limited. It was another AGM, another hour used in my life sat going through genial formalities, and although there were a couple of amusing remarks, not least from a man who was committed to argue against anything and everything, I spent most of the evening deep in thought. As the new board introduced themselves, in scrupulous detail, especially picked based upon their experience, knowledge and passion for the sport and business in general, I thought to myself... Could that be me?
Not now obviously. I'm not even close to being experienced enough to land a role of such magnitude, and to expect to be, even by my standards, is just outlandish. But what about in 20, 30, 40 years? When I reach my half-century, will I be able to look back on the past 30 or so years and congratulate myself on a job well done or will I look back and wonder? Wonder what could have been. I sort of know what you're thinking, dear reader.
"You're only 21! You have your life ahead of you, and you can do whatever you like!"
Yes. And no. For a person of a normal disposition, It would be simply a choice of which field to undertake and get going. Simple as that. However, my brain thinks differently. The copious amounts of doubt that lie within me are becoming uncontrollable. I have days where I feel like I can do what I want, and wouldn't have too much trouble getting it either. But then the next day, I am treated to a serving of double anxiety with a dessert of self-doubt. People say, "You only get one opportunity" and "Go for it! You'll never know otherwise", but how can it be that easy? How do people just take that leap? What happens if I choose to go into this and it doesn't go right? Previous experience would tell me to be happy with what I've got and just don't gamble. But human instinct and general consensus states that you must chase ultimate happiness. Satisfaction, whether that be career-based, family-based or life-based is what a human being MUST go for. The human race act as if there is no other way.
What am I contemplating? Once more tonight, I was told that I am good at this writing business, and that I should consider a career in journalism. It is something I have contemplated in the past, and then dismissed because of my lack of relevant qualifications and the fact that university is simply not an option. There are other ways in of course, but... I don't think I can do it. Journalism isn't just writing. It's the research, its the long hours, its the chasing-up and momentous phone-calling and badgering people for information. I have never given it as much thought as I have done lately, but I would be useless at that part of the job. I can barely get information out of myself, how am I going to get information out of others? My desire to be successful is momentous, but I just do not possess the motivation or the hunger to reach that point. The catalyst is absent. The willingness to work and work hard is astray. The drive that is required is elsewhere.
I know, deep down, it will not be handed to me on a silver platter. Of course it won't. To achieve anything you have to work at it. I know that. It is a lesson of life. 'Pain is temporary, but quitting lasts forever'. Right now, and lately, it just feels like 'Pain lasts forever'. Negativity comes to the fore once more.
I know I'm naturally lazy. I make no bones about it, I am naturally bone idle. I am not a hard worker by any stretch of the imagination, but it can be changed. It is just immensely difficult, just like everything else. I have surrounded myself with people who are successful, and it makes me feel like I should match them. My Dad runs his own factory, my sister is a lawyer, my Mum juggles work and running the home almost effortlessly. One of my friends works 80 hour weeks, being a full-time student and running his own freelance business. A few other friends work in the City, commuting day in, day out, with fancy job titles and make their career progression sound as simple as microwaving a pizza. Loads of other friends are full-time students, which is supposed to be the best time of your life, but I still marvel at their workloads, as they fight to complete assignments and dissertations on top of revising for exams whilst freezing to death in their student house. Another friend has his own business, another one is doing a Masters degree with a job on top. My cousin is in charge of a housing development group, and has just become a Father aswell. My other cousin is well on his way to becoming a successful stage star, having already starred in adverts and musicals in famous venues. My new colleagues at the cricket club are head strategists, computer programmers or top coaches whilst working on new sports psychology projects on the side. Maybe listing them out wasn't such a bright idea, as it makes me feel worse... But that is the reality of the situation.
Meanwhile, there's me. Not even working a full-time week in a small post office, on my own. Wanting to branch out and do something with my life, but just not doing it. Yes, you can say, "It doesn't matter what other people are doing", but to me - it does. I feel lacklustre and worthless. What's worse, is that I know what is stopping me. I am absolutely terrified of failure. I'm so scared of repeating last September. So scared of repeating the mess of my first job and so scared of spending time doing something that may well ultimately lead to nothing. I have never been certain of what I want to do with my life, only having flashes of inspiration before it is quickly drowned out by the trials and tribulations of the hand I have been dealt. I fear I will never know.
There was one man at this cricket meeting tonight that I admire. The life he has had has been extraordinary, yet he has seemingly made it look effortless. He was a Chief Inspector (now retired), a Football League referee, whilst also raising a family and everything that comes with that plus played cricket at the weekends. I cannot fathom how people can juggle all of that. He is now on the Board at this new Bedfordshire Cricket Limited, branching out even more. Am I jealous? Yes. Has he worked hard for it? Most probably. Will I do the same? I highly doubt it.
I don't think I can go for it. I genuinely think the only opportunity I have of success is sticking with my hand at the moment. (Very) deep down, I know I am better. It can, (and has) been worse, but ultimately, I have this negative frame of mind.
I can hear you shouting at your screen. "Just do it!" ... It's so much more complex than that.
Not now obviously. I'm not even close to being experienced enough to land a role of such magnitude, and to expect to be, even by my standards, is just outlandish. But what about in 20, 30, 40 years? When I reach my half-century, will I be able to look back on the past 30 or so years and congratulate myself on a job well done or will I look back and wonder? Wonder what could have been. I sort of know what you're thinking, dear reader.
"You're only 21! You have your life ahead of you, and you can do whatever you like!"
Yes. And no. For a person of a normal disposition, It would be simply a choice of which field to undertake and get going. Simple as that. However, my brain thinks differently. The copious amounts of doubt that lie within me are becoming uncontrollable. I have days where I feel like I can do what I want, and wouldn't have too much trouble getting it either. But then the next day, I am treated to a serving of double anxiety with a dessert of self-doubt. People say, "You only get one opportunity" and "Go for it! You'll never know otherwise", but how can it be that easy? How do people just take that leap? What happens if I choose to go into this and it doesn't go right? Previous experience would tell me to be happy with what I've got and just don't gamble. But human instinct and general consensus states that you must chase ultimate happiness. Satisfaction, whether that be career-based, family-based or life-based is what a human being MUST go for. The human race act as if there is no other way.
What am I contemplating? Once more tonight, I was told that I am good at this writing business, and that I should consider a career in journalism. It is something I have contemplated in the past, and then dismissed because of my lack of relevant qualifications and the fact that university is simply not an option. There are other ways in of course, but... I don't think I can do it. Journalism isn't just writing. It's the research, its the long hours, its the chasing-up and momentous phone-calling and badgering people for information. I have never given it as much thought as I have done lately, but I would be useless at that part of the job. I can barely get information out of myself, how am I going to get information out of others? My desire to be successful is momentous, but I just do not possess the motivation or the hunger to reach that point. The catalyst is absent. The willingness to work and work hard is astray. The drive that is required is elsewhere.
I know, deep down, it will not be handed to me on a silver platter. Of course it won't. To achieve anything you have to work at it. I know that. It is a lesson of life. 'Pain is temporary, but quitting lasts forever'. Right now, and lately, it just feels like 'Pain lasts forever'. Negativity comes to the fore once more.
I know I'm naturally lazy. I make no bones about it, I am naturally bone idle. I am not a hard worker by any stretch of the imagination, but it can be changed. It is just immensely difficult, just like everything else. I have surrounded myself with people who are successful, and it makes me feel like I should match them. My Dad runs his own factory, my sister is a lawyer, my Mum juggles work and running the home almost effortlessly. One of my friends works 80 hour weeks, being a full-time student and running his own freelance business. A few other friends work in the City, commuting day in, day out, with fancy job titles and make their career progression sound as simple as microwaving a pizza. Loads of other friends are full-time students, which is supposed to be the best time of your life, but I still marvel at their workloads, as they fight to complete assignments and dissertations on top of revising for exams whilst freezing to death in their student house. Another friend has his own business, another one is doing a Masters degree with a job on top. My cousin is in charge of a housing development group, and has just become a Father aswell. My other cousin is well on his way to becoming a successful stage star, having already starred in adverts and musicals in famous venues. My new colleagues at the cricket club are head strategists, computer programmers or top coaches whilst working on new sports psychology projects on the side. Maybe listing them out wasn't such a bright idea, as it makes me feel worse... But that is the reality of the situation.
Meanwhile, there's me. Not even working a full-time week in a small post office, on my own. Wanting to branch out and do something with my life, but just not doing it. Yes, you can say, "It doesn't matter what other people are doing", but to me - it does. I feel lacklustre and worthless. What's worse, is that I know what is stopping me. I am absolutely terrified of failure. I'm so scared of repeating last September. So scared of repeating the mess of my first job and so scared of spending time doing something that may well ultimately lead to nothing. I have never been certain of what I want to do with my life, only having flashes of inspiration before it is quickly drowned out by the trials and tribulations of the hand I have been dealt. I fear I will never know.
There was one man at this cricket meeting tonight that I admire. The life he has had has been extraordinary, yet he has seemingly made it look effortless. He was a Chief Inspector (now retired), a Football League referee, whilst also raising a family and everything that comes with that plus played cricket at the weekends. I cannot fathom how people can juggle all of that. He is now on the Board at this new Bedfordshire Cricket Limited, branching out even more. Am I jealous? Yes. Has he worked hard for it? Most probably. Will I do the same? I highly doubt it.
I don't think I can go for it. I genuinely think the only opportunity I have of success is sticking with my hand at the moment. (Very) deep down, I know I am better. It can, (and has) been worse, but ultimately, I have this negative frame of mind.
I can hear you shouting at your screen. "Just do it!" ... It's so much more complex than that.
Thursday, 6 December 2012
The Meaning of Selfish
I do seem to be writing a lot of these at the moment, and not necessarily about myself, but so many events happen, or occurrences take place that make me annoyed. Sometimes, it doesn't take much, and I'll be the first to say it, but I cannot fathom what goes through people's heads sometimes. I pride myself on being polite. I will rarely retort to insult, choosing to try and calm the situation down and reply curteously and with good manners. I will always hold doors open for people and let ladies on the bus first because I consider myself a gentleman. I will never get wound up with being in a queue because they do occur and I am not in a rush to escape. Either people have grown incredibly impatient with waiting or people have a list of 30 things they need to do before 4pm, thus waiting 5 minutes is considered a time-wasting exercise. Politeness is the only aspect of the 1960s that I think should still exist in today's society, but I simply cannot believe the amount of people who take no concern for anything else but their own wellbeing. I haven't done so much today, but I can create a long list of examples that I've seen first-hand or heard about where people have completely wiped the ability to be well-mannered from their psyche.
I was waiting for the bus earlier. I was just recovering from making a fool of myself as I slipped over on the vast ice patches that have formed on the pavement overnight, when a bus came along. There were 3 or 4 of us stood waiting, including two very cold and fragile-looking pensioners. Myself and the other student standing and waiting, stood back to allow them to get on first, and get their seats, when a woman, wearing a full pink tracksuit and music blaring out of her phone quite literally barged her way to the front of the queue, causing the old lady to gasp in fear, before walking straight on to the bus and sat down in the single seat at the front that could, and probably should have been taken by the old lady. It's simple enough isn't it? Why have people become so inconsiderate to others? Why couldn't she wait? It's not the London Underground. The bus wasn't going to drive off, leaving her at the bus stop, so why did she have to barge her way to the front? It quite literally makes no sense. If I wasn't so afraid of confrontation or making a scene, I'd have given her a piece of my mind, but instead chose to scorn at her from the comfort of my own, very polite brain.
Once I got into town, obviously waiting towards the rear of the bus whilst everyone else careered to the front, desperate to get off and complete their obviously long list of errands, I walked to the bank to do a couple of things. There wasn't a very long queue, probably about 4 or 5 people of which I joined the back of, and there were 2 clerks manning the desks, dealing with other customers. Another "gentleman", (I use the term loosely), joined the back of the queue, and quite literally after 30 seconds of waiting, he exclaimed to the shock of the staff, "Jesus Christ! I haven't got all day, hurry the hell up!"
He'd been waiting for 30 seconds. 30 blasted seconds, and he couldn't help but shout out. Looking past the fact that it is an example of horrible impatience, I'm not entirely sure what he was looking to gain from it. Was he expecting the staff to suddenly stop serving the person in front of them and invite him to the front of the queue to be served? Maybe he was expecting an apology for being made to wait an "abnormal length of time"? Or, and I'm sure this is the most likely, maybe he's just a moron. Maybe he has the mental incapacity to be patient, and instead he chose to be rude and pointlessly insolent.
This is turning into a bit of a rant isn't it? I apologise. But it was one of life's bug bears and sometimes it drives me up the wall. The day-to-day life of work, socialising and queue-waiting would be so much more pleasant if people were just patient. Just breathe, and relax. (Something I should learn to do when in full flow!)
But, seriously. I've said this before, and I'll say it again. I'm fairly convinced some people have starting mating with vegatables. And I'm also pretty sure a carrot is more enduring than some people.
Something else that slightly annoyed me this afternoon were a series of comments on Twitter. Surprise, surprise. It was based around a much more sensitive topic than my ramblings on patience and I made the mistake of instigating a discussion on Facebook, about trains and suicide. Now. I know, it's a grisly subject, but once again I am drawn into asking what on Earth happened to the patience of some people. I put a status on Facebook, bemoaning the lack of feeling about it. It's quite incredible, that knowing a human being, very similar to any one of us, has exprienced such levels of despair that they choose to take their own life, that some people instead complain that they have had the "selfishness" to disrupt their precious day. It is important to note however, that there are 2 different meanings to the word "selfish" here. One that I can sympathise with, and one that I have no time for whatsoever.
I can sympathise with the use of the word "selfish" in terms of the impact of the driver, witnesses and the persons who have to deal with the aftermath of such a traumatic event. For a train driver to see a person walk out in front of you, knowing you can do nothing to stop it, must be absolutely terrifying. For the people who have to recover the body, knowing what you're going to see, must be dreadful. This is before the impact on the victim's family and friends, but that's a whole different discussion. I can sympathise with that. Having been someone who has experienced similar levels of despair, I KNOW what the thoughts of an irrational monster can feel like. In no way shape or form, are they thinking about disrupting someone's journey. Selfish? No, I don't think so. If passengers can't sympathise for someone who is feeling the worst of all emotions, using up 30 minutes of their time in the process, then they need to re-think their priorities. Irrationality is very, very dangerous. I KNOW this. Are they thinking about the impacts on the driver who hits you or the impact of the people who witness such an event? I can tell you now, they aren't. Is that selfish? You could argue that it is. I can understand that. But it isn't the victim's fault. Having been someone close to those feelings, I can tell you as a fact, that there is nothing worse. Very few things are worse than that monster. For people who can't understand what that feels like, they will never see past the fact that someone else's life has been stopped for 30 minutes because someone else's has ended forever.
To see a tweet this afternoon then claiming that this poor person has ruined an evening because they caused them to miss a new episode of The Simpsons makes me so angry. So, so angry. Which goes back to my original point.
Why can't people just stop and think about what they are doing? It might seem like a pointless little comment or an action that no one should care about, but you cannot preempt the thoughts of others. Just because it means nothing to you, it might be something that affects their whole day. Just take a step back and realise what you are about to say. It could make a huge difference.
I was waiting for the bus earlier. I was just recovering from making a fool of myself as I slipped over on the vast ice patches that have formed on the pavement overnight, when a bus came along. There were 3 or 4 of us stood waiting, including two very cold and fragile-looking pensioners. Myself and the other student standing and waiting, stood back to allow them to get on first, and get their seats, when a woman, wearing a full pink tracksuit and music blaring out of her phone quite literally barged her way to the front of the queue, causing the old lady to gasp in fear, before walking straight on to the bus and sat down in the single seat at the front that could, and probably should have been taken by the old lady. It's simple enough isn't it? Why have people become so inconsiderate to others? Why couldn't she wait? It's not the London Underground. The bus wasn't going to drive off, leaving her at the bus stop, so why did she have to barge her way to the front? It quite literally makes no sense. If I wasn't so afraid of confrontation or making a scene, I'd have given her a piece of my mind, but instead chose to scorn at her from the comfort of my own, very polite brain.
Once I got into town, obviously waiting towards the rear of the bus whilst everyone else careered to the front, desperate to get off and complete their obviously long list of errands, I walked to the bank to do a couple of things. There wasn't a very long queue, probably about 4 or 5 people of which I joined the back of, and there were 2 clerks manning the desks, dealing with other customers. Another "gentleman", (I use the term loosely), joined the back of the queue, and quite literally after 30 seconds of waiting, he exclaimed to the shock of the staff, "Jesus Christ! I haven't got all day, hurry the hell up!"
He'd been waiting for 30 seconds. 30 blasted seconds, and he couldn't help but shout out. Looking past the fact that it is an example of horrible impatience, I'm not entirely sure what he was looking to gain from it. Was he expecting the staff to suddenly stop serving the person in front of them and invite him to the front of the queue to be served? Maybe he was expecting an apology for being made to wait an "abnormal length of time"? Or, and I'm sure this is the most likely, maybe he's just a moron. Maybe he has the mental incapacity to be patient, and instead he chose to be rude and pointlessly insolent.
This is turning into a bit of a rant isn't it? I apologise. But it was one of life's bug bears and sometimes it drives me up the wall. The day-to-day life of work, socialising and queue-waiting would be so much more pleasant if people were just patient. Just breathe, and relax. (Something I should learn to do when in full flow!)
But, seriously. I've said this before, and I'll say it again. I'm fairly convinced some people have starting mating with vegatables. And I'm also pretty sure a carrot is more enduring than some people.
Something else that slightly annoyed me this afternoon were a series of comments on Twitter. Surprise, surprise. It was based around a much more sensitive topic than my ramblings on patience and I made the mistake of instigating a discussion on Facebook, about trains and suicide. Now. I know, it's a grisly subject, but once again I am drawn into asking what on Earth happened to the patience of some people. I put a status on Facebook, bemoaning the lack of feeling about it. It's quite incredible, that knowing a human being, very similar to any one of us, has exprienced such levels of despair that they choose to take their own life, that some people instead complain that they have had the "selfishness" to disrupt their precious day. It is important to note however, that there are 2 different meanings to the word "selfish" here. One that I can sympathise with, and one that I have no time for whatsoever.
I can sympathise with the use of the word "selfish" in terms of the impact of the driver, witnesses and the persons who have to deal with the aftermath of such a traumatic event. For a train driver to see a person walk out in front of you, knowing you can do nothing to stop it, must be absolutely terrifying. For the people who have to recover the body, knowing what you're going to see, must be dreadful. This is before the impact on the victim's family and friends, but that's a whole different discussion. I can sympathise with that. Having been someone who has experienced similar levels of despair, I KNOW what the thoughts of an irrational monster can feel like. In no way shape or form, are they thinking about disrupting someone's journey. Selfish? No, I don't think so. If passengers can't sympathise for someone who is feeling the worst of all emotions, using up 30 minutes of their time in the process, then they need to re-think their priorities. Irrationality is very, very dangerous. I KNOW this. Are they thinking about the impacts on the driver who hits you or the impact of the people who witness such an event? I can tell you now, they aren't. Is that selfish? You could argue that it is. I can understand that. But it isn't the victim's fault. Having been someone close to those feelings, I can tell you as a fact, that there is nothing worse. Very few things are worse than that monster. For people who can't understand what that feels like, they will never see past the fact that someone else's life has been stopped for 30 minutes because someone else's has ended forever.
To see a tweet this afternoon then claiming that this poor person has ruined an evening because they caused them to miss a new episode of The Simpsons makes me so angry. So, so angry. Which goes back to my original point.
Why can't people just stop and think about what they are doing? It might seem like a pointless little comment or an action that no one should care about, but you cannot preempt the thoughts of others. Just because it means nothing to you, it might be something that affects their whole day. Just take a step back and realise what you are about to say. It could make a huge difference.
Wednesday, 5 December 2012
Journalism and Christmas
Shizzmadizz has been good lately, with the fantastic news that our Sunday cricket side has been promoted after all after a league re-alignment. This is really very good for us, the kickstart we desperately needed and a platform to build on for the future. The news certainly pleased my team-mates, all of which want the season to start next week, along with me! To fuel my need for cricket, I've spent most of my evenings this week watching England's triumphant Ashes-winning series in 2010/11 Down Under, and I'm pleased to announce I am now sufficiently supplemented for now!
Christmas is just around the corner, (what happened to 2012!?), and you know what? I am absolutely DELIGHTED about this! Looking back on past Christmas', in 2010, I was working night shifts throughout the whole Christmas period, wistfully looking out the window at the cold night sky, knowing everyone else was enjoying their quota of alcohol, food and Christmas TV whilst I wasted away in that blasted garage... 2011, I was still recovering from my failed university venture, facing what was possibly the worst bout of depression I've ever had, having to face time with people when I would much rather have spent it alone with a slice of cheesecake and cream in my bedroom. 2012 promises to be so much better. With a secure job, that offers a fantastic amount of time off, (at the right times!) over the Christmas period, I'm pretty damn sure this Yuletide is going to be superb. I feel like a little kid again and I cannot wait! I have a 6 days off in a row from Saturday 22nd December to Thursday 27th, (including the now confirmed trip to Old Trafford on Boxing Day), and then a few more days off for New Year, which is pretty cool. It's incredible how much I appreciate that after the last couple of years. I look forward to it immensely.
Work is starting to pick up, getting noticeably busier as people begin their seasonal complaints about the price of stamps, of which most buy on bulk and return a look of utter horror as I tell them 5 books of 12 second-class is indeed £30 exactly. The last few days have been spent sending cards and parcels to Australia and USA, which will change to mainland Europe in a few days. I'm frankly amazed how many people have large amounts of relatives living in Australia. Spending Christmas in 30 degree heat in the suburbs of Sydney or perusing Perth must have its perks I suppose!
However. The bulk of this particular post is to be filled, I'm afraid, by an article I saw earlier today in the Daily Mail, about homosexuality in football. A lot of people complain about this particular newspaper, and rightly so and today I am inclined to scathe in an angry manner in the direction of one of their journalists. Martin Samuel. He managed to fit in an agenda, some homophobia and a sprinkling on xenophobia in the space of 9 paragraphs and for the minute it took to read it, my jaw had hit the floor. Whether it's supposed to be tongue-in-cheek, slightly humorous or whether its completely serious, I have no idea but one thing is for sure. For a journalist to publish something so ... ill-concieved, is really very substandard. And that is putting it kindly. For those that haven't seen it, he suggests that Joey Barton should come out as gay to "tackle the culture of fear" amongst football. Two problems being that I'm pretty sure that Joey Barton is a straight as a plank of wood, and secondly, to suggest that "coming out" is simply as easy as that, ("Just one? It's not much to ask surely!"), especially for someone in the limelight, is ludicrous. And I won't even start on suggesting that Barton is "halfway there" after putting on his French accent last week... Talk about stereotyping!
Is the British media really that bad? I read a really poor article last week on the attitude of Kevin Pietersen, with a particular journalist from the Daily Telegraph I seem to remember, (who I ended up arguing with on Twitter!), who thought that KP's innings of 186 vs India, no mean feat for those not accustomed to the ways of cricket, was a selfish and egotistical effort at restoring faith in him. It was utterly stupid, but this Daily Mail article goes much further. It upsets a large amount of people, and for a newspaper to allow such rubbish is really very worrying indeed. Personally, I'm not sure how to take it. It's just so, so bad. I can take a bit of banter about being gay - Frankly, it proves that people are comfortable with it, and I'd prefer a bit of banter than people acting awkwardly around me - but, I'm not even sure this article is banter. If it is, he hasn't worded it very well!
It seems journalists will fill their column inches with anything these days. I won't dwell on it, but it is slightly concerning to say the least... Bearing in mind the one and only footballer to come out publicly, (Justin Fashanu in the 1990s) ended up committing suicide due to the hate he received, maybe it is too much to ask for someone to follow in his footsteps Mr.Samuel?
Christmas is just around the corner, (what happened to 2012!?), and you know what? I am absolutely DELIGHTED about this! Looking back on past Christmas', in 2010, I was working night shifts throughout the whole Christmas period, wistfully looking out the window at the cold night sky, knowing everyone else was enjoying their quota of alcohol, food and Christmas TV whilst I wasted away in that blasted garage... 2011, I was still recovering from my failed university venture, facing what was possibly the worst bout of depression I've ever had, having to face time with people when I would much rather have spent it alone with a slice of cheesecake and cream in my bedroom. 2012 promises to be so much better. With a secure job, that offers a fantastic amount of time off, (at the right times!) over the Christmas period, I'm pretty damn sure this Yuletide is going to be superb. I feel like a little kid again and I cannot wait! I have a 6 days off in a row from Saturday 22nd December to Thursday 27th, (including the now confirmed trip to Old Trafford on Boxing Day), and then a few more days off for New Year, which is pretty cool. It's incredible how much I appreciate that after the last couple of years. I look forward to it immensely.
Work is starting to pick up, getting noticeably busier as people begin their seasonal complaints about the price of stamps, of which most buy on bulk and return a look of utter horror as I tell them 5 books of 12 second-class is indeed £30 exactly. The last few days have been spent sending cards and parcels to Australia and USA, which will change to mainland Europe in a few days. I'm frankly amazed how many people have large amounts of relatives living in Australia. Spending Christmas in 30 degree heat in the suburbs of Sydney or perusing Perth must have its perks I suppose!
However. The bulk of this particular post is to be filled, I'm afraid, by an article I saw earlier today in the Daily Mail, about homosexuality in football. A lot of people complain about this particular newspaper, and rightly so and today I am inclined to scathe in an angry manner in the direction of one of their journalists. Martin Samuel. He managed to fit in an agenda, some homophobia and a sprinkling on xenophobia in the space of 9 paragraphs and for the minute it took to read it, my jaw had hit the floor. Whether it's supposed to be tongue-in-cheek, slightly humorous or whether its completely serious, I have no idea but one thing is for sure. For a journalist to publish something so ... ill-concieved, is really very substandard. And that is putting it kindly. For those that haven't seen it, he suggests that Joey Barton should come out as gay to "tackle the culture of fear" amongst football. Two problems being that I'm pretty sure that Joey Barton is a straight as a plank of wood, and secondly, to suggest that "coming out" is simply as easy as that, ("Just one? It's not much to ask surely!"), especially for someone in the limelight, is ludicrous. And I won't even start on suggesting that Barton is "halfway there" after putting on his French accent last week... Talk about stereotyping!
Is the British media really that bad? I read a really poor article last week on the attitude of Kevin Pietersen, with a particular journalist from the Daily Telegraph I seem to remember, (who I ended up arguing with on Twitter!), who thought that KP's innings of 186 vs India, no mean feat for those not accustomed to the ways of cricket, was a selfish and egotistical effort at restoring faith in him. It was utterly stupid, but this Daily Mail article goes much further. It upsets a large amount of people, and for a newspaper to allow such rubbish is really very worrying indeed. Personally, I'm not sure how to take it. It's just so, so bad. I can take a bit of banter about being gay - Frankly, it proves that people are comfortable with it, and I'd prefer a bit of banter than people acting awkwardly around me - but, I'm not even sure this article is banter. If it is, he hasn't worded it very well!
It seems journalists will fill their column inches with anything these days. I won't dwell on it, but it is slightly concerning to say the least... Bearing in mind the one and only footballer to come out publicly, (Justin Fashanu in the 1990s) ended up committing suicide due to the hate he received, maybe it is too much to ask for someone to follow in his footsteps Mr.Samuel?
Sunday, 2 December 2012
A Unique Rivalry
This afternoon, I went to Stadium:MK to witness a piece of footballing history. It was the FA Cup 2nd round, and if you knew nothing of football, you would look at the tie and wonder why on Earth MK Dons vs AFC Wimbledon is the most grizzly of rivalries. One team play in the 3rd tier of English football situated in Milton Keynes and the other plays in the 4th tier of English football, over 60 miles away in the capital city. They are not geographical rivals. They are not league rivals. So why do they despise each other?
10 years ago, the "old" Wimbledon were toiling. Their Norwegian owners had jumped ship, they had been relegated from the top-flight and financially struggling. They had spent the previous 13 years ground-sharing with Crystal Palace and without any assets, (such as their own stadium), they were going to go out of business. This was until a man called Pete Winkelman turned up. He had located Milton Keynes, with its National Hockey Stadium, as a potential new venue for the team, and after the FA granted them permission, Mr.Winkelman took Wimbledon out of Wimbledon and moved them 60 miles up north to Milton Keynes, re-naming them Milton Keynes Dons. For business, this was a good move. In fact, it saved the club, but some of the Wimbledon fanbase were furious. They supported their local team, and seeing it taken away from them was nothing short of scandalous. You see, a lot of people support their local team, and it means a lot to them. Going to cheer them on every Saturday afternoon, in the whole country, is an important part of a lot of people's lives. To have that taken away, I imagine, is painstaking.
So, without a club to support, the fans that were left behind set up their own team. AFC Wimbledon. They had to start at the bottom, in the Combined Counties League, (which is the same sort of standard to the one I reached as an Assistant referee - That's how low down they ended up!), and have since fought their way up through the divisions and now sit just one division below the team that they claim stole their identity in the first place. They were drawn together in the FA Cup about a month ago, and I bought tickets as soon as they came on sale. This was not a tie to be missed.
When we finally reached the stadium, roughly 15 minutes before kick off due to heavy traffic, we got to our seats and immediately saw a swarm of yellow and blue in the away end. Despite claims that some Wimbledon fans had boycotted the match, claiming they didn't want to give income to a club that stole theirs, there were over 3,000 fans who clearly had other ideas. A sea of noise hit us and you could feel the anger and frustration in the chants. As the first whistle sounded, the Wimbledon fans began their chanting:
"You know what you are! You know what you areeeeee! You thieving bas***ds! You know what you are!"
I was quite relieved we were sitting quite a distance away, safely concealed in the middle of the East Stand, closer to the die-hard Milton Keynes fans, who were giving their best in retaliation to the Wimbledon fans!
"You know what you are! You know what you areeeeee! [Something Unrepeatable]! You know what you are!"
I know... Football fans aren't the most imaginative of people... Even so, the tension was palpable. The game itself didn't really get going for a long time, and the time only passed quickly because of the taunts between the two sets of fans, with the families and neutrals sat in the middle of the two sets of diehards, as if we were the referee in the middle of a boxing bout. Usually, I'd call the chanting "banter", but this felt different. There was anger in those chants. The air was full of genuine hatred. This feeling was only increased on the arrival of a small plane, with a banner trailing from it's rear that read, "WE ARE WIMBLEDON!", which caused cheers of derision from the away sector followed by boos and shouts from the home fans as they realised they were being taunted for the actions of 10 years ago. The chants continued to be thrown from both sets of supporters, until the brink of half-time, when MK Dons midfielder Stephen Gleeson let fly with a thunderbolt from 30 yards that rattled into the top corner of the net. All of a sudden, the Wimbledon fans fell silent amid chants of, "Who are ya!" from the MK Dons contingent. Even I got involved in that one!
At the start of the second half, the Wimbledon fans were just as hushed as they had been at the end of the first half. It seemed that goal had knocked the wind out of their sails, and although there were still discreet chants aimed towards the Milton Keynes "franchise" (as they called it), you could tell they were slightly consigned to defeat. They were the strong underdogs after all.
This was until the 59th minute of the match, where Wimbledon made pretty much their first attack of the whole game. A cross from the right was met with a diving header by Wimbledon attacker Jack Midson and as the ball rattled into the corner of the net, I heard groans around me followed swiftly by the sight of 3,000 Wimbledon fans going absolutely mental. By "mental", I don't mean 'jumping around, being happy'. I mean, there was absolute carnage. Midson ran into the away fans, who were climbing down from their seats, in some cases from many rows up, and crowded the pitch in a display of complete and utter madness. It didn't last long. The stewards got a grip and with the help of their own players, they were ushered back into the stands, but it was obvious they had been waiting for that moment for 10 long years.
From then on, Wimbledon were in the ascendency. They had a couple of chances, urged on by their reinvigorated supporters, who's chants towards the Milton Keynes fans had started up again, and increased in volume, with no reply from a shocked and nervous MK Dons stand. A disallowed goal for Milton Keynes only increased the taunting from the Wimbledon fans and as the game neared a conclusion, we were all considering a replay of this ugly yet somehow devilishly fascinating encounter. I can only imagine how the brave fans from Milton Keynes who would have made that journey would have been treated. Towards the very end, Wimbledon had a glorious chance to snatch the tie after a defensive error, and I for one am glad they didn't score. I cannot imagine the mess there would of been had they netted a last-minute winner. The Wimbledon fans went from a near feeling of bliss to a feeling of heartbreak however, because of an outrageous 90th minute winner from Jon Ostemobor of MK Dons. He nonchalently flicked the ball over veteran goalkeeper Neil Sullivan, (who played for the original Wimbledon back in the day) and the Milton Keynes fans went wild. Some even attempted to copy their counterparts by bursting on to the pitch, but this was literally a group of about 10 cretins, who were quickly thrown back into the crowd by the more aware stewards plus the chorus of boos from their own fans. Not long after, the full-time whistle sounded and we were legging it to the car, wanting to avoid the matchday traffic leaving the stadium.
It was a cracking afternoon, and possibly the most intriguing encounter I have ever been to as a football fan. I was a neutral, of course. I genuinely didn't mind who won. I seem to feel less strongly than some other fans, some of which claim that MK Dons shouldn't even exist, which I find a little harsh. However, the afternoon as an experience was excellent. I usually enjoy the banter between the two sets of fans, but this afternoon, it seemed to go to the next level. It is hard to explain to a person who doesn't follow football how much Wimbledon despise the "franchise" of MK Dons. It seems to be a popular opinion amongst football, but Milton Keynes Dons, being the highest of the teams local to me, I find it difficult to hate them completely. I can certainly understand why Wimbledon fans are unhappy at their existence, but at the end of the day, they are just another club. And although for 10 years, Wimbledon were down in the duldrums of non-league football, they are now nearing the big time, and they do completely deserve it.
I think I'm going to Old Trafford on Boxing Day. Man Utd vs Newcastle, (which always seems to be the fixture when I head to the "Theatre of Dreams"), but I'm pretty sure it won't live up the unique hype that was served up for us today. It was an unexampled contest, that we may not see again for a long time. Or then again, we might see it again next season. You just never know in this sport.
10 years ago, the "old" Wimbledon were toiling. Their Norwegian owners had jumped ship, they had been relegated from the top-flight and financially struggling. They had spent the previous 13 years ground-sharing with Crystal Palace and without any assets, (such as their own stadium), they were going to go out of business. This was until a man called Pete Winkelman turned up. He had located Milton Keynes, with its National Hockey Stadium, as a potential new venue for the team, and after the FA granted them permission, Mr.Winkelman took Wimbledon out of Wimbledon and moved them 60 miles up north to Milton Keynes, re-naming them Milton Keynes Dons. For business, this was a good move. In fact, it saved the club, but some of the Wimbledon fanbase were furious. They supported their local team, and seeing it taken away from them was nothing short of scandalous. You see, a lot of people support their local team, and it means a lot to them. Going to cheer them on every Saturday afternoon, in the whole country, is an important part of a lot of people's lives. To have that taken away, I imagine, is painstaking.
So, without a club to support, the fans that were left behind set up their own team. AFC Wimbledon. They had to start at the bottom, in the Combined Counties League, (which is the same sort of standard to the one I reached as an Assistant referee - That's how low down they ended up!), and have since fought their way up through the divisions and now sit just one division below the team that they claim stole their identity in the first place. They were drawn together in the FA Cup about a month ago, and I bought tickets as soon as they came on sale. This was not a tie to be missed.
When we finally reached the stadium, roughly 15 minutes before kick off due to heavy traffic, we got to our seats and immediately saw a swarm of yellow and blue in the away end. Despite claims that some Wimbledon fans had boycotted the match, claiming they didn't want to give income to a club that stole theirs, there were over 3,000 fans who clearly had other ideas. A sea of noise hit us and you could feel the anger and frustration in the chants. As the first whistle sounded, the Wimbledon fans began their chanting:
"You know what you are! You know what you areeeeee! You thieving bas***ds! You know what you are!"
I was quite relieved we were sitting quite a distance away, safely concealed in the middle of the East Stand, closer to the die-hard Milton Keynes fans, who were giving their best in retaliation to the Wimbledon fans!
"You know what you are! You know what you areeeeee! [Something Unrepeatable]! You know what you are!"
I know... Football fans aren't the most imaginative of people... Even so, the tension was palpable. The game itself didn't really get going for a long time, and the time only passed quickly because of the taunts between the two sets of fans, with the families and neutrals sat in the middle of the two sets of diehards, as if we were the referee in the middle of a boxing bout. Usually, I'd call the chanting "banter", but this felt different. There was anger in those chants. The air was full of genuine hatred. This feeling was only increased on the arrival of a small plane, with a banner trailing from it's rear that read, "WE ARE WIMBLEDON!", which caused cheers of derision from the away sector followed by boos and shouts from the home fans as they realised they were being taunted for the actions of 10 years ago. The chants continued to be thrown from both sets of supporters, until the brink of half-time, when MK Dons midfielder Stephen Gleeson let fly with a thunderbolt from 30 yards that rattled into the top corner of the net. All of a sudden, the Wimbledon fans fell silent amid chants of, "Who are ya!" from the MK Dons contingent. Even I got involved in that one!
At the start of the second half, the Wimbledon fans were just as hushed as they had been at the end of the first half. It seemed that goal had knocked the wind out of their sails, and although there were still discreet chants aimed towards the Milton Keynes "franchise" (as they called it), you could tell they were slightly consigned to defeat. They were the strong underdogs after all.
This was until the 59th minute of the match, where Wimbledon made pretty much their first attack of the whole game. A cross from the right was met with a diving header by Wimbledon attacker Jack Midson and as the ball rattled into the corner of the net, I heard groans around me followed swiftly by the sight of 3,000 Wimbledon fans going absolutely mental. By "mental", I don't mean 'jumping around, being happy'. I mean, there was absolute carnage. Midson ran into the away fans, who were climbing down from their seats, in some cases from many rows up, and crowded the pitch in a display of complete and utter madness. It didn't last long. The stewards got a grip and with the help of their own players, they were ushered back into the stands, but it was obvious they had been waiting for that moment for 10 long years.
From then on, Wimbledon were in the ascendency. They had a couple of chances, urged on by their reinvigorated supporters, who's chants towards the Milton Keynes fans had started up again, and increased in volume, with no reply from a shocked and nervous MK Dons stand. A disallowed goal for Milton Keynes only increased the taunting from the Wimbledon fans and as the game neared a conclusion, we were all considering a replay of this ugly yet somehow devilishly fascinating encounter. I can only imagine how the brave fans from Milton Keynes who would have made that journey would have been treated. Towards the very end, Wimbledon had a glorious chance to snatch the tie after a defensive error, and I for one am glad they didn't score. I cannot imagine the mess there would of been had they netted a last-minute winner. The Wimbledon fans went from a near feeling of bliss to a feeling of heartbreak however, because of an outrageous 90th minute winner from Jon Ostemobor of MK Dons. He nonchalently flicked the ball over veteran goalkeeper Neil Sullivan, (who played for the original Wimbledon back in the day) and the Milton Keynes fans went wild. Some even attempted to copy their counterparts by bursting on to the pitch, but this was literally a group of about 10 cretins, who were quickly thrown back into the crowd by the more aware stewards plus the chorus of boos from their own fans. Not long after, the full-time whistle sounded and we were legging it to the car, wanting to avoid the matchday traffic leaving the stadium.
It was a cracking afternoon, and possibly the most intriguing encounter I have ever been to as a football fan. I was a neutral, of course. I genuinely didn't mind who won. I seem to feel less strongly than some other fans, some of which claim that MK Dons shouldn't even exist, which I find a little harsh. However, the afternoon as an experience was excellent. I usually enjoy the banter between the two sets of fans, but this afternoon, it seemed to go to the next level. It is hard to explain to a person who doesn't follow football how much Wimbledon despise the "franchise" of MK Dons. It seems to be a popular opinion amongst football, but Milton Keynes Dons, being the highest of the teams local to me, I find it difficult to hate them completely. I can certainly understand why Wimbledon fans are unhappy at their existence, but at the end of the day, they are just another club. And although for 10 years, Wimbledon were down in the duldrums of non-league football, they are now nearing the big time, and they do completely deserve it.
I think I'm going to Old Trafford on Boxing Day. Man Utd vs Newcastle, (which always seems to be the fixture when I head to the "Theatre of Dreams"), but I'm pretty sure it won't live up the unique hype that was served up for us today. It was an unexampled contest, that we may not see again for a long time. Or then again, we might see it again next season. You just never know in this sport.
Saturday, 1 December 2012
Ask Mitten
I do spend a lot of time in this blog just detailing what goes on inside the inner compounds of my swamped marshland of a brain, however, since I gained a new raft of followers, (thankyou), I did realise some of them may not know an awful lot about me. This is when I came up with the idea of doing an 'Ask Mitten' feature. A brand new concept for a blog such as this one, I'm sure you'd agree, and although I am far from being a celebrity, or someone of importance, I hoped I may get some questions to answer.
I took to Twitter and Facebook for these questions. Some were serious, some not so, and some asked in jest, but I will answer most of them anyway. So here goes!
(From @Richym90) What do you do for a living?
I work for the Post Office, behind the counter selling all sorts of insurance, savings/bank accounts and currency along with all the usual stuff you'd expect from a post office with mail etc. I enjoy it, as it's not a pressurised work environment, very relaxed and incredibly community based. I know the majority of my customers by name, and in all honesty, I spend half my time nattering with them! I also have a voluntary role as a Director at Bedford Cricket Club, but that isn't paid and I tend to do a number of hours per week on recruiting membership and attending a few meetings etc, which I enjoy! Keeps me out of trouble!
(From @AgentGovag) If a genie granted you three wishes, what would you ask for?
First of all, I would ask for happiness. It's a simple emotion, but one cannot take for granted the times in which happiness is bestowed upon you for a period of time. Bearing in mind I have stages where happiness is a luxury, it is a feeling I want as much as possible. Secondly, I would wish for an Aston Martin for my Dad. I don't talk about him much in here, but he is the hardest working man I know, and everything I have in my life is down to him and his hard-working nature. It is his dream to own an Aston Martin, and to see that dream fulfilled would mean a lot to me. And thirdly, I would wish for perfect health for all of my friends. All of the ones who have been there for me, through thick and thin. I wouldn't want anything to happen to them.
(From @KingFahi) What are your opinions on the UKIP member claiming that gay people adopting is similar to child abuse?
Obviously, a stable life for a child, regardless of their foster parents' sexuality, is better than a childhood in care. The issue of adoption in general is one close to my heart for various reasons, but I'm sure that in most cases, a child who is adopted will have a better life than if left in the system. To liken it to child abuse is way too harsh if taken in context, however, I can sort of see where he is coming from. For a gay couple to adopt a child, they must know that this child will be subject to bullying at school because of it, (unfortunately, society has not grown up enough to accept this), and that can affect the child's state of mind. Is that child abuse? No. Child abuse has a different definition, and can leave more severe scars, but a child with two dads is bound to be seen as "different". And being "different" at school, can lead to exclusion and bullying, which is sad and lead to consequences later in life.
(From @chrispoppe) If you were on 'Im A Celebrity', which Bushtucker Trial would you sail through and get maximum stars, and which would you scream at?
I don't have many phobias. In fact, I adore spiders, I think they are seriously misunderstood creatures, especially in the UK where 99% of them are harmless. I think any trial that included bugs or insects, I would be completely fine with. Although Australian insects can nip at you, that wouldn't bother me. The two trials that got to me slightly were being locked underground in a coffin for a certain amount of time, or anything to do with extreme heights, which I am not good at. I would certainly give them a good go though!
(From @NRBoon) Will we see you play a disgusting slog across the line in the T20 competition next season and will we see you bowl?!
First of all, you might well see me play a horrible heave-ho at a good length ball, and then you will see me walking back to the pavilion! And will I bowl? No. I highly doubt it. I think we have a good amount of quality bowlers who will do the job long before I have to mark out a run up!
(From @Chrispoppe) What's the biggest lesson you have learnt since writing your blog post on 18th November, (Coming Out Story)?
I have learnt that people are less judgmental and more accepting than my mind told me they would be. The response I received was nothing short of amazing, and even though people can sometimes throw jokes around and laugh about these sorts of things in jest, if you are serious about it, people will understand and accept you for who you are.
(From @Richym90) How do you feel about the increasing rate of suicides due to online trolls?
Online hate is one of the most cowardly, despicable acts. I do not see how people think they can get away with online bullying and discrimination, and for it to lead to someone taking their own life is heartbreaking. It is a worrying trend, and more needs to be done to tackle online hate, by putting more effort to tracking down trolls and increasing punishments against them. For anyone who is subject to online hate, I would strongly advise them to simply report it and get on with living life in the real world. Anyone who is cowardly enough to hate online, will not be strong enough to tell you in person.
(From Lauren Newman on Facebook) What is your view on raising the price of alcohol to 45p per unit?
I will try and answer this without sounding hypocritical, as I do have a tendency to drink a lot when I go out! I think this is a great idea. Many people would say, "What difference is a few pence going to make?", but if you take a litre bottle of vodka, that means a price increase of about £5. That £5 could be spent on more alcohol for that person, and under these new laws, they wouldn't have that money. Ultimately, it's a good thing, and although I do feel a little sorry for the responsible drinkers in this land, it will only do a good thing to tackle the binge drinking problem we have in the UK. However, (as you suggested), I do think an increase in the drinking age would do more to tackle the problem, as the majority of binge drinking comes from the sometimes immature age group of 18-21, (and I should know!)
(From @Chrispoppe) Imagine you were the first to open the biggest and most delicious box of chocolates.. Which three centres would you scoff first?
Being a self-confessed chocaholic, this is possibly the toughest question of all! I've always had a soft spot for caramel, so that would have to be one of the choices! I am always looking for ways to stay awake during the day, so a coffee centred one is a must and a truffle centre always goes down well, so that would have to be my third choice!
(From @dgellis0907) What is the greatest hurdle you have overcome to date?
Although it was probably an answer you were expecting, I would have to say coming out to my parents is the greatest hurdle I have jumped. The trauma I put myself through over the years because of telling them one thing about me, is an experience that made me stronger and to come out the other side with everyone still around me and happy for me is extremely comforting. It was part of the reason I fell into depression, and although that is a hurdle I am still jumping over, it is much easier knowing that this part of me is out in the open, and no one has reacted negatively.
(From Gary Roper on Facebook) Who would play you in a movie of your life?
Although we have differing physiques, (and there are worlds between our intellect) I would have to say Stephen Fry. He is a hero of mine, we have similar interests and similar downfalls and he is an absolute gentleman, of which I try to be as much as I can.
(From @MissHawker) If you were to write a book, what would it be about?
Tough one... I've always had an idea about writing a "fictional" story based on myself. I've got tonnes of stories stacked away in the confides of my brain and I would love to write about my life in the past few years in a fictional way. So maybe that. I've no idea who would buy it though! Would that be an autobiography... Not sure!
Well, there you go. A few questions and a few rubbish answers to accompany them! Hopefully, some of you have learnt a little bit about me and my opinions and if not, then never mind! Until later, I bid you a fond farewell.
I took to Twitter and Facebook for these questions. Some were serious, some not so, and some asked in jest, but I will answer most of them anyway. So here goes!
(From @Richym90) What do you do for a living?
I work for the Post Office, behind the counter selling all sorts of insurance, savings/bank accounts and currency along with all the usual stuff you'd expect from a post office with mail etc. I enjoy it, as it's not a pressurised work environment, very relaxed and incredibly community based. I know the majority of my customers by name, and in all honesty, I spend half my time nattering with them! I also have a voluntary role as a Director at Bedford Cricket Club, but that isn't paid and I tend to do a number of hours per week on recruiting membership and attending a few meetings etc, which I enjoy! Keeps me out of trouble!
(From @AgentGovag) If a genie granted you three wishes, what would you ask for?
First of all, I would ask for happiness. It's a simple emotion, but one cannot take for granted the times in which happiness is bestowed upon you for a period of time. Bearing in mind I have stages where happiness is a luxury, it is a feeling I want as much as possible. Secondly, I would wish for an Aston Martin for my Dad. I don't talk about him much in here, but he is the hardest working man I know, and everything I have in my life is down to him and his hard-working nature. It is his dream to own an Aston Martin, and to see that dream fulfilled would mean a lot to me. And thirdly, I would wish for perfect health for all of my friends. All of the ones who have been there for me, through thick and thin. I wouldn't want anything to happen to them.
(From @KingFahi) What are your opinions on the UKIP member claiming that gay people adopting is similar to child abuse?
Obviously, a stable life for a child, regardless of their foster parents' sexuality, is better than a childhood in care. The issue of adoption in general is one close to my heart for various reasons, but I'm sure that in most cases, a child who is adopted will have a better life than if left in the system. To liken it to child abuse is way too harsh if taken in context, however, I can sort of see where he is coming from. For a gay couple to adopt a child, they must know that this child will be subject to bullying at school because of it, (unfortunately, society has not grown up enough to accept this), and that can affect the child's state of mind. Is that child abuse? No. Child abuse has a different definition, and can leave more severe scars, but a child with two dads is bound to be seen as "different". And being "different" at school, can lead to exclusion and bullying, which is sad and lead to consequences later in life.
(From @chrispoppe) If you were on 'Im A Celebrity', which Bushtucker Trial would you sail through and get maximum stars, and which would you scream at?
I don't have many phobias. In fact, I adore spiders, I think they are seriously misunderstood creatures, especially in the UK where 99% of them are harmless. I think any trial that included bugs or insects, I would be completely fine with. Although Australian insects can nip at you, that wouldn't bother me. The two trials that got to me slightly were being locked underground in a coffin for a certain amount of time, or anything to do with extreme heights, which I am not good at. I would certainly give them a good go though!
(From @NRBoon) Will we see you play a disgusting slog across the line in the T20 competition next season and will we see you bowl?!
First of all, you might well see me play a horrible heave-ho at a good length ball, and then you will see me walking back to the pavilion! And will I bowl? No. I highly doubt it. I think we have a good amount of quality bowlers who will do the job long before I have to mark out a run up!
(From @Chrispoppe) What's the biggest lesson you have learnt since writing your blog post on 18th November, (Coming Out Story)?
I have learnt that people are less judgmental and more accepting than my mind told me they would be. The response I received was nothing short of amazing, and even though people can sometimes throw jokes around and laugh about these sorts of things in jest, if you are serious about it, people will understand and accept you for who you are.
(From @Richym90) How do you feel about the increasing rate of suicides due to online trolls?
Online hate is one of the most cowardly, despicable acts. I do not see how people think they can get away with online bullying and discrimination, and for it to lead to someone taking their own life is heartbreaking. It is a worrying trend, and more needs to be done to tackle online hate, by putting more effort to tracking down trolls and increasing punishments against them. For anyone who is subject to online hate, I would strongly advise them to simply report it and get on with living life in the real world. Anyone who is cowardly enough to hate online, will not be strong enough to tell you in person.
(From Lauren Newman on Facebook) What is your view on raising the price of alcohol to 45p per unit?
I will try and answer this without sounding hypocritical, as I do have a tendency to drink a lot when I go out! I think this is a great idea. Many people would say, "What difference is a few pence going to make?", but if you take a litre bottle of vodka, that means a price increase of about £5. That £5 could be spent on more alcohol for that person, and under these new laws, they wouldn't have that money. Ultimately, it's a good thing, and although I do feel a little sorry for the responsible drinkers in this land, it will only do a good thing to tackle the binge drinking problem we have in the UK. However, (as you suggested), I do think an increase in the drinking age would do more to tackle the problem, as the majority of binge drinking comes from the sometimes immature age group of 18-21, (and I should know!)
(From @Chrispoppe) Imagine you were the first to open the biggest and most delicious box of chocolates.. Which three centres would you scoff first?
Being a self-confessed chocaholic, this is possibly the toughest question of all! I've always had a soft spot for caramel, so that would have to be one of the choices! I am always looking for ways to stay awake during the day, so a coffee centred one is a must and a truffle centre always goes down well, so that would have to be my third choice!
(From @dgellis0907) What is the greatest hurdle you have overcome to date?
Although it was probably an answer you were expecting, I would have to say coming out to my parents is the greatest hurdle I have jumped. The trauma I put myself through over the years because of telling them one thing about me, is an experience that made me stronger and to come out the other side with everyone still around me and happy for me is extremely comforting. It was part of the reason I fell into depression, and although that is a hurdle I am still jumping over, it is much easier knowing that this part of me is out in the open, and no one has reacted negatively.
(From Gary Roper on Facebook) Who would play you in a movie of your life?
Although we have differing physiques, (and there are worlds between our intellect) I would have to say Stephen Fry. He is a hero of mine, we have similar interests and similar downfalls and he is an absolute gentleman, of which I try to be as much as I can.
(From @MissHawker) If you were to write a book, what would it be about?
Tough one... I've always had an idea about writing a "fictional" story based on myself. I've got tonnes of stories stacked away in the confides of my brain and I would love to write about my life in the past few years in a fictional way. So maybe that. I've no idea who would buy it though! Would that be an autobiography... Not sure!
Well, there you go. A few questions and a few rubbish answers to accompany them! Hopefully, some of you have learnt a little bit about me and my opinions and if not, then never mind! Until later, I bid you a fond farewell.
Monday, 26 November 2012
The Saturday Night That Never Happened
It had been a good week. The response from my previous important blog was better than I could ever have imagined, I had been busy, mixing a good amount of working hours and volunteering at the club mixed in with sociable times. It was the perfect mix. My spirits at work on Friday were the best I have ever remembered. Even waking up on Saturday to go and help with manual labour at the club was absolutely fine. I was happy.
I was looking forward to a night out in Birmingham. For once, I felt like I had deserved it. Ok, I was a little tired and the train journey there annoyed me somewhat as I missed my original train and had to buy another ticket for a longer and ultimately louder train. But once I got there and the others had eventually turned up and we were at the travelodge, I lightened up a bit and was looking forward to a good night. Even if I did feel a tad left out as they had all bought matching t-shirts and I was left with nothing. Plus, they'd all created these phrases from their night out on Friday, that I had no clue about. But these were very minor details.
I don't know why I went mad. Again. It was one of those nights. Maybe I thought I had deserved it a little too much. Maybe I thought I could take all of the alcohol I had, but obviously, in hindsight I couldn't. And I really should have realised that. There are only so many times you can use it as a "learning curve". I KNOW what my limit is, but for some stupid and incredible reason, I somehow let it go beyond that again. In the past, these situations haven't been good ones to end up in, but I ended up safe. Only once did I leave myself in a compromising position, in Manchester on "that night" I mentioned. On Saturday night, I was not so lucky. I'm not going to say what happened. Frankly, I will do anything to go back and change what happened that night, but I know I can't. I've been stewing over it ever since it happened, trying to distract myself with typing seemingly humorous posts on Twitter and what not, but I can't ignore it any longer. This is the only way I can let loose my frustrations, as I tend to. Saying what exactly happened though will not help how I feel, so I never intend to, to anyone. The three friends I was out with know what happened, and hopefully they will be the only ones to know.
It wasn't their fault either. I was idiotic enough to walk off, in a drunken rage I suppose, on my own in a strange city, and ultimately I paid the price. Is it a lesson learnt? How many times have I said I've learnt a lesson and I do it again? Honestly, I have no idea when I'm ultimately going to grow up. I realised earlier that I have a reputation when it comes to drinking, alcohol and "going out" and although that was a laugh a couple of years ago, I'm not sure I want to be tarnished with that brush now. There is nothing wrong with going out, getting drunk and having fun. I will continue to do so, but I have given myself two conditions:
1) I'm not going to go anywhere that isn't Bedford, (or at MOST it's surrounding areas). Sounds boring? Maybe. But at least I can navigate where I am. Not get lost and end up in dangerous situations.
2) If I let myself get into a situation like I did on Saturday night again, (including being too drunk to realise what's happening), then I will take it one step further and leave drinking until special occasions. Not just going out for the hell of it.
I keep on thinking I have grown up enough, become mature enough and sensible enough, to not keep doing this to myself, but I haven't. I have the unenviable ability to get too hyped up on certain nights out, and this needs to stop. It's not healthy for me, and one day, it could get even worse. I was very, very happy to get back to work today. Which is a strange thing for me to say. A world of normality and in sensible surroundings is what I needed.
I'm glad I've typed this out. I might not have been as open about my weekend as I have been with other things, but that would only lead to a whole host of questions I don't want to answer. I think it's best if I move on, try and forget it ever happened, and carry on making progress. Progress has been good. Of course it has. This is just a setback. I was warned setbacks would occur, just I never thought they would be self-inflicted.
Onwards.
I was looking forward to a night out in Birmingham. For once, I felt like I had deserved it. Ok, I was a little tired and the train journey there annoyed me somewhat as I missed my original train and had to buy another ticket for a longer and ultimately louder train. But once I got there and the others had eventually turned up and we were at the travelodge, I lightened up a bit and was looking forward to a good night. Even if I did feel a tad left out as they had all bought matching t-shirts and I was left with nothing. Plus, they'd all created these phrases from their night out on Friday, that I had no clue about. But these were very minor details.
I don't know why I went mad. Again. It was one of those nights. Maybe I thought I had deserved it a little too much. Maybe I thought I could take all of the alcohol I had, but obviously, in hindsight I couldn't. And I really should have realised that. There are only so many times you can use it as a "learning curve". I KNOW what my limit is, but for some stupid and incredible reason, I somehow let it go beyond that again. In the past, these situations haven't been good ones to end up in, but I ended up safe. Only once did I leave myself in a compromising position, in Manchester on "that night" I mentioned. On Saturday night, I was not so lucky. I'm not going to say what happened. Frankly, I will do anything to go back and change what happened that night, but I know I can't. I've been stewing over it ever since it happened, trying to distract myself with typing seemingly humorous posts on Twitter and what not, but I can't ignore it any longer. This is the only way I can let loose my frustrations, as I tend to. Saying what exactly happened though will not help how I feel, so I never intend to, to anyone. The three friends I was out with know what happened, and hopefully they will be the only ones to know.
It wasn't their fault either. I was idiotic enough to walk off, in a drunken rage I suppose, on my own in a strange city, and ultimately I paid the price. Is it a lesson learnt? How many times have I said I've learnt a lesson and I do it again? Honestly, I have no idea when I'm ultimately going to grow up. I realised earlier that I have a reputation when it comes to drinking, alcohol and "going out" and although that was a laugh a couple of years ago, I'm not sure I want to be tarnished with that brush now. There is nothing wrong with going out, getting drunk and having fun. I will continue to do so, but I have given myself two conditions:
1) I'm not going to go anywhere that isn't Bedford, (or at MOST it's surrounding areas). Sounds boring? Maybe. But at least I can navigate where I am. Not get lost and end up in dangerous situations.
2) If I let myself get into a situation like I did on Saturday night again, (including being too drunk to realise what's happening), then I will take it one step further and leave drinking until special occasions. Not just going out for the hell of it.
I keep on thinking I have grown up enough, become mature enough and sensible enough, to not keep doing this to myself, but I haven't. I have the unenviable ability to get too hyped up on certain nights out, and this needs to stop. It's not healthy for me, and one day, it could get even worse. I was very, very happy to get back to work today. Which is a strange thing for me to say. A world of normality and in sensible surroundings is what I needed.
I'm glad I've typed this out. I might not have been as open about my weekend as I have been with other things, but that would only lead to a whole host of questions I don't want to answer. I think it's best if I move on, try and forget it ever happened, and carry on making progress. Progress has been good. Of course it has. This is just a setback. I was warned setbacks would occur, just I never thought they would be self-inflicted.
Onwards.
Monday, 19 November 2012
Thankyou
I don't quite know what to say. I'm completely overwhelmed by the response from my previous post, it is almost impossible to put into words. However, as I am accustomed to, I shall attempt to do it regardless.
Before posting the link to that post, I was a little nervous, but not as nervous as I made out. The people I had told before all took the news gracefully and without negativity, so I never really expected much in the way of contempt this time round, if any at all. What I was not expecting however, was the vast scale of support I received from every aspect of life, past and present, and for this, I would like to thank you. Each and every person who "liked" my Facebook link, or tweeted me your support, re-tweeted my link, left me an inbox message, text message or e-mail, thankyou so much. From the bottom of my heart. I never expected it, not for one second. Old friends from school, current friends who I spend Saturday nights sinking into drinking trousers with, friends from the cricket club and the refereeing community who I thought I had fallen out with altogether, and even strangers leaving me messages of support and commendation. All are to be thanked. Your comments will live with me for a long, long time.
The messages have still been coming in today. I have received a phone-load of texts and tweets and more comments on Facebook, so much so, that I shed a little tear myself earlier this afternoon. I could never have wished for a reaction like this.
I'm not going to make this longer than I need to. It was merely a post that reaffirms my love of humanity. This blog has been rather negative lately, but if you could see what this has done to me, you'd regain some faith in the human race that you may have lost. I'm visibly more cheery, bouncing along with a spring in my step and I'm convinced my face hurts, because a smile has been slapped across it for the majority of today. This is all down to you, and your acceptance.
I'm happy.
Before posting the link to that post, I was a little nervous, but not as nervous as I made out. The people I had told before all took the news gracefully and without negativity, so I never really expected much in the way of contempt this time round, if any at all. What I was not expecting however, was the vast scale of support I received from every aspect of life, past and present, and for this, I would like to thank you. Each and every person who "liked" my Facebook link, or tweeted me your support, re-tweeted my link, left me an inbox message, text message or e-mail, thankyou so much. From the bottom of my heart. I never expected it, not for one second. Old friends from school, current friends who I spend Saturday nights sinking into drinking trousers with, friends from the cricket club and the refereeing community who I thought I had fallen out with altogether, and even strangers leaving me messages of support and commendation. All are to be thanked. Your comments will live with me for a long, long time.
The messages have still been coming in today. I have received a phone-load of texts and tweets and more comments on Facebook, so much so, that I shed a little tear myself earlier this afternoon. I could never have wished for a reaction like this.
I'm not going to make this longer than I need to. It was merely a post that reaffirms my love of humanity. This blog has been rather negative lately, but if you could see what this has done to me, you'd regain some faith in the human race that you may have lost. I'm visibly more cheery, bouncing along with a spring in my step and I'm convinced my face hurts, because a smile has been slapped across it for the majority of today. This is all down to you, and your acceptance.
I'm happy.
Sunday, 18 November 2012
My Coming Out Story
'Coming Out' is an interesting phrase. It signifies stepping out into the world, from a place of darkness, becoming yourself and independent. In some ways it sums up this deeply personal process quite well, but I've never liked the phrase. What may be 'one day' to some was in fact many years for me. I remember one particular day in Year 10 at school. I was 15, and sat in the middle of a French lesson. Looking out the window, in a world of my own, as French verbs entered one ear and left the other, I noticed a guy walking through the gates. He was older than me, probably about 17 or 18, and seemed to walk with a swagger that suggested confidence and aplomb. He was a good-looking lad... It was at this point where I first had thoughts that I might be "different". Only in the past 18 months or so, do I fully appreciate what these feelings meant. But this story doesn't just span one day. It spans many emotion-riddled years.
I was confused at this time of my life. At the age of 15, my peers were just starting to talk about dating girls, and being interested in the opposite sex, and I seem to remember compliments flying my way from a couple of girls in my year. I was unsure of how to feel. I remember thinking I should act normally, like everyone else, except I wasn't like anyone else. I have always been more comfortable in male company, whether I thought they were cute or not, its just who I am. I don't know why. I suppose it is just another attribute that makes me, me. Even so, at the age of 15, in the middle of the brutal school environment, I was still at that age where I felt like I had to fit in. I don't think I knew I was gay at this point. I was still too young to realise what was happening, but the confusion was certainly there. I entered a couple of relationships with girls, merely to mask the mystification of what was going on. They never lasted very long, as I never felt at all comfortable in them. It wasn't as if I didn't like them. They were good people and they were friends, but I knew deep down they were never going to be anything more.
The idea of boy-girl relationships is something that is socially accepted as "normal". It stands to reason then, especially as a teenager, that anything other than that isn't normal. At all. The quantity of homophobic jokes that circulated the school, during lunch breaks and PE lessons for example, were incredible. Coming out in school then was not an option for me. I don't think anyone should come out in school, at least before Sixth Form. I always felt that if you did, you'd become a social outcast. I remember one guy who did, and he was bullied non-stop. I laughed along, wanting to be involved in the right social groups, but I felt terrible at the same time. I was laughing at a young man who was similar to me. It didn't feel right.
It was when I turned 17 where things started to get more... serious. If that is the right word. I had matured slightly, gathered the thoughts of the past few years and collated them to arrive at one possible conclusion. I think by the Winter of 2008, I had worked out that I wasn't "straight". Yet still I was not brave enough to tell even my closest friends. I was still relatively shy, especially when it came to the concept of relationships, and with everything else going on in my life, this frankly huge event almost took a back seat in proceedings. It was of course, the start of the meltdown that ended in me walking away from that school with a set of grades that would have made a chimpanzee upset. But there was another hurdle to jump before I could even contemplate telling anyone. By the time I was 18 years old, I had spent many years listening to taunts of acquaintances at school, on the football pitch, in referee training sessions, with everyone labelling gay men as "fancyboys" and "Kings of the Camp". I'm not "fancy". I'm certainly not camp. Homophobia at school was, and maybe still is, a hugely potent subject. Gay people were the butt of a lot of jokes, (excuse the pun!), so much so, they might aswell have made it part of the curriculum. I started questioning myself, asking myself whether this was just a "phase". There was a point in this process where I wanted to be different. I'm fairly sure the majority of gay men ask themselves the same question. Maybe it's just hormones. Maybe I will have a wife and children after all? Maybe I'll grow out of it? I knew I had to accept it myself though, before gaining the acceptance of others.
Of course, now I know that's complete nonsense. You are born gay, and you discover it. It cannot be changed. But at the time, I was genuinely contemplating ignoring the signs, telling myself it was a phase, and set my mind on the life of a straight man. I was going to find myself a girlfriend and it was all going to be fine. Almost as if it was an illness or something. But gradually, slowly but surely, I started to realise how miserable a life that would be. Living a lie. I couldn't do that.
For the first time ever, at the age of 18, I knew for certain that I wasn't straight. Whether I was gay or bisexual, frankly wasn't an answer I was attempting to find. Merely accepting that I wasn't "normal" was enough to be getting my head around for the time being. For the past few years, I've asked myself that question, but only very recently have I settled on the fact I am gay. And most importantly, accepted that it isn't abnormal in any way shape or form.
But of course, the title of this revealing post insinuates that there is a story behind me "coming out". Oh, there is certainly one of those. But not until much later.
I remember the first time I ever told anyone I was gay. I was 18 and I was talking to a friend of mine, who I knew, but not that well. He wasn't a close friend of mine at this point. Somehow, he knew that something wasn't quite right, and after a few hours of discussion, he simply asked me if I was gay. He just came out with it. I was startled, and panicked a little. But deep down, I knew he wouldn't judge me so I decided upon this moment to start the story. Get the ball rolling and just admit it. I cannot describe the weight that lifted from my shoulders. It almost felt like the weight of the Earth falling off. His response?
"About bloody time!"
... Exactly. It was at this point where it dawned on me that people wouldn't care. I'm not the first guy to "come out", and I won't be the last. I'm not a different person because I'm gay, it is just another part of me. Like someone else who likes fashion but not football. Someone who likes Indian food but not Mexican. I am gay, not straight. It's as simple as that.
From then on, I told my closest friends one by one. For "coming out" doesn't happen once. I found myself constantly "coming out", (I do dislike that phrase...), to friends, to friends of friends who were merely curious and it became a frequent occurrence. I didn't receive a single negative reaction which was an incredible relief, and most importantly, I started to completely accept that I was gay. Except, there were still hurdles to jump. The biggest hurdle that faces anyone who goes through this journey is telling your family. The same people who brought you into this world, hoping one day to cradle young grandchildren in their arms and be at the head of a few generations of offspring running around at Christmas. To tell them I wasn't going to be this person, was my toughest challenge by far.
I had told all of my close friends before I turned 19, but it was almost a year before I told my parents, on one fateful, alcohol-fuelled evening in Manchester, which will always be remembered simply as "that night". I am not usually a person who does regrets. I tend to just move on, as there is nothing you can do about actions that have already occurred. But I do regret how I came out to my parents. I had ended up in hospital in the middle of Manchester after going way overboard on the drinking, and was in a dark, dark place. I had been in that place for months on end, toying with the idea of telling them, but never plucking up the courage. That night, surrounded by the extremities of a hospital environment, it all crashed down on me. It was 5am, but I just had to let it all out. I asked my friend if he could text my Mum, telling her everything, as I didn't know what to put. He typed out the perfect text and sent it, and I got a reply almost instantly, saying everything was fine and that she loved me. And that was that. They knew. And they didn't mind...
It turned out they already knew. Despite me not telling them personally, they already knew. God knows how. Whether someone else had let it slip in conversation, or whether I'd left a Google tab open with pictures of Mitch Hewer on them, I have no idea. I felt a bit of an imbesile, letting myself go through all of that torture over something they already knew about, but I was glad it was out in the open. I never really talked to them about it very often though, and still don't. The first time I have ever mentioned being with a guy was literally a few weeks ago, after a night out in Northampton. I do appreciate I am a closed book at times, especially when it comes to talking to family, but again, that is just me. Another part of my makeup. I'm doing this to show everyone that I am no longer ashamed of who I am. I'm going against my better judgment to help defeat the stigma. And if you are a regular reader of this blog, I do a lot of stigma defeating!
I'm putting this post on Facebook and Twitter for all to see then. I want everyone to know the journey I have been through to get to this stage. I may get negative reactions, but I no longer care, because I know there are people out there who love me regardless. There are sections of people in my life that don't know this. Most people at the cricket club will learn something new about me. Certain people at work will now know why I don't have a girlfriend. Even people I went to school with will now know, and I am all the happier for it. I see no need in tip-toeing around society, hiding it from people when it should be considered as normal as heterosexuality. One day, I wish "coming out" stories won't even be needed. People won't double take upon two men holding hands in the street or ask questions about your personal life, simply because you don't come under the social convention of what is "correct". This is the first time I've been so open with multiple people about this particular part of me though, so I am still nervous of the reaction. It's a feeling I have not forgotten.
I also want to show other teenagers who might be beginning this journey themselves, that it will all be ironed out eventually. There might be tough times, but if your friends are real friends, they won't care one jot. I've been lucky to have the best friends and family on the planet, who accepted me for me and helped me accept who I am. And for that I am so grateful.
I was confused at this time of my life. At the age of 15, my peers were just starting to talk about dating girls, and being interested in the opposite sex, and I seem to remember compliments flying my way from a couple of girls in my year. I was unsure of how to feel. I remember thinking I should act normally, like everyone else, except I wasn't like anyone else. I have always been more comfortable in male company, whether I thought they were cute or not, its just who I am. I don't know why. I suppose it is just another attribute that makes me, me. Even so, at the age of 15, in the middle of the brutal school environment, I was still at that age where I felt like I had to fit in. I don't think I knew I was gay at this point. I was still too young to realise what was happening, but the confusion was certainly there. I entered a couple of relationships with girls, merely to mask the mystification of what was going on. They never lasted very long, as I never felt at all comfortable in them. It wasn't as if I didn't like them. They were good people and they were friends, but I knew deep down they were never going to be anything more.
The idea of boy-girl relationships is something that is socially accepted as "normal". It stands to reason then, especially as a teenager, that anything other than that isn't normal. At all. The quantity of homophobic jokes that circulated the school, during lunch breaks and PE lessons for example, were incredible. Coming out in school then was not an option for me. I don't think anyone should come out in school, at least before Sixth Form. I always felt that if you did, you'd become a social outcast. I remember one guy who did, and he was bullied non-stop. I laughed along, wanting to be involved in the right social groups, but I felt terrible at the same time. I was laughing at a young man who was similar to me. It didn't feel right.
It was when I turned 17 where things started to get more... serious. If that is the right word. I had matured slightly, gathered the thoughts of the past few years and collated them to arrive at one possible conclusion. I think by the Winter of 2008, I had worked out that I wasn't "straight". Yet still I was not brave enough to tell even my closest friends. I was still relatively shy, especially when it came to the concept of relationships, and with everything else going on in my life, this frankly huge event almost took a back seat in proceedings. It was of course, the start of the meltdown that ended in me walking away from that school with a set of grades that would have made a chimpanzee upset. But there was another hurdle to jump before I could even contemplate telling anyone. By the time I was 18 years old, I had spent many years listening to taunts of acquaintances at school, on the football pitch, in referee training sessions, with everyone labelling gay men as "fancyboys" and "Kings of the Camp". I'm not "fancy". I'm certainly not camp. Homophobia at school was, and maybe still is, a hugely potent subject. Gay people were the butt of a lot of jokes, (excuse the pun!), so much so, they might aswell have made it part of the curriculum. I started questioning myself, asking myself whether this was just a "phase". There was a point in this process where I wanted to be different. I'm fairly sure the majority of gay men ask themselves the same question. Maybe it's just hormones. Maybe I will have a wife and children after all? Maybe I'll grow out of it? I knew I had to accept it myself though, before gaining the acceptance of others.
Of course, now I know that's complete nonsense. You are born gay, and you discover it. It cannot be changed. But at the time, I was genuinely contemplating ignoring the signs, telling myself it was a phase, and set my mind on the life of a straight man. I was going to find myself a girlfriend and it was all going to be fine. Almost as if it was an illness or something. But gradually, slowly but surely, I started to realise how miserable a life that would be. Living a lie. I couldn't do that.
For the first time ever, at the age of 18, I knew for certain that I wasn't straight. Whether I was gay or bisexual, frankly wasn't an answer I was attempting to find. Merely accepting that I wasn't "normal" was enough to be getting my head around for the time being. For the past few years, I've asked myself that question, but only very recently have I settled on the fact I am gay. And most importantly, accepted that it isn't abnormal in any way shape or form.
But of course, the title of this revealing post insinuates that there is a story behind me "coming out". Oh, there is certainly one of those. But not until much later.
I remember the first time I ever told anyone I was gay. I was 18 and I was talking to a friend of mine, who I knew, but not that well. He wasn't a close friend of mine at this point. Somehow, he knew that something wasn't quite right, and after a few hours of discussion, he simply asked me if I was gay. He just came out with it. I was startled, and panicked a little. But deep down, I knew he wouldn't judge me so I decided upon this moment to start the story. Get the ball rolling and just admit it. I cannot describe the weight that lifted from my shoulders. It almost felt like the weight of the Earth falling off. His response?
"About bloody time!"
... Exactly. It was at this point where it dawned on me that people wouldn't care. I'm not the first guy to "come out", and I won't be the last. I'm not a different person because I'm gay, it is just another part of me. Like someone else who likes fashion but not football. Someone who likes Indian food but not Mexican. I am gay, not straight. It's as simple as that.
From then on, I told my closest friends one by one. For "coming out" doesn't happen once. I found myself constantly "coming out", (I do dislike that phrase...), to friends, to friends of friends who were merely curious and it became a frequent occurrence. I didn't receive a single negative reaction which was an incredible relief, and most importantly, I started to completely accept that I was gay. Except, there were still hurdles to jump. The biggest hurdle that faces anyone who goes through this journey is telling your family. The same people who brought you into this world, hoping one day to cradle young grandchildren in their arms and be at the head of a few generations of offspring running around at Christmas. To tell them I wasn't going to be this person, was my toughest challenge by far.
I had told all of my close friends before I turned 19, but it was almost a year before I told my parents, on one fateful, alcohol-fuelled evening in Manchester, which will always be remembered simply as "that night". I am not usually a person who does regrets. I tend to just move on, as there is nothing you can do about actions that have already occurred. But I do regret how I came out to my parents. I had ended up in hospital in the middle of Manchester after going way overboard on the drinking, and was in a dark, dark place. I had been in that place for months on end, toying with the idea of telling them, but never plucking up the courage. That night, surrounded by the extremities of a hospital environment, it all crashed down on me. It was 5am, but I just had to let it all out. I asked my friend if he could text my Mum, telling her everything, as I didn't know what to put. He typed out the perfect text and sent it, and I got a reply almost instantly, saying everything was fine and that she loved me. And that was that. They knew. And they didn't mind...
It turned out they already knew. Despite me not telling them personally, they already knew. God knows how. Whether someone else had let it slip in conversation, or whether I'd left a Google tab open with pictures of Mitch Hewer on them, I have no idea. I felt a bit of an imbesile, letting myself go through all of that torture over something they already knew about, but I was glad it was out in the open. I never really talked to them about it very often though, and still don't. The first time I have ever mentioned being with a guy was literally a few weeks ago, after a night out in Northampton. I do appreciate I am a closed book at times, especially when it comes to talking to family, but again, that is just me. Another part of my makeup. I'm doing this to show everyone that I am no longer ashamed of who I am. I'm going against my better judgment to help defeat the stigma. And if you are a regular reader of this blog, I do a lot of stigma defeating!
I'm putting this post on Facebook and Twitter for all to see then. I want everyone to know the journey I have been through to get to this stage. I may get negative reactions, but I no longer care, because I know there are people out there who love me regardless. There are sections of people in my life that don't know this. Most people at the cricket club will learn something new about me. Certain people at work will now know why I don't have a girlfriend. Even people I went to school with will now know, and I am all the happier for it. I see no need in tip-toeing around society, hiding it from people when it should be considered as normal as heterosexuality. One day, I wish "coming out" stories won't even be needed. People won't double take upon two men holding hands in the street or ask questions about your personal life, simply because you don't come under the social convention of what is "correct". This is the first time I've been so open with multiple people about this particular part of me though, so I am still nervous of the reaction. It's a feeling I have not forgotten.
I also want to show other teenagers who might be beginning this journey themselves, that it will all be ironed out eventually. There might be tough times, but if your friends are real friends, they won't care one jot. I've been lucky to have the best friends and family on the planet, who accepted me for me and helped me accept who I am. And for that I am so grateful.
Monday, 12 November 2012
A Confidence Lapse
It's been a pretty strange weekend. It feels as if I've been awake for the whole thing, never sleeping, never resting. All in all however, I don't feel like I've done that much.
I went out on Friday night. It was just your bog standard night out on Bedford town that seemed to go alarmingly fast. At one stage, we were playing some dodgy Geordie Shore drinking game, (don't get me started), and then I blinked and we were going home via some random chicken takeaway shop. All I remember from the night is eating a skinny little piri-piri wrap whilst watching the raindrops race each other down the windows... Otherwise, it's a complete blur and bearing in mind I didn't drink that much, I'm convinced that was because of the time.
Anyway. I got home just shy of 3am, knowing full well I had the cricket club AGM 7 hours later. It sounded like a relatively simple task, if a little tiring. Go to sleep, wake up and go through the rigmarole and discussion, cup of coffee in hand, and then go home and relax. However, I also knew I had to present a report summarising the adult section from the previous season and outlining what I wanted to happen in the coming season. Don't get me wrong. I'm proud that I have been given the task of propelling this section of our club to new heights, but I still have not quite got my head around being the lead person of one of the most important sections of the club. Part of me feels like I shouldn't be "Director". The image of the Director is an illustration of an old-fashioned, experienced ambassador, who has been at the organisation/club/assocation for years and has worked their way to that position. I have been at the club for 4 years, and although for two of those I have been captain, I feel like I have taken on a monumental task, much suited to a more experienced being. I do get the small impression that a few people at that club wonder why there is a young man sat at the top table. I also feel a little guilty. Still being young, I do still go out and drink, and I don't think I should stop doing that because I've now got a position of authority. If it was a paid position, a position in an organisation, then it would be a different story. This is voluntary, so I don't think I should be giving up the things I enjoy doing because of it. But me being me, I do wonder what the others think of me and my drinking habits. Going back to my original point, Saturday morning was the first time where this realisation got to me. It got to me so much that I quickly spiralled into a state of dour foreboding.
I could not sleep on Friday night. I probably turned the lights out at about 3.30am, but sleep eluded me until about 7.30. I was terrified. I did type in here, my thoughts of absolute consternation, complete fearfulness and the mountain of anxiety that I felt because of this meeting. Upon reading it back in the morning, I deleted it in fear of being branded an idiot. In the end, I was in such a state, that I did well making it at all. Upon arrival at the meeting, I took a deep breath and drew the veil, now layers thick, that masks the anxiety from the outside world, and got on with it. The meeting itself went relatively smoothly, with me sat at the end of the top table, trying to concentrate, but also keeping quiet until I had to talk. At times, I chipped in a brief opinion to let people know that I had not fallen asleep, but otherwise, I felt if I said anything, it wouldn't come out right.
This was until the time of the meeting where I had no choice but to speak. The junior cricket director had just spoken at length about the junior setup, and all of a sudden, I felt a brick hit me in the face with the force of a category 1 hurricane. I had drafted a report, that sat in front of me, but the words on the piece of paper seemed to drift into one, creating one long black line. I started talking, at a volume barely recognisable. It started off OK, as I looked up and saw a sea of concentrated faces focused in my direction. Why was I so nervous? As I say, it started off relatively alright, but then I found myself repeating things, then realised I was repeating things, and got even worse. It wasn't great, but then no one seemed to react negatively to it. At the end, I was asked a few questions from the membership, then we moved on to the next item. No negativity at all. I focused on that for the rest of the meeting, the fact that I had received nothing detrimental, and just about got through it. It could have gone better then, but bearing in mind I was in the middle of a "mini-episode", it could have been much, much worse. I let the positives into my post-meeting summary that took place in the confines of my brain, and told myself, "At least I turned up". And seriously, I did well to turn up.
I went straight to sleep when I got in at roughly 12.30, and woke up at 5pm, ready to go and eat a lot of pizza and watch the football in a surprisingly good mood. This confirmed that the anxiety I felt was simply over the morning's events, which was a relief.
Today, I had my first net of the winter training campaign which went alright. The quality of the bowling in the team I was training with was pretty poor however, so it wasn't the stringent opening test I was after. But a good warm-up none the less. Since then, I have just been dossing and ranting severely about the ridiculousness that is the X Factor and it's fans, before watching the opening of I'm A Celebrity. I was also reminded of the steep irony of complaining religiously about reality TV, then offering opinions whilst watching the rumble in the jungle. I know.
But the real story of the weekend, once again, lay with the frailties of my mind. They are still there, and will most probably be there for the rest of my life, but the most important thing of all is how I react to them. I did alright this weekend. There were positives and negatives to be taken from the negative situation, but I will fight on. As I tend to.
I went out on Friday night. It was just your bog standard night out on Bedford town that seemed to go alarmingly fast. At one stage, we were playing some dodgy Geordie Shore drinking game, (don't get me started), and then I blinked and we were going home via some random chicken takeaway shop. All I remember from the night is eating a skinny little piri-piri wrap whilst watching the raindrops race each other down the windows... Otherwise, it's a complete blur and bearing in mind I didn't drink that much, I'm convinced that was because of the time.
Anyway. I got home just shy of 3am, knowing full well I had the cricket club AGM 7 hours later. It sounded like a relatively simple task, if a little tiring. Go to sleep, wake up and go through the rigmarole and discussion, cup of coffee in hand, and then go home and relax. However, I also knew I had to present a report summarising the adult section from the previous season and outlining what I wanted to happen in the coming season. Don't get me wrong. I'm proud that I have been given the task of propelling this section of our club to new heights, but I still have not quite got my head around being the lead person of one of the most important sections of the club. Part of me feels like I shouldn't be "Director". The image of the Director is an illustration of an old-fashioned, experienced ambassador, who has been at the organisation/club/assocation for years and has worked their way to that position. I have been at the club for 4 years, and although for two of those I have been captain, I feel like I have taken on a monumental task, much suited to a more experienced being. I do get the small impression that a few people at that club wonder why there is a young man sat at the top table. I also feel a little guilty. Still being young, I do still go out and drink, and I don't think I should stop doing that because I've now got a position of authority. If it was a paid position, a position in an organisation, then it would be a different story. This is voluntary, so I don't think I should be giving up the things I enjoy doing because of it. But me being me, I do wonder what the others think of me and my drinking habits. Going back to my original point, Saturday morning was the first time where this realisation got to me. It got to me so much that I quickly spiralled into a state of dour foreboding.
I could not sleep on Friday night. I probably turned the lights out at about 3.30am, but sleep eluded me until about 7.30. I was terrified. I did type in here, my thoughts of absolute consternation, complete fearfulness and the mountain of anxiety that I felt because of this meeting. Upon reading it back in the morning, I deleted it in fear of being branded an idiot. In the end, I was in such a state, that I did well making it at all. Upon arrival at the meeting, I took a deep breath and drew the veil, now layers thick, that masks the anxiety from the outside world, and got on with it. The meeting itself went relatively smoothly, with me sat at the end of the top table, trying to concentrate, but also keeping quiet until I had to talk. At times, I chipped in a brief opinion to let people know that I had not fallen asleep, but otherwise, I felt if I said anything, it wouldn't come out right.
This was until the time of the meeting where I had no choice but to speak. The junior cricket director had just spoken at length about the junior setup, and all of a sudden, I felt a brick hit me in the face with the force of a category 1 hurricane. I had drafted a report, that sat in front of me, but the words on the piece of paper seemed to drift into one, creating one long black line. I started talking, at a volume barely recognisable. It started off OK, as I looked up and saw a sea of concentrated faces focused in my direction. Why was I so nervous? As I say, it started off relatively alright, but then I found myself repeating things, then realised I was repeating things, and got even worse. It wasn't great, but then no one seemed to react negatively to it. At the end, I was asked a few questions from the membership, then we moved on to the next item. No negativity at all. I focused on that for the rest of the meeting, the fact that I had received nothing detrimental, and just about got through it. It could have gone better then, but bearing in mind I was in the middle of a "mini-episode", it could have been much, much worse. I let the positives into my post-meeting summary that took place in the confines of my brain, and told myself, "At least I turned up". And seriously, I did well to turn up.
I went straight to sleep when I got in at roughly 12.30, and woke up at 5pm, ready to go and eat a lot of pizza and watch the football in a surprisingly good mood. This confirmed that the anxiety I felt was simply over the morning's events, which was a relief.
Today, I had my first net of the winter training campaign which went alright. The quality of the bowling in the team I was training with was pretty poor however, so it wasn't the stringent opening test I was after. But a good warm-up none the less. Since then, I have just been dossing and ranting severely about the ridiculousness that is the X Factor and it's fans, before watching the opening of I'm A Celebrity. I was also reminded of the steep irony of complaining religiously about reality TV, then offering opinions whilst watching the rumble in the jungle. I know.
But the real story of the weekend, once again, lay with the frailties of my mind. They are still there, and will most probably be there for the rest of my life, but the most important thing of all is how I react to them. I did alright this weekend. There were positives and negatives to be taken from the negative situation, but I will fight on. As I tend to.
Thursday, 8 November 2012
Defeating the Stigma
I've felt pretty good the last few days. The last couple of weeks really, since that poor week I had, have been relatively grand. I've been motivated at work, sociable, happy, talkative. Everything I like about myself has been exposed in the last couple of weeks and I hope this continues for as long as possible. It won't last forever, of that I'm certain, but if it lasts a while longer, I shall be just fine.
There's no point in trying to convince myself that happiness is a constant feeling. For everyone feels dejected on occasions, although my despondancy comes in stronger doses. It's important to appreciate that melancholy will rear it's unwanted head on occasions, but its as equally important to enjoy the times where the illness gives you a break. It's also important to focus on life. It's a simple sentence. Focusing on different aspects of life is important if I'm to fight.
Sleep
This is a big issue for me, if not the biggest. I've jumped a lot of hurdles in the past few years, but a regular sleeping pattern still eludes me. It is possible to get by on an offbeat sleeping pattern, but it isn't exactly ideal. I've never been good with sleep. I'm not a morning person by any stretch of the imagination. It takes me a good hour or two to become properly aware in the mornings, meaning I spend the first hour or so at work drifting from consciousness to gazing into the distance. I'm not quite sure if this is anyhow linked to my depression, for I have never been at 100% in the morning hours. Maybe it's just me, and will always be me, regardless of mental state. When I'm in the mirky midst of a bad stage however, I can sleep for unbelievable amounts of time. One night I can sleep for 16 hours, and then sleep for 4 hours the next night, which starts to get to you after a consistent period. Only a few times have these outrageous patterns lasted longer than a week, but even after a couple of days of it, I find myself straying into the mindset of a person who isn't quite connected with the outside world. Sleep is important for everyone, but even more so for me.
Food
At my best, I have a healthy appetite, as most of my friends will tell you. But just like most factors when depression is involved, you can go either one way or the other - either indulging hugely or eating next to nothing, sometimes in consecutive days. There have been times in the past where I haven't eaten anything in a few days, simply because I don't have the energy to. Other days, I have had the equivalent of 4-6 meals a day with constant snacks in between. I imagine it isn't healthy for me, but the reality is just that. I remember one specific time, (approximately), where one day I had a full English breakfast, a few snack bars during the morning followed by a fair amount of sandwiches and then a pub lunch on top. In the afternoon, I ate a box of cookies, chocolate and then a lot of fruit on top because I felt guilty of the unhealthy balance of food I had had that day. I then had a large dinner, followed by two helpings of dessert, then had supper before going to the pub. After the pub, we went to McDonalds where I had a large meal of some sort, and then stopped off at Tesco's to buy some more cookies for my night-time television watching. The next three days, I think I had a banana and some cereal. That's it. The colossal difference between the two is frightening, but I can have periods like that. Some of my friends have witnessed the "fat git" stage of me, (as they like to put it!), and I do sometimes wonder what they must think as they see me pig out on anything and everything. It's almost as if I'm making up for it by not eating anything for days afterwards, which probably contributes when it comes to the lack of energy I sometimes feel.
Alcohol
Now then. I think we all know by now that I like a drink. Bearing in mind that alcohol and depression are about as useful together as a toddler and a chainsaw, I get the impression I shouldn't drink so much. I'm not exactly an alcoholic, but the amount of times I've been left in a state of no repair, quite literally drowning my sorrows, is really quite startling. I think this is the only factor that has contributed to my depression in the past, that I had real control over. I have gone "out on the town" when I have felt bad, convinced I will feel better after a few JD's, but instead feeling like a mountain has dropped on the mountain already sitting on my shoulders. I can think of a few examples where I really should have known better than to go out and get bladdered, but I suppose I can put it down to 'experience'. I think I've learnt my lesson. I was invited to go out this very evening, but I had just had a difficult conversation with a romantic interest, (I'll say no more on that one), and going out to drink would have been the worst possible thing to do. I was feeling slightly down earlier after that particular conversation, and the "old me" would have accepted the invitation as an excuse to forget about it, only to probably find myself in a worse state later in the night. I know better now, and simply talked it through with a couple of people, and now I have ... perked up. This doesn't mean I will never go out again, oh no! I have a reputation to uphold after all, but I have, and will carry on, putting more thought into the times I go out and socialise against my mood. I think it will help everyone, most importantly, me.
Work
My job(s) in the past have usually been the original source of any anxiety I feel. I put pressure on myself to succeed, because I feel like I'm intelligent enough to be much higher than I am. Past comments from teachers, ex-managers and others point to the view that I should be in a much better career than the one I find myself in. I used to worry about that, but now I know that doesn't matter so much. As long as I'm happy, that is the main thing, and the job I am currently in is the most relaxed atmosphere one can possibly hope for in a workplace, which is exactly what I need. There is little pressure to exceed targets, although they are there, and because of that I am doing much better performance wise than if I was constantly hounded to reach those targets. If I am under pressure at the place I spend most of my week, on past experience, I will tend to feel more unhappy for longer periods. Anxiety leads to depression I find, and the majority of the anxious periods I have experienced stemmed from negative happenings in the workplace.
Those are just a few factors, among others, that contribute to my mood. My sleep at the moment is as good as it ever has been, (although still not that great). I've been eating on regular occasions, but not too much or too little. I've had a little dabble in the alcohol world recently, but making sure I was in a mood that wouldn't result in disastrous consequences before doing so and work is as comfortable as it has been for the past few months, although the oncoming Christmas rush may test my resolve over the next 6 or so weeks.
It is a difficult illness to get your head around. 1 in 4 people suffer with symptoms conducive to mental illness, yet the stigma surrounding it is so great, that in times of loneliness and suffering, you are even more compelled to stay silent. People worry they will be looked at in a different light, but the past 6 months especially have convinced me that this isn't the case. It is important to talk about these things, in whatever way you think will help you. I type my thoughts on to a computer screen. Some occupy themselves using exercise as a tool of letting loose. Others may just want a chat.
Everyone is different, but everyone should appreciate that depression is one of the most laborious and gargantuan illnesses out there, simply because of its invisibility. It's ability to eat away silently at your personality is a scary thought, and one that is a reality for so many people. I don't want to stay silent, but educate people. And I hope this blog, whether it be 1, 100 or 10,000 people that read it, does just that.
There's no point in trying to convince myself that happiness is a constant feeling. For everyone feels dejected on occasions, although my despondancy comes in stronger doses. It's important to appreciate that melancholy will rear it's unwanted head on occasions, but its as equally important to enjoy the times where the illness gives you a break. It's also important to focus on life. It's a simple sentence. Focusing on different aspects of life is important if I'm to fight.
Sleep
This is a big issue for me, if not the biggest. I've jumped a lot of hurdles in the past few years, but a regular sleeping pattern still eludes me. It is possible to get by on an offbeat sleeping pattern, but it isn't exactly ideal. I've never been good with sleep. I'm not a morning person by any stretch of the imagination. It takes me a good hour or two to become properly aware in the mornings, meaning I spend the first hour or so at work drifting from consciousness to gazing into the distance. I'm not quite sure if this is anyhow linked to my depression, for I have never been at 100% in the morning hours. Maybe it's just me, and will always be me, regardless of mental state. When I'm in the mirky midst of a bad stage however, I can sleep for unbelievable amounts of time. One night I can sleep for 16 hours, and then sleep for 4 hours the next night, which starts to get to you after a consistent period. Only a few times have these outrageous patterns lasted longer than a week, but even after a couple of days of it, I find myself straying into the mindset of a person who isn't quite connected with the outside world. Sleep is important for everyone, but even more so for me.
Food
At my best, I have a healthy appetite, as most of my friends will tell you. But just like most factors when depression is involved, you can go either one way or the other - either indulging hugely or eating next to nothing, sometimes in consecutive days. There have been times in the past where I haven't eaten anything in a few days, simply because I don't have the energy to. Other days, I have had the equivalent of 4-6 meals a day with constant snacks in between. I imagine it isn't healthy for me, but the reality is just that. I remember one specific time, (approximately), where one day I had a full English breakfast, a few snack bars during the morning followed by a fair amount of sandwiches and then a pub lunch on top. In the afternoon, I ate a box of cookies, chocolate and then a lot of fruit on top because I felt guilty of the unhealthy balance of food I had had that day. I then had a large dinner, followed by two helpings of dessert, then had supper before going to the pub. After the pub, we went to McDonalds where I had a large meal of some sort, and then stopped off at Tesco's to buy some more cookies for my night-time television watching. The next three days, I think I had a banana and some cereal. That's it. The colossal difference between the two is frightening, but I can have periods like that. Some of my friends have witnessed the "fat git" stage of me, (as they like to put it!), and I do sometimes wonder what they must think as they see me pig out on anything and everything. It's almost as if I'm making up for it by not eating anything for days afterwards, which probably contributes when it comes to the lack of energy I sometimes feel.
Alcohol
Now then. I think we all know by now that I like a drink. Bearing in mind that alcohol and depression are about as useful together as a toddler and a chainsaw, I get the impression I shouldn't drink so much. I'm not exactly an alcoholic, but the amount of times I've been left in a state of no repair, quite literally drowning my sorrows, is really quite startling. I think this is the only factor that has contributed to my depression in the past, that I had real control over. I have gone "out on the town" when I have felt bad, convinced I will feel better after a few JD's, but instead feeling like a mountain has dropped on the mountain already sitting on my shoulders. I can think of a few examples where I really should have known better than to go out and get bladdered, but I suppose I can put it down to 'experience'. I think I've learnt my lesson. I was invited to go out this very evening, but I had just had a difficult conversation with a romantic interest, (I'll say no more on that one), and going out to drink would have been the worst possible thing to do. I was feeling slightly down earlier after that particular conversation, and the "old me" would have accepted the invitation as an excuse to forget about it, only to probably find myself in a worse state later in the night. I know better now, and simply talked it through with a couple of people, and now I have ... perked up. This doesn't mean I will never go out again, oh no! I have a reputation to uphold after all, but I have, and will carry on, putting more thought into the times I go out and socialise against my mood. I think it will help everyone, most importantly, me.
Work
My job(s) in the past have usually been the original source of any anxiety I feel. I put pressure on myself to succeed, because I feel like I'm intelligent enough to be much higher than I am. Past comments from teachers, ex-managers and others point to the view that I should be in a much better career than the one I find myself in. I used to worry about that, but now I know that doesn't matter so much. As long as I'm happy, that is the main thing, and the job I am currently in is the most relaxed atmosphere one can possibly hope for in a workplace, which is exactly what I need. There is little pressure to exceed targets, although they are there, and because of that I am doing much better performance wise than if I was constantly hounded to reach those targets. If I am under pressure at the place I spend most of my week, on past experience, I will tend to feel more unhappy for longer periods. Anxiety leads to depression I find, and the majority of the anxious periods I have experienced stemmed from negative happenings in the workplace.
Those are just a few factors, among others, that contribute to my mood. My sleep at the moment is as good as it ever has been, (although still not that great). I've been eating on regular occasions, but not too much or too little. I've had a little dabble in the alcohol world recently, but making sure I was in a mood that wouldn't result in disastrous consequences before doing so and work is as comfortable as it has been for the past few months, although the oncoming Christmas rush may test my resolve over the next 6 or so weeks.
It is a difficult illness to get your head around. 1 in 4 people suffer with symptoms conducive to mental illness, yet the stigma surrounding it is so great, that in times of loneliness and suffering, you are even more compelled to stay silent. People worry they will be looked at in a different light, but the past 6 months especially have convinced me that this isn't the case. It is important to talk about these things, in whatever way you think will help you. I type my thoughts on to a computer screen. Some occupy themselves using exercise as a tool of letting loose. Others may just want a chat.
Everyone is different, but everyone should appreciate that depression is one of the most laborious and gargantuan illnesses out there, simply because of its invisibility. It's ability to eat away silently at your personality is a scary thought, and one that is a reality for so many people. I don't want to stay silent, but educate people. And I hope this blog, whether it be 1, 100 or 10,000 people that read it, does just that.
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