This morning I was clicking away on my laptop as per normal, reading through social networks and various websites about music and conspiracy theories, my standard start to a Saturday, when all of a sudden I got a big blue screen flash up. "System error, your computer is now closing down" or some other similar annoying words. The computer then proceeded to close down and then start back up again. This was not the first time it has failed in the past few weeks. Not to mention the fact the screw has gone in the monitor part and the screen keeps falling down unless I hold it up, and the laptop itself being around five years old now, so even the most normal tasks like running itunes and playing facebook apps cause it to have a breakdown.
Yesterday was payday, so it made sense that I go into town and take a look at what other computers they have for sale in second hand and electronic shops and the like. After trapsing round Manchester's many Entertainment Exchange stores and having not much joy I decided to trek up to Ancoats and look for a PC World or anywhere that would do the same job. After a bit of iPhone map jiggerypokery I managed to find myself at an Argos Extra store, and after thumbing through their catalogue I eventually found, on page 752, a rather nice looking piece of kit at £399. There followed a few calls to my bank to find out my exact account balance, a few sums then took place, and eventually I parted with my cash and found myself the proud owner of this snazzy new machine.
Ok it's not overly snazzy, but it's a certain upgrade from my old laptop. Before leaving my home I found the specification of the old laptop on a website, took a photo of it, and used that to ensure my new computer would be better than it.
And here we are. All my essential programs (Spotify, iTunes, firefox, ummmm... that's it) installed, all my favourite websites bookmarked, everything running an absolute dream. I think myself and iTunes may actually be able to build some kind of friendship too, rather than me begrudgingly venturing in every 6 months or so to install an iOS update, expecting a five hour ordeal in doing so.
These kind of whim purchases are nice.
Saturday 29 October 2011
Sunday 28 August 2011
Bank Holiday Weekend in North Devon
Currently, I'm sat in the living room of my parents house in Appledore. Mum's snoozing in an armchairs, Dad's got his headphones on, listening to the radio, and there's a TV program on with Anne Widecombe looking at an old house. I like evenings like this.
The weekend has been pretty packed so far, yesterday morning I woke up at 5am, was in a taxi by 6am and on a train out of Manchester by 7. The train journey down to Devon took 5 hours, I then spent 2 hours wondering round Exeter before meeting my friend Fleur, who I haven't seen now for around 6 years, in the city centre. We went to the Cavern club to get lunch, something we used to do regularly when we were in our late teens/early 20s. Then we went for a wander round, went to an american sweetshop and then to the Cathedral where she volunteers doing conservation work each weekend, she wanted to show me a plaque on a wall with a silly name on it. Afterwards I left her at her workplace and got the train up to Barnstaple.
My parents were waiting for me there and I was home here by 6pm. By 9.30pm I was out again for drinks with Matt D in Bideford. We went to the Heavitree, Crabbies and then Ceasers. I drank too many JD and cokes and stumbled back through the front door here around 2am. I had to ring the doorbell and get Mum up as I couldn't unlock the door. I only later realised I had been trying my Manchester doorkey in the door.
Today I slept until midday, got up for two pieces of toast, then got back into bed. Spent the afternoon chatting to Fleur online, going over our old livejournals and reminiscing, this afternoon I then went out for a meal at Country Cousins in Westward Ho! with Mum and Dad, we had a carvery and for desert I had a chocolate nut brownie with cream. So right now I am currently feeling very lethargic and in need of sleep. Bedtime will come very soon.
Not looking forward to going back to Manchester tomorrow if I'm honest. Really do miss being down here so much.
The weekend has been pretty packed so far, yesterday morning I woke up at 5am, was in a taxi by 6am and on a train out of Manchester by 7. The train journey down to Devon took 5 hours, I then spent 2 hours wondering round Exeter before meeting my friend Fleur, who I haven't seen now for around 6 years, in the city centre. We went to the Cavern club to get lunch, something we used to do regularly when we were in our late teens/early 20s. Then we went for a wander round, went to an american sweetshop and then to the Cathedral where she volunteers doing conservation work each weekend, she wanted to show me a plaque on a wall with a silly name on it. Afterwards I left her at her workplace and got the train up to Barnstaple.
My parents were waiting for me there and I was home here by 6pm. By 9.30pm I was out again for drinks with Matt D in Bideford. We went to the Heavitree, Crabbies and then Ceasers. I drank too many JD and cokes and stumbled back through the front door here around 2am. I had to ring the doorbell and get Mum up as I couldn't unlock the door. I only later realised I had been trying my Manchester doorkey in the door.
Today I slept until midday, got up for two pieces of toast, then got back into bed. Spent the afternoon chatting to Fleur online, going over our old livejournals and reminiscing, this afternoon I then went out for a meal at Country Cousins in Westward Ho! with Mum and Dad, we had a carvery and for desert I had a chocolate nut brownie with cream. So right now I am currently feeling very lethargic and in need of sleep. Bedtime will come very soon.
Not looking forward to going back to Manchester tomorrow if I'm honest. Really do miss being down here so much.
Sunday 15 May 2011
The music I like.
It's always hard to define exactly what music I am into. If I was told I could only listen to one single genre for the rest of my life I would choose indie pop, but even that is a very loosely defined genre. I like lively music, that doesn't take itself too seriously or is steeped in romanticism, featuring guitars, keyboards or other electronic instrumentation and increasingly I find myself being more into bands with female vocalists.
My favourite bands are well known, successful bands such as Manic Street Preachers, Weezer, The Libertines and The Smiths. My current favourite new bands are The Heartbreaks and Pris, very independant and very unknown (for now at least), but equally I worship at the altar of Lady Gaga and Kanye West. Delve back a bit further toward the 70s and my favourite bands are all punk rock, The Clash, The Slits, Ramones, Sex Pistols, Buzzcocks. Jump further back to the 60s and I really couldn't give a toss about the rock'n'roll bands of the time, apart from The Beatles, I'd be more into the girl groups, The Supremes, The Shangri-La's, The Ronettes. Skip back forward again to the 80s I would be full C86, The Pastels, McCarthy, The Mighty Wah!, The Shop Assistants, Talulah Gosh. The 90s I witnessed, which was britpop mainly.
I wish I could say that it's easier for me to define the music I don't like, but again I cannot. Quite simply I don't like boring music, not at all keen on guitar bands without vocals or anything too prog rock. But there are exceptions there even, I like a lot of acoustic singer/songwriters and I actually quite like Mumford And Sons and Stornaway, their lyrics put them above the rest of the similar tosh out there.
Reading that back there is a definite thread to the music I love, I just can't define it myself. Maybe if I was musically technically minded I could, but I'm not. I just like what I like.
My favourite bands are well known, successful bands such as Manic Street Preachers, Weezer, The Libertines and The Smiths. My current favourite new bands are The Heartbreaks and Pris, very independant and very unknown (for now at least), but equally I worship at the altar of Lady Gaga and Kanye West. Delve back a bit further toward the 70s and my favourite bands are all punk rock, The Clash, The Slits, Ramones, Sex Pistols, Buzzcocks. Jump further back to the 60s and I really couldn't give a toss about the rock'n'roll bands of the time, apart from The Beatles, I'd be more into the girl groups, The Supremes, The Shangri-La's, The Ronettes. Skip back forward again to the 80s I would be full C86, The Pastels, McCarthy, The Mighty Wah!, The Shop Assistants, Talulah Gosh. The 90s I witnessed, which was britpop mainly.
I wish I could say that it's easier for me to define the music I don't like, but again I cannot. Quite simply I don't like boring music, not at all keen on guitar bands without vocals or anything too prog rock. But there are exceptions there even, I like a lot of acoustic singer/songwriters and I actually quite like Mumford And Sons and Stornaway, their lyrics put them above the rest of the similar tosh out there.
Reading that back there is a definite thread to the music I love, I just can't define it myself. Maybe if I was musically technically minded I could, but I'm not. I just like what I like.
Saturday 14 May 2011
My new desk
Today I bought myself a nice new desk from Argos and a nice new office chair to go with it. Actually it was the cheapest desk and chair Argos did but they suit me well. Saying that, as I'm typing this the desk is wobbling like crazy, can deal with that though, £32 the lot so can't grumble.
For the past year, since moving into this house, I've not had any kind of desk in my bedroom, when using my computer I've propped myself up against the wall, on my bed, with a pillow behind my head. Maybe this explains my hideous laziness. The past year I have in fact been stuck in some kind of weird lethargy in general, over the past two weeks I have been doing everything possible to consciously snap myself out of it. I had fallen into a junk food takeaway, self pitying, bedridden lull. To combat this I have banned myself from takeaways until the end of the month at least and no more coca cola (I was on three 500ml bottles a day, and I intentionally describe it like a drug, because it is one). I'm not banning myself from junk food in general, I'd just rather be eating captain birdseye's oven cook variety than McDonalds gunk, they have additives in that to turn you into their very own walking dead.
Also I am making myself leave the confines of my room outside of work hours, actually sitting down to watch some tv with my housemates, have a thirty minute conversation with them whilst cooking my tea, I can be an incredibly anti-social creature when I want to be, I can lie in my bed all day and even though I feel much worse after it I never learn. Until now that is.
This desk business, anyway, is supposed to encourage my writing. It already is, it's a much more pleasant experience writing sat at a desk rather than lying down on my bed. I've got this snazzy little iPhone dock as well which I'm blasting my music out from, Metronomy's The English Riviera right now, it's much better for listening to full albums on. Listening to music on my computer just encourages me to jump from track to track, make playlists and just scan through different artists. With this dock it's much easier to just put an album on and leave it playing. Plus I now have Spotify Premium subscription so I literally have access to every record under the sun.
My stomach is growling like crazy tonight. It's not a hunger thing as I've just polished off an Asda create-your-own 10" stuffed crust spicy chicken, pepperoni, ham and bacon pizza and rocky road pudding, it's some weird thing I get, right, about once a week I just get this feeling which completely overcomes me, it's like I feel drunk almost, a bit like a panic attack but it lasts for around 24 hours, and when it dies away it leaves me feeling massively thirsty and my stomach growling and churning like this. I should see a doctor about it really, but when I have the opportunity to make an appointment it never seems at it's worst and it doesn't seem like there's any need. I tend to dismiss all this stuff as psychosomatic as it probably is.
The world seems to be glued to Eurovision right now, I was too busy putting this desk and chair together to take much notice. This Metronomy album's better than Eurovision anyway. I'm going to see them in Ibiza this summer, supporting Friendly Fires. We're going over for my brother's thirtieth birthday with a bunch of his friends, staying at Ibiza Rocks hotel. I'm imagining some kind of Club 18-30 type experience, probably pretty much hell, but I'm up for giving anything a go, probably throw myself into it, sun, swimming pools and music can't be a bad thing really.
It's four minutes to midnight now so I think I'll be getting off. My stomach growls goodbye to you.
For the past year, since moving into this house, I've not had any kind of desk in my bedroom, when using my computer I've propped myself up against the wall, on my bed, with a pillow behind my head. Maybe this explains my hideous laziness. The past year I have in fact been stuck in some kind of weird lethargy in general, over the past two weeks I have been doing everything possible to consciously snap myself out of it. I had fallen into a junk food takeaway, self pitying, bedridden lull. To combat this I have banned myself from takeaways until the end of the month at least and no more coca cola (I was on three 500ml bottles a day, and I intentionally describe it like a drug, because it is one). I'm not banning myself from junk food in general, I'd just rather be eating captain birdseye's oven cook variety than McDonalds gunk, they have additives in that to turn you into their very own walking dead.
Also I am making myself leave the confines of my room outside of work hours, actually sitting down to watch some tv with my housemates, have a thirty minute conversation with them whilst cooking my tea, I can be an incredibly anti-social creature when I want to be, I can lie in my bed all day and even though I feel much worse after it I never learn. Until now that is.
This desk business, anyway, is supposed to encourage my writing. It already is, it's a much more pleasant experience writing sat at a desk rather than lying down on my bed. I've got this snazzy little iPhone dock as well which I'm blasting my music out from, Metronomy's The English Riviera right now, it's much better for listening to full albums on. Listening to music on my computer just encourages me to jump from track to track, make playlists and just scan through different artists. With this dock it's much easier to just put an album on and leave it playing. Plus I now have Spotify Premium subscription so I literally have access to every record under the sun.
My stomach is growling like crazy tonight. It's not a hunger thing as I've just polished off an Asda create-your-own 10" stuffed crust spicy chicken, pepperoni, ham and bacon pizza and rocky road pudding, it's some weird thing I get, right, about once a week I just get this feeling which completely overcomes me, it's like I feel drunk almost, a bit like a panic attack but it lasts for around 24 hours, and when it dies away it leaves me feeling massively thirsty and my stomach growling and churning like this. I should see a doctor about it really, but when I have the opportunity to make an appointment it never seems at it's worst and it doesn't seem like there's any need. I tend to dismiss all this stuff as psychosomatic as it probably is.
The world seems to be glued to Eurovision right now, I was too busy putting this desk and chair together to take much notice. This Metronomy album's better than Eurovision anyway. I'm going to see them in Ibiza this summer, supporting Friendly Fires. We're going over for my brother's thirtieth birthday with a bunch of his friends, staying at Ibiza Rocks hotel. I'm imagining some kind of Club 18-30 type experience, probably pretty much hell, but I'm up for giving anything a go, probably throw myself into it, sun, swimming pools and music can't be a bad thing really.
It's four minutes to midnight now so I think I'll be getting off. My stomach growls goodbye to you.
Monday 4 April 2011
Weekend in London, Special Needs.
Actually we'll start on Friday night. I had a work night out in Manchester, we went straight to the normal Friday night, after work drinks, bar at Salford Quays to begin with, then moved onto Nando's in town, this then went on to Revolutions near Deansgate and it's here that my memory dissapears amidst a downpour of jagerbombs and vodka and coke around 4am.
My memory then comes to, starshaped in last night's clothes, on my bed at 9.15am. My train to London was leaving Picadilly at 10.35 so I literally put on some new underwear and changed my t shirt, stuffed some clothes into a bag and crawled to the bus, then on to a train. Made it down to London in one piece for 12.45, then found my way to Westfield to meet my sister. She works there giving massages to shoppers. Got there around 1.30 and she wasn't finishing til 3 so I had a wander round, quite an impressive store place as far as shopping centres go.
We left there around 3.30 and bussed and trained it to Bromley where Kirsty lives with her boyfriend, had a shower and got my head together a little, then around 7pm, when Kirsty's boyfriend Dave got home we headed back up to Kentish Town for the Special Needs gig at Heroes bar. The bar had just been freshly painted a thick shade of black. Special Needs were excellent as ever, amazing to hear Motorbikin' back in the set. Also brilliant to catch up with a lot of people I had not seen in literally 5 or 6 years.
Again this night ended up in another drunken blur. Dave left around midnight to get the last train home. Kirsty ended up massively drunk and I spent the early hours of Sunday morning trying to be a responsible older brother as she acted like a lairy, drunken little sister, which was a very, very hard job when I was without a leg to stand on myself. Managed to shoehorn her into a taxi, the driver of which Kirsty spent the next hour verbally abusing and which cost me £50.
Again, a night of drunken sleep ensued, waking up again around midday to go back in to London to Brick Lane market where Dave's brother runs a yoghurt stall (www.yo-kart.co.uk). Had a little wander round there which in itself was nice, don't think I've stepped foot in East London for, again, around 5 or 6 years. Brick Lane seems to have changed a lot even in that amount of time.
And then it was just about time to head back to Victoria station and jump on a bus Manchester bound again. Got on the bus at 5.30pm, got off it at 10.55pm at Picadilly gardens, jumped in a taxi and came on home.
Today has been absolute torture, pretty much worth it for such a good weekend though. Tonight I shall be settling down with Louis Theroux's programme from last night on iplayer, in bed. G'night.
My memory then comes to, starshaped in last night's clothes, on my bed at 9.15am. My train to London was leaving Picadilly at 10.35 so I literally put on some new underwear and changed my t shirt, stuffed some clothes into a bag and crawled to the bus, then on to a train. Made it down to London in one piece for 12.45, then found my way to Westfield to meet my sister. She works there giving massages to shoppers. Got there around 1.30 and she wasn't finishing til 3 so I had a wander round, quite an impressive store place as far as shopping centres go.
We left there around 3.30 and bussed and trained it to Bromley where Kirsty lives with her boyfriend, had a shower and got my head together a little, then around 7pm, when Kirsty's boyfriend Dave got home we headed back up to Kentish Town for the Special Needs gig at Heroes bar. The bar had just been freshly painted a thick shade of black. Special Needs were excellent as ever, amazing to hear Motorbikin' back in the set. Also brilliant to catch up with a lot of people I had not seen in literally 5 or 6 years.
Again this night ended up in another drunken blur. Dave left around midnight to get the last train home. Kirsty ended up massively drunk and I spent the early hours of Sunday morning trying to be a responsible older brother as she acted like a lairy, drunken little sister, which was a very, very hard job when I was without a leg to stand on myself. Managed to shoehorn her into a taxi, the driver of which Kirsty spent the next hour verbally abusing and which cost me £50.
Again, a night of drunken sleep ensued, waking up again around midday to go back in to London to Brick Lane market where Dave's brother runs a yoghurt stall (www.yo-kart.co.uk). Had a little wander round there which in itself was nice, don't think I've stepped foot in East London for, again, around 5 or 6 years. Brick Lane seems to have changed a lot even in that amount of time.
And then it was just about time to head back to Victoria station and jump on a bus Manchester bound again. Got on the bus at 5.30pm, got off it at 10.55pm at Picadilly gardens, jumped in a taxi and came on home.
Today has been absolute torture, pretty much worth it for such a good weekend though. Tonight I shall be settling down with Louis Theroux's programme from last night on iplayer, in bed. G'night.
Monday 28 March 2011
Talk About Wasted Talent (But Not Quite)
Ten years ago I had massive potential. Massive potential. I was 17, nearly 18, looking at going to university to study literature and then move on to journalism, pissed off with my hometown and ridiculously under travelled, with a desire to go everywhere and experience everything, slightly shy but always willing to put myself out there, push myself forward for new experiences. The world was at my feet.
In the period of the next four years I would go on to completely unravel this in the most pitiful way. To quote Charles Dickens "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times". Loads of brilliant stuff happened in that time period, I experienced great things I am glad to have experienced but I also managed to damage myself massively which pretty much ruined any opportunities that could have been open to me. I'm talking about depression triggered by drug abuse. Since then I've found out that I am genetically predisposed to depression and that my family is fucked up in most senses, maybe if I had been aware of this before I would have been a little more cautious (or maybe I would have been worse), both my brother and sister have spent time on anti-depressants and been in therapy, my dad is a prime example of non-violent passive-aggression, my aunty and his mum were agrophobic, my mum came from an abusive home and never knew who her real father was and my gran is very eccentric, my cousins on my mums side all suffer from depression to some extent.
That was the cause of me leaving London. I went off the rails and didn't know how to get back on them, so I did the only thing I could, quit and run back home. I began experiencing anxiety symptoms around that point, although I did not know what that meant at the time, I just knew it as some offshoot of depression and some extention of comedowns that I could not handle. Depersonalisation was a symptom I found massively scarey, a feeling of just being cut off from everything and everyone. There was a point when I felt like a walking zombie, when I couldn't hold a conversation with my parents because I felt like a fraud as couldn't be honest with them as there was a big part of my life that I could never disclose to them. This was not apparent to me at the time though, I just felt a big brick wall was there between me and certain other people and I did not know why.
A guy did a psychiatric assessment on me at that time, the only time I have ever seen anyone remotely like a therapist, who asked me a bunch of questions and made me break down in tears, but because I was always completely and utterly shocked every time he asked me something relating to suicide and was therefore no real danger to myself I was not seen as of high importance. I was self harming at this point, I had been self harming since I was 14, and it did escalate at this period as well due to aforementioned drug abuse impacted self loathing, but I never intended to kill myself. Punish and torture myself, yes, but I am definitely not ready for death yet. I was given a box of citalopram and told to maybe go see a therapist if I wanted to and could afford to pay it off my own back.
It was at that point I went back to Devon and just shut everything out, that was what I wanted, to feel better again, I took the tablets, found a job in a supermarket and just carried on. At the time I was unaware but I was just completely numbing myself. There were five years there that I completely wasted. And it wasn't helping me either. I was completely numb, but I was also undergoing some kind of breakdown, I was drinking massively whilst being on a daily dose of anti-depressants. That entire period I was not me. During the day I was living a life I never wanted to live with the minimum of hassle, during the night I was getting drunk, getting into fights, acting like an arsehole. I was even being agressive and hateful to some of my best friends. Safe to say I was not myself anymore.
After around four years I came off the anti-depressants completely. This was when the anxiety really began. It had been present a bit during my time on the meds but it really came into it's own now. I experienced dreadful panic attacks. There were at least two or three instances where I could not go in to work because of the anxiety I was experiencing, physical symptoms as well, one morning I woke up and my back was in complete pain right down to my legs, within hours it had gone. Twice I woke up on a morning and felt like I could not face the world and ended up spending all morning crying my eyes out for no reason. My mum bore the brunt of all of this. One time I had been up to visit my brother in Cardiff. I was at the peak of my panic attacks, at this point I was scared to drink alcohol, and several nights through the week I had to tell him I could not deal with going outside and just wanted to stay in his room all evening. We went to the cinema at one point as well and I had to leave halfway through because I couldn't take being sat there. When I returned home that weekend on the train back I was fighting back tears. When my picked me up in the car I just burst out crying. She was always trying to ask me why I was so upset, why I was so down, but I didn't even know the answer myself so didn't have a clue what I could tell her. I just cried it out and got on with it.
It was then that I went to my doctor. He tried to put me back on meds but I refused. He put me on a CBT course and gave me some propranolol. The propanolol was weird, beta blockers are definitely not for me, they make me go light headed and my blood literally turns cold with them which just makes me even more anxious inside of my head when my body is completely chilled out, terrible terrible experience, I tried Kalms too which did the same, and also St Johns Wort. The CBT I did find helpful though. It wasn't really geared toward me as such, it was more geared toward people who were scared of something, agrophobics and like. I was given a computer program to do which was all about pushing your boundaries, taking baby steps, but that was never really my issue. Even though I did have physical reactions to things and situations I still pushed through and did them.
What was really helpful for me though was the therapy I received though. I lied earlier and said I hadn't been in touch with a therapist. I actually had, but as part of this CBT it was all done over the phone. I was given a few hour long sessions to go with the fearfighter computer programs where a therapist would talk over my symptoms, how I was feeling, where I thought the feelings were coming from. Several times yet again she had me in floods and floods of tears but I definitely found tools from that to deal with how I was feeling and to get through it.
Those sessions didn't last long, again I think I was considered a low priority because I was no risk to myself and my condition wasn't having a considerable impact to my ability to live life. I had issues but they were literally all in my head and were only serving to torture my thoughts and inhibit myself. What they did inspire me to do though was to research anxiety disorders more, tool myself up against it, learn to not be afraid of it. It was only at this point that I really began to make progress.
A little after this I moved up to Manchester, still with the anxiety symptoms heavy over me. They are still there now in fact, greatly diminished but still there. But when I walked down a street and felt like my skull was caving in because my muscles were so tight and tense or when I felt like my heart was going to stop beating, or I could not breathe I now knew for sure that it was all in my mind. Even to this day I still feel those things but I know why.
The next stage is possibly the hardest bit though, dealing with the things that causes all of this. Again I am much more familiar with them now, lack of self worth, lack of self belief, I don't think much of myself, any aspect of myself. Yet I'm aware that I can do a lot of stuff well. That's the inner conflict I have to deal with. It makes no logical sense at all. But it makes the gap between my ambitions and acheiving them so very hard to bridge. I can see the life I want to lead and person I want to be because I know that that is what I'm capable of and what I can do, but then my lack of self worth and self belief is there saying that I can't do it. I am aware that anyone reading this would read that and just think it's stupid and they'd be right but it is this very thing that completely inhibits me.
I never let it stop me, I moved from Devon to Manchester because I needed to do it. I just need to now keep pushing myself. I'm not sure what my next move is really, I've got an alright job on a comfortable wage right now but I'm still not in the right place yet. I guess I just need to keep on healing. Give myself some goals to work toward. This month is set to be the busiest I've had in a long time, then heading off to Ibiza in June, fitting as much as I can into the summer. I just need to embrace life again, embrace what I've always enjoyed doing. I started off by saying I wasted my talent and opportunities that I had, but waste was the wrong word to use, I have never ever written myself off and that's what's important. There is always tomorrow. People say putting things off until tomorrow is bad, which is true, but what is also true is that tomorrow is always there, it's always going to be an opportunity and a new start. No matter what's happened today, there will always be a new tomorrow.
In the period of the next four years I would go on to completely unravel this in the most pitiful way. To quote Charles Dickens "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times". Loads of brilliant stuff happened in that time period, I experienced great things I am glad to have experienced but I also managed to damage myself massively which pretty much ruined any opportunities that could have been open to me. I'm talking about depression triggered by drug abuse. Since then I've found out that I am genetically predisposed to depression and that my family is fucked up in most senses, maybe if I had been aware of this before I would have been a little more cautious (or maybe I would have been worse), both my brother and sister have spent time on anti-depressants and been in therapy, my dad is a prime example of non-violent passive-aggression, my aunty and his mum were agrophobic, my mum came from an abusive home and never knew who her real father was and my gran is very eccentric, my cousins on my mums side all suffer from depression to some extent.
That was the cause of me leaving London. I went off the rails and didn't know how to get back on them, so I did the only thing I could, quit and run back home. I began experiencing anxiety symptoms around that point, although I did not know what that meant at the time, I just knew it as some offshoot of depression and some extention of comedowns that I could not handle. Depersonalisation was a symptom I found massively scarey, a feeling of just being cut off from everything and everyone. There was a point when I felt like a walking zombie, when I couldn't hold a conversation with my parents because I felt like a fraud as couldn't be honest with them as there was a big part of my life that I could never disclose to them. This was not apparent to me at the time though, I just felt a big brick wall was there between me and certain other people and I did not know why.
A guy did a psychiatric assessment on me at that time, the only time I have ever seen anyone remotely like a therapist, who asked me a bunch of questions and made me break down in tears, but because I was always completely and utterly shocked every time he asked me something relating to suicide and was therefore no real danger to myself I was not seen as of high importance. I was self harming at this point, I had been self harming since I was 14, and it did escalate at this period as well due to aforementioned drug abuse impacted self loathing, but I never intended to kill myself. Punish and torture myself, yes, but I am definitely not ready for death yet. I was given a box of citalopram and told to maybe go see a therapist if I wanted to and could afford to pay it off my own back.
It was at that point I went back to Devon and just shut everything out, that was what I wanted, to feel better again, I took the tablets, found a job in a supermarket and just carried on. At the time I was unaware but I was just completely numbing myself. There were five years there that I completely wasted. And it wasn't helping me either. I was completely numb, but I was also undergoing some kind of breakdown, I was drinking massively whilst being on a daily dose of anti-depressants. That entire period I was not me. During the day I was living a life I never wanted to live with the minimum of hassle, during the night I was getting drunk, getting into fights, acting like an arsehole. I was even being agressive and hateful to some of my best friends. Safe to say I was not myself anymore.
After around four years I came off the anti-depressants completely. This was when the anxiety really began. It had been present a bit during my time on the meds but it really came into it's own now. I experienced dreadful panic attacks. There were at least two or three instances where I could not go in to work because of the anxiety I was experiencing, physical symptoms as well, one morning I woke up and my back was in complete pain right down to my legs, within hours it had gone. Twice I woke up on a morning and felt like I could not face the world and ended up spending all morning crying my eyes out for no reason. My mum bore the brunt of all of this. One time I had been up to visit my brother in Cardiff. I was at the peak of my panic attacks, at this point I was scared to drink alcohol, and several nights through the week I had to tell him I could not deal with going outside and just wanted to stay in his room all evening. We went to the cinema at one point as well and I had to leave halfway through because I couldn't take being sat there. When I returned home that weekend on the train back I was fighting back tears. When my picked me up in the car I just burst out crying. She was always trying to ask me why I was so upset, why I was so down, but I didn't even know the answer myself so didn't have a clue what I could tell her. I just cried it out and got on with it.
It was then that I went to my doctor. He tried to put me back on meds but I refused. He put me on a CBT course and gave me some propranolol. The propanolol was weird, beta blockers are definitely not for me, they make me go light headed and my blood literally turns cold with them which just makes me even more anxious inside of my head when my body is completely chilled out, terrible terrible experience, I tried Kalms too which did the same, and also St Johns Wort. The CBT I did find helpful though. It wasn't really geared toward me as such, it was more geared toward people who were scared of something, agrophobics and like. I was given a computer program to do which was all about pushing your boundaries, taking baby steps, but that was never really my issue. Even though I did have physical reactions to things and situations I still pushed through and did them.
What was really helpful for me though was the therapy I received though. I lied earlier and said I hadn't been in touch with a therapist. I actually had, but as part of this CBT it was all done over the phone. I was given a few hour long sessions to go with the fearfighter computer programs where a therapist would talk over my symptoms, how I was feeling, where I thought the feelings were coming from. Several times yet again she had me in floods and floods of tears but I definitely found tools from that to deal with how I was feeling and to get through it.
Those sessions didn't last long, again I think I was considered a low priority because I was no risk to myself and my condition wasn't having a considerable impact to my ability to live life. I had issues but they were literally all in my head and were only serving to torture my thoughts and inhibit myself. What they did inspire me to do though was to research anxiety disorders more, tool myself up against it, learn to not be afraid of it. It was only at this point that I really began to make progress.
A little after this I moved up to Manchester, still with the anxiety symptoms heavy over me. They are still there now in fact, greatly diminished but still there. But when I walked down a street and felt like my skull was caving in because my muscles were so tight and tense or when I felt like my heart was going to stop beating, or I could not breathe I now knew for sure that it was all in my mind. Even to this day I still feel those things but I know why.
The next stage is possibly the hardest bit though, dealing with the things that causes all of this. Again I am much more familiar with them now, lack of self worth, lack of self belief, I don't think much of myself, any aspect of myself. Yet I'm aware that I can do a lot of stuff well. That's the inner conflict I have to deal with. It makes no logical sense at all. But it makes the gap between my ambitions and acheiving them so very hard to bridge. I can see the life I want to lead and person I want to be because I know that that is what I'm capable of and what I can do, but then my lack of self worth and self belief is there saying that I can't do it. I am aware that anyone reading this would read that and just think it's stupid and they'd be right but it is this very thing that completely inhibits me.
I never let it stop me, I moved from Devon to Manchester because I needed to do it. I just need to now keep pushing myself. I'm not sure what my next move is really, I've got an alright job on a comfortable wage right now but I'm still not in the right place yet. I guess I just need to keep on healing. Give myself some goals to work toward. This month is set to be the busiest I've had in a long time, then heading off to Ibiza in June, fitting as much as I can into the summer. I just need to embrace life again, embrace what I've always enjoyed doing. I started off by saying I wasted my talent and opportunities that I had, but waste was the wrong word to use, I have never ever written myself off and that's what's important. There is always tomorrow. People say putting things off until tomorrow is bad, which is true, but what is also true is that tomorrow is always there, it's always going to be an opportunity and a new start. No matter what's happened today, there will always be a new tomorrow.
Sunday 20 March 2011
The Wonderful World Of Lonerdom
The last couple days have been pretty standard. Yesterday was work from 9am through to 5pm, then to the pub for literally one single coca cola before heading back to work for evening manning phones for Comic Relief. That was a bizarre experience in itself. There were around 250 people from my workplace there, big screens showing the Comic Relief tv show at the front of the room, various donated fast foods such as Dominos pizza, KFC and Burger King being passed around to munch on and calls coming through sporadicly all night from 6.30pm til midnight. I took £1003 worth of calls myself, people donating from £5-£200. Some people took calls from people donating £1000. I personally have issues with Comic Relief but all cynicism aside it was actually a fun night.
Completely shattered by the end of it all though, I got home at 12.30, sat up and watched tv til 3am and then just crashed until around 2pm this afternoon. Wallowed in my pit for a couple hours and then left the house around 5pm. As usual on a Saturday I completely forgot that the trip into town would be torturous due to matchday traffic, living in Old Trafford is completely wasted on me, all matchday means to me is overfilled buses and craploads of traffic.
Eventually got into town and stuffed my face with fast food. Then went down to the cinema in the Printworks and watched The Adjustment Bureau. Well I say watched, I managed to chip half of a tooth off just before the film started whilst eating said fast food. The tooth fully chipped during the film so I spent more time running my tongue along the back of my teeth trying to assess the damage than paying attention to the movie.
The damage isn't too bad, a dentist appointment will need to be booked sometime soon though as it looks a bit gappy. And there was my eventful day. You're welcome.
Completely shattered by the end of it all though, I got home at 12.30, sat up and watched tv til 3am and then just crashed until around 2pm this afternoon. Wallowed in my pit for a couple hours and then left the house around 5pm. As usual on a Saturday I completely forgot that the trip into town would be torturous due to matchday traffic, living in Old Trafford is completely wasted on me, all matchday means to me is overfilled buses and craploads of traffic.
Eventually got into town and stuffed my face with fast food. Then went down to the cinema in the Printworks and watched The Adjustment Bureau. Well I say watched, I managed to chip half of a tooth off just before the film started whilst eating said fast food. The tooth fully chipped during the film so I spent more time running my tongue along the back of my teeth trying to assess the damage than paying attention to the movie.
The damage isn't too bad, a dentist appointment will need to be booked sometime soon though as it looks a bit gappy. And there was my eventful day. You're welcome.
Tuesday 15 March 2011
blue
You know, I don't even think I know how to write anymore. It's the weirdest thing. I've always written, since the age of around five or six. At first I was an incredibly slow starter. At around the age of five or six even the kids who would later turn out to be massively less intelligent than me were leaving me far behind, I could not read and I could not write. I wholeheartedly blame this on the fact that I was born deaf, with holes in both my eardrums. Until the age of ten I attended speech therapy and used to pronounce the word 'flag' as 'slag', much to my elder brother's amusement. Apparently before we broke up for school one summer my teacher took my mum to one side and told her that if I did not catch up with the rest of the class soon she would recommend I be taken out of school and put into special education.
That summer mum sat me down with some notepads and pencils and basically taught me how to read and write. From that point I just ran with it. Within two years I was second to top of the school reading group, second only to Becki Daniels and Carly Avery (the former who is now a primary school teacher herself, the latter a travel agent). Also I would write books, massively inspired by/ripping off 90s CITV kids show Knightmare, which I was obsessed with, and my teacher would print them off page by page, then put them in the school library.
Since then I have always written. But lately I have stopped. Not only have I stopped but I swear I've forgotten how to do it. Maybe I'm just more aware now, definitely I am more self critical about almost every aspect of myself, this is probably a knock on effect of that. It's just very sad that I've sacrificed one of the few things that used to define me for mediocrity.
That summer mum sat me down with some notepads and pencils and basically taught me how to read and write. From that point I just ran with it. Within two years I was second to top of the school reading group, second only to Becki Daniels and Carly Avery (the former who is now a primary school teacher herself, the latter a travel agent). Also I would write books, massively inspired by/ripping off 90s CITV kids show Knightmare, which I was obsessed with, and my teacher would print them off page by page, then put them in the school library.
Since then I have always written. But lately I have stopped. Not only have I stopped but I swear I've forgotten how to do it. Maybe I'm just more aware now, definitely I am more self critical about almost every aspect of myself, this is probably a knock on effect of that. It's just very sad that I've sacrificed one of the few things that used to define me for mediocrity.
Saturday 12 March 2011
Leaving Winter.
This year I seemed to get the winter blues really bad. Like terribly bad! In the past it's always been a term I've heard, even used myself to talk about being a bit down. This winter though it has been awful! Partly home sickness I think, age maybe coming into it too? Being in a new situation definitely. At one point, halfway through January, I was actually on the phone to Mum saying I was considering packing it all up and moving back to Devon again, which she was more than happy for me to do, but she told me to take some time to think it over before making any decisions, that January is a low month for everyone, that thinks may pick up.
And sure as sure can be they did. The post-Christmas blues passed, I'm properly into my work at the moment, getting along with my workmates fine, getting along with my housemates alright, locking myself in my room for hours on end still, aimlessly flicking through music and cinema blogs, jumping on the train to go visiting people, blowing up the airbed to host others, yes this is my life and, y'know, it's alright.
So yes, winter 2010/2011, farewell, I shan't miss you. 2011, you have the potential to be a fucking good one.
Current plans already happening - London on 2nd-3rd April for the Special Needs gig, I have train and coach tickets booked, my cousins wedding on 14th April in Chichester. Jump forward a few months and I then have Parklife Festival in Manchester sometime in July I believe. We can also slot another festival or so in there. Maybe a trip overseas? In the meantime I will work as hard as possible to earn enough cash to play even harder.
The time is 12.35am, Saturday morning. I have work at 9am, which means I have to wake up for 7am. So if I fall asleep as soon as I put this laptop down I will get 6hrs and 25 mins. Time to do just that. Actually I have to write a facebook message first, then sleep.
Goodnight.
And sure as sure can be they did. The post-Christmas blues passed, I'm properly into my work at the moment, getting along with my workmates fine, getting along with my housemates alright, locking myself in my room for hours on end still, aimlessly flicking through music and cinema blogs, jumping on the train to go visiting people, blowing up the airbed to host others, yes this is my life and, y'know, it's alright.
So yes, winter 2010/2011, farewell, I shan't miss you. 2011, you have the potential to be a fucking good one.
Current plans already happening - London on 2nd-3rd April for the Special Needs gig, I have train and coach tickets booked, my cousins wedding on 14th April in Chichester. Jump forward a few months and I then have Parklife Festival in Manchester sometime in July I believe. We can also slot another festival or so in there. Maybe a trip overseas? In the meantime I will work as hard as possible to earn enough cash to play even harder.
The time is 12.35am, Saturday morning. I have work at 9am, which means I have to wake up for 7am. So if I fall asleep as soon as I put this laptop down I will get 6hrs and 25 mins. Time to do just that. Actually I have to write a facebook message first, then sleep.
Goodnight.
Tuesday 8 February 2011
My Job
I work for a bank in Manchester. I am a Banking Adviser, and basically it is my job to be on the phones and sign people up for a bank account. Most of the day people phone through to me, occasionally I have to phone through to them. It's quite standard. End up speaking to a lot of people, my current favourite customer is an 18 year old lapdancer who does not seem to have any ID whatsoever to open an account with us but is still adament that I call her back once a week to see if she has found anything. Other times I have to speak to people who you wonder how they manage to get through the day. The account is pretty much open to anyone, there are no credit checks that you need to pass as we don't offer any form of credit and you don't even need photo ID, just some kind of bills and tax documents, so basically it's an account for people who have been refused pretty much everywhere else.
Anyway, my point is I am running myself ragged with it. We are on 3 different shifts, one week we do 9-6, the next we do 10-7 and the next 12-9. But if we like we can work extra hours to open more accounts. The more accounts we open the greater the bonus we get at the end of the month. It's all about the bonus. Yesterday I worked from 10am-9pm. Today I worked from 10am-8pm. Never ever have I worked so much, and I don't even really mind it. I'm weirding myself out with it if I'm honest.
Anyway, my point is I am running myself ragged with it. We are on 3 different shifts, one week we do 9-6, the next we do 10-7 and the next 12-9. But if we like we can work extra hours to open more accounts. The more accounts we open the greater the bonus we get at the end of the month. It's all about the bonus. Yesterday I worked from 10am-9pm. Today I worked from 10am-8pm. Never ever have I worked so much, and I don't even really mind it. I'm weirding myself out with it if I'm honest.
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