This is how it feels to be lonely

So we’ve put up our hand and we’ve admitted that we suffer, or have suffered, from depression or some form of mental illness. We’ve established that none of us are alone and that, to coin a phrase, we are all in this together. Except we actually ARE and aren’t a bunch of over-privelidged pricks prone to cronyism and denial. Well maybe some of us are still in some form of denial. Let’s try and help *adopts preacher man voice* AND YOU SHALL BE SAVED CHILD! WE ARE ALL IN THIS TOGETHER!! Well maybe not like that. I wanted to talk about how it actually FEELS to be depressed. What you go through, what’s in your head, what’s not, why are you doing these things, why does nobody get it, oh for fuck’s sake, just fucking AAAAAARRRRGGGGHHHH!

I have little experience apart from my own. I’ve chatted to only a few people who have suffered and received some feedback from my first blog but that’s it. So i’d better just tell you about how i felt then, eh?

When i first started to feel down, i didn’t really get it. I was young (about 23) and just pushed it away. Kept pushing it away. Push it away. Keep pushing. No, not me, i’m fucking invincibile i am. I’m young and full of the joys of life. What the bloody hell would i feel sad for? Aye that’s right Scotty, keep on pushing it away. As far as you can get it. Aye there, right there, waaaaaaaaaaay in the back of your mind. It won’t come out from there. Oh fuck. Look what just happened.

Why was i crying for no reason? I was 23, had a good job, had millions of friends and loved life. Why would i feel so down, SO utterly, utterly miserable that i just wanted to lie in bed all day? Why could i not motivate myself? Why couldn’t i talk about it for God’s sake? Just open yer mouth Scotty, you do that all the time!! Oh i know, i’ll drink. That’ll work. Glug glug fucking glug. Too often. Too much. Trouble is, it wasn’t working. Got worse. But still, STILL, all the time – push, push, push it away. Maybe if i keep pushing all these wee black clouds into a space then they’ll disappear. BINGO! WHAT A STRATEGY!

This is what happened though. Picture this – Oor Wullie’s just been asked to tidy his room but in true fashion, the wee scamp cannae be arsed doing it properly and horses all his toys, books etc into the cupboard in his room. The cupboard is bursting at the seams but our spiky haired hero manages to shut the door and no more. His Ma comes in the room “My whit a wee angel ye are Wullie! Ye’ve done everything i asked ye tae, ye’ll be gettin yer favourite tea the nicht, mince an tatties!” Now Wullie is awfy pleased with himself but what’s this? He’s missed a copy of the Beano. Jings! Maw says “Ah’ll jist pit this intae thon cupboard” and she opens the door…….. and it all comes tumbling out, all in a oner, all in a gigantic wave, spilling things everywhere and causing an almighty mess.

Well that’s what happened to me. It all came out in one monumental breakdown. I haven’t shared this with a lot of people before. It is still hard to talk about but i feel it needs done and it feels right to do it.

I was on a night out, i think i went to see Billy Connoly with friends and afterwards met up with separate friends. Someone i know was playing a gig and we went to see them. Trouble is, i was drinking. A lot. Watched the band, met up after. Aye man, good gig. Afterparty?? OH BOY! I was like a dog with two dicks. Then i lost it. Just went for it big style. I could drink a lot back then, i mean a fucking bucket but there was copious amounts of class A too. I was like a man possessed, i was taking more pills before i even was coming up on the previous ones. Went to someone’s flat. More drugs. Big fat joints too. The only thing i remember is dancing to the Rolling Stones. Woke up in an armchair at some point the next morning. MAJOR talking point. Apparently i was the man, what a fucking guy, i know how to party, i REALLY know how to enjoy myself. I REALLY didn’t like it, i had no recollection of what went on. Then someone suggested going to the pub. A dog with four dicks now. Everything gets a bit hazy again. Eventually went home, bought Buckie, went to the park and played guitar. Went home, slept for a while. Woke up. Bollocks, it’s Monday. Phone a sickie. Go to another park, take guitars, smoke fags, drink some more. At some point we went to my mates house. Then my Mum phoned in tears. Please come home, there’s something wrong with you. WOOOOOOSSSHHH! BANG! Right between the eyes, there it is. Oh dear God there is. I need help.

So i got help. I went to the doctors, i got medication and i got better. Did i? Eh, naw. I got worse. There were some people around me that didn’t help. I confessed all to a guy at work. A brave and noble thing i thought. Maybe he’ll help me. His first question? Was i abused as a child? No really, THAT WAS WHAT HE ASKED ME. Next day he brought in a leaflet to help. On it was an advert for Seven Seas vitamins. Maybe they would help? Maybe you could fuck off ya bellend.

My drinking was getting steadily worse so that didn’t help with the meds. Then i started cutting myself. I CANNOT OFFER ANY EXPLANATION WHY I DID THIS. I really can’t. I’ll never understand. I have one wee faded scar to remind me though. Things just steadily got worse but all the time i was pretending to everyone around me that i was getting better. I wasn’t to myself anymore though. Some really dark thoughts started to enter my head. Black thoughts, black as night and just as deep. What if…..? what if i was to…..?

I chose a date. YES! That day made so much sense! I chose a method…. I chose a venue…. I chose a note…. Then i waited for the day to come along.

While i was waiting though, something in my head, something that was dormant was awakened. No…. Don’t do this…. This is not you….. You are better than this. Maybe it was the old me. Maybe it was something else. I don’t know what it was but i am nothing but thankful i woke up, snapped out of it and came to. It just happened, a moment of clarity while i was hammered. I need more help.

Just after New Year, i broke down again and confessed to my parents. I showed them my arms. I told them about the drinking, about how i was REALLY feeling. I never told them what i planned to do though. We all promised, in that room, on that night, that we would do everything we could to make sure i got better. And do you know what? I did. I am. With support, with the right medication, with all the right things in place, i got better. I stopped drinking for four months until i has got myself together. It worked. People understood. “Health and safety” i would laugh when asked why. Spot on actually. That was years ago now but i still, literally, bear the scars.

I continue to struggle though. We went through hell a couple of years ago and it brought it all back again. But i’d been there and i knew the way out. All the little symptoms. Intolerance, lack of desire, sleepiness, anger, despair, weepiness. All of you and the other symptoms can fuck right off out my life. I don’t need you. I see you coming and i will beat you. I am better than you. I. WILL.WIN.

So what would have happened if i didn’t snap out of it? Would i have went through with my awful thoughts? Would i have carried out my plan, on that day, in that way and in that place with my chosen ‘weapon’? Honestly? I don’t know. But i’ll tell you one thing, i am so glad that i’m HERE to contemplate wether i would have or not. As hard as it is to go through it, to go over these feelings again. it’s infinitely better than not being here at all. And i love my life now. I am happy. Life is good. Life is precious and something we shouldn’t waste.

Please, if you are feeling any of the thoughts i’ve shared in this blog, get help. It will be the best thing you’ve ever done.

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2 thoughts on “This is how it feels to be lonely

  1. What a lovely honest blog.I have the same feelings,i have taken 40 overdoses n tryed to kill myself 4 times.I have no help at all n my doc says there nothin wrong with me,My brother was killed in sept in afganstan he was a royal marine n now my mum has cancer.

  2. Right there with you. I could write my own text on PTSD and the millieu of anxiety disorders. And I have cut. Carved “Happy Birthday” into my thigh once. But with help, and not being afraid to go back when I need it again, I am better. And improving every day. There is strength from sharing. Thank you.

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