The stranger that I am, the stranger that I was

I look back on my past self and wonder how he ever survived. I think of myself back then, looking forward at the me I am now, and wonder how I could have ever become him.

A young man who thought he was unloved and unlovable. One with nothing but an interminable loneliness stretching out before him. With arms aching, a very real physical sensation of aching, arms that will never hold someone. My heart breaks for him. It is so sad. How he looks to this stranger in the future. How much he desired that man’s art and that man’s scope.  How he saw that future man, and how these things he desired most contented least.

That young man first really encountered Shakespeare’s 29th sonnet in the TV series Beauty and the Beast. He was transfixed with the “hideous” Vincent, and his tortured soul, but a soul of intense beauty. And the love that existed between Vincent and Catherine. The young man was overcome with emotion, how a simple sonnet expressed everything within him.

I remember studying this in school. What really struck me about it was the beautiful play on words – with “contented”. How it has the dual meaning of enjoyment and containing. These things he enjoyed most, he had the least of.

So how did young man became the one I am today?  One so full of love and hope, of joy and openness.  How did he transform from the youth who couldn’t write about himself into the author of this very blog?

There were certain markers along that journey. Strange events, full of grace. Many of which are written in this blog. A movie, a chance encounter with a strange girl (yet to be written about), finding a job where he excelled, falling in love with his soul-mate.

But there was also always something inside him.  He knew it was there, he just could never admit it. Because admitting it meant that he had a future that could be risked. It meant that he could rise up and risk being knocked down. I guess I just got tired of it. I got tired of being knocked down. And strangely, letting go was the answer.

There is one thing above everything else I hope comes from this. Someone recognises that young man in themselves. And they realise that the young man with no hope, with no prospects, and nothing but misery before him can turn into someone so full of life, power, and the ability to change lives, change the world.

To the young man I would say this: Strength hides itself deep within ourselves. It is always there. Biding its time. However bleak our present may be, the future is unknown, full of promise.

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The English Teacher

After a few tweets from the lovely Miss Whanau and the wonderful Ali Ikram, I wanted to talk a bit about one of the most inspirational teachers I had.

His name is Trevor Williams, and he was (and still is) a teacher at Taita College. He was always regarded as something of a character, variously loved (“wow – he really gets us”) and loathed (“what a pretentious git”)  by students. He was always incredibly animated and ultra cool with his almost biker image and long pony-tail. But there are a couple of things in particular I want to share with you.

In the fifth form (that’s Year 11 to you young ‘uns) we were studying a book called I Am The Cheese by Robert Cormier. It is a book a still love to this day. The story essentially involves three different parallel plotlines.  One being a boy riding across three states to see his father in hospital, another story about a boy who is being interviewed by a psychologist and as it turns out recounts his family being put into witness protection, and a final plotline that I won’t divulge.  These stories interweave. There are points in each story that correspond to other points in the other two stories.

“Whenever you are on the edge of revealing something important in your past, you stall, voicing suspicions of my questions because you are afraid, because you are reluctant to face your past.” – I Am The Cheese

I muttered to the kid sitting next to me how it was like plywood. You know, the grain of the story line goes one way, then at another level it goes the other way.  Trevor heard this as he was passing and stopped mid-sentence. Turned to me and mouth agape asked me to repeat it.  Being shy, I was reluctant to do so, but he insisted, and for him, I repeated to the class. Saying how those interweaving storylines created a strong base, like plywood or a net, that holds the character in place.  And without them, he would fall straight through.

…there are the Never Knows. Never knowing who can be trusted. Never knowing who that stranger in town can be.

He was astounded as if it was the most amazing thing he had ever heard.

When I was leaving school at the end of the 7th form, I asked him for a testimonial. I will always remember one of the things he wrote:

David has an ability to see connections between seemingly disparate material

What I loved about this is that he remembered. I knew he was referred to that event two years earlier.

The other event was something more profound to me. In the sixth form I had a different English teacher. Our project for the year was to create a personal profile. We had to write a letter to ourselves at the start of the year, talking about who we are, where we hope to go, what we felt. Through the year, we had to just keep journals, write about ourselves at that moment in time, and essentially track our growth. At the end of the year, we had to write a second letter to ourselves, like the first. The objective being to see how we had changed.

At the start of the year, when we were told about this, I stayed behind and talked to the teacher (Desiree Mulligan) and said “I cannot do this. I am too shy, too terrified to write about myself like this.  Surely there is something else I can do instead”. But I was told to just give it a go.

The end of the year came all too quickly, and when we were told to hand it in, I had the cover page and nothing else. “I told you, I cannot do this. It just terrifies me too much”.  Trevor came to see me.  He said “You’re doing it – I will give you one weekend to writesomething. And I will give you a pass mark on the condition you agree to do something special next year”. He purposely did not tell me what that something was. So that weekend I had a go at it. Put a few things together principally about how introverted I was, some of my fears.  And of course, I got a pass mark (Accredited University Entrance it was in those days).

The next year, he told me what the special thing was. I was to be in the senior drama performance.  I recoiled in horror.  You have GOT to be kidding. I couldn’t do the damned profile, what makes you think I can do THAT??

Well, he coached me through. At one point, he took me into the AV lab where the performance was going to be held, went to the back of the hall and told me to sing. Any song I wanted.  “I can’t!  I don’t know how to sing!  Please don’t make me!”  But he did.  I think I chose “God Save the Queen” being something of a royalist in my youth.

Well, it was something of a turning point. I went through with it, and LOVED it. We performed excepts from JK Baxter, ARD Fairburn, John Mulgan and others. At the end of it, he gave each of us a wee present. Mine was a couple of books. Inside one was a note.

Dave,
Remember when you said you couldn’t do that speech? Well – you did. Let that be a lesson for all you do. Don’t defeat yourself first – there will be plenty of others who will try to do that for you.
I hope you’ve learnt something; I hope you’ve enjoyed yourself.

Trev.

I have never forgotten this. I still have the book (The Clowns of God by Morris West) – and the other one he gave,  Firelord by Parke Godwin -  and I still have the note inside it.

This is an example of how one person, one teacher, can change many lives. I genuinely believe I would not be the person I am today without him. And I know that the love I share with so many people, and the impact I have had on their lives would not have happened.

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What sort of world?

In many online debates about language and oppression, when I talk about how people need to consider the impact of their actions on others, I get the same sort of response.

What sort of future do we want to live in? One where we are too scared to say what we think? Too afraid that we will hurt someone’s feelings?

Well, I’ll tell you the sort of future I want to live in.

I want to live in a world where nobody is afraid to say what they think. But it is a world where we don’t need to be afraid, because we always think about the consequences of our actions.  It has become second nature…. no, it is first nature to us.  It is a world where people think about other people before they think about themselves.

When we think about others as part of our everyday life, when we are aware of the consequence of our actions, when we learn how language affects behaviour, we speak our minds without harming others. It is a world where people are no longer afraid to hear what others will say.

I want people to say what they think. Just so long as they think about what they say.

It isn’t particularly difficult, and it is not at all scary. I often think that those who are afraid of this sort of world are merely afraid of admitting certain things to themselves, about how they know their behaviour is inappropriate and harmful, that they need to change, and that change is scary.

In this future world vision, there is still harm. People still say hurtful things. People always will. But in this future vision, people try to understand. They listen to other people and are aware of the needs of others. In this future, when people do cause harm, they realise it, apologise, and make amends.

I like this future world. I can only hope that, as we – the social warriors among us – keep making small steps, opening the eyes of one person at a time, we will bring it into being.

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The dark place

I thought it was time I shared with you where I have been for the last few months.  Very serious trigger warnings for violence, self-harm and suicidal thoughts. I am being graphic about what was happening in my head because I think I need to be.

I know my psychological issues are nothing compared with many of my tweeps and those who read this blog, but to me, I kinda hit a crisis point.

It really goes back several years when, every time I crossed a bridge – over a river, railway lines, motorway – I had an overwhelming urge to jump off.  I didn’t want to, but I felt compelled to do it. It progressed to where the urge was to take others with me. And eventually I really was no longer sure about reality. Was I simply feeling these feelings? Was I actually doing it? Because the sensation was so strong I felt that I was climbing over the edge. I often had to shake my head as if to shake away those thoughts or make sure I was awake.

I just figured it was “one of those things” and all I had to do was ride it out. And it did go away. Sort of.

More recently, those urges returned. A compulsion to drive into an oncoming truck, off the edge of a cliff, at the top floor of a parking building to set up a ramp to drive off into the next building or just crash to the ground below. For quite some time, this compulsion to drive full-speed into something has remained. Like I said, I don’t want to die, or hurt anyone else, but the compulsion was always there.

And that is about the point when things started to get worse.

There were compulsions of stabbing and cutting. To kill and hurt those I loved. Strangers. Anyone. Everyone.

When I came in the front door, I would often feel a strong impulse to pick up a Stanley knife and just cut my throat. At other times, it would be an impulse to fake my death and move somewhere noone could ever find me.

I stopped thinking I could just “ride it out” when they were almost constant. That was around the time when I started feeling terrified. Not of anything as such (although you can pretty much guess what I was afraid of), just afraid.

Finally, I decided to see my GP and get an EAP referral to a clinical psychologist. I’ve had my GP appointment, and my psychologist appointment is soon. As my GP said, this wasn’t “nothing”. By the time his patients come through his door about psychological issues, it is serious. And that was good to hear. I knew I was in trouble.

I have been on low dose of anti-depressants for years – just 20mg fluoxetine. Probably for over 20 years with a few short periods of trying to come off them. I figured that they were no longer working.  My GP did exactly as I expected – doubled the fluoxetine and prescribed some lorazepam with a review in 2-3 weeks.

Typing this, I feel scared again, but only because I am looking back at what was going on. The quiet in my mind is simply blissful. There was just so much noise before. I guess I had become used to it to a certain extent.

I think I have a long way to go. I have been very grateful first and foremost to my wonderful, beautiful wife. We haven’t talked much about this, and I don’t know if she knew what was going on, or if something was wrong – people are very good at hiding what goes on inside. But she has been there. And in her arms, there are no thoughts, there is no world, there is just a universe of light and love.

I want to thank all my friends – particularly my Twitter friends. Your support has been wonderful. And I thank you so much.

One other thing that kept me tethered to reality was an unshakable belief that I am a good person. I know I am capable of doing all these things – we all are. I have known the deepest darkest nature of my inner beast since I was 15 years old when I first faced it down. But I also have an unshakable knowledge that all these things are just thoughts. They are just fucked up brain chemicals.

There are many things that could have happened in my life. But without any one of them, I would have been a different person. And I firmly believe that without them, this blog post wouldn’t exist. Instead you would be reading about this in the papers.

I think I know the trigger point of this collapse. And it was about 4 years ago. But I guess that is another story for another time.

For now, I just want to say thank you. And I love you all. And how amazingly great it is to feel better.  Not entirely well, but definitely better.

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