A barely-a-person morning

(Image source)

On Monday, I spent the morning in bed. I wasn't tired, and I wasn't ill. (At least not physically, but I'll get to that.)

And I wasn't just being lazy.

It started at 4 am when I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep. Then it continued a little later after I'd navigated the necessity of a boiler service visit. 

I lay on the bed because I couldn't think of anything I wanted to do.

It wasn't a thought solely about that moment either: 

• I thought about my career - I'm 41 and still don't know what I want to do.
• I thought about my hobbies and how I'm not very good at any of the ones I try, and they don't often interest me enough to be worth setting myself up to do them.
• And, yes, I didn't know what I wanted to do right then either: anything I thought of doing that day was either too expensive, too far away, or too much effort.

Time ticked by. An hour. Two hours. My mind looping around the same tired thoughts and counter-arguments, the walls of my 'box' (as I refer to my depression) closing in.

I started wondering if all I really wanted was to be dead so I didn't have to think about what to do ever again. Or, less severe, if I should just remain in bed till the next day. 

But then I remembered the next day was a work day, and that made me feel like I should 'make the most' of the day off, which made me think more about how there was nothing I wanted to do...

So, I felt lazy. And therefore guilty.

On top of that, it was J's last day of holiday. Great: I was ruining that too.

I thought of the things I had planned later in the week, and whether I could still afford to do them. Or if I could manage to fake 'okay-ness' enough again to get through them. 

I worried about choosing not to do them, and how that might look to the people I'm doing them with. I wondered if I'd ever hear from them again if I bailed. 

Another hour passed and still I stayed in bed, thinking and wondering, my mood getting lower and lower...

The ending came eventually and I don't have much that is positive to say about that time. Although, at least I was thinking about these things. So, on some level, I wanted to find out what I wanted/want to do. I want to get better; I want to improve.

I suppose that's a good thing. Even if my lack of answers leads me to stay in bed...

It's not just the American Police that needs to change...

When I was at school, I was often bullied and picked on. Usually, it was because I was too skinny; too 'goofy' (tooth-wise); or didn't have the 'right' clothes, shoes, or haircut. I remember it vividly and the mental-scars remain to this day.

I'm fortunate, though: it was never because of my skin colour, so I don't know what that feels like.

My Upper School was quite segregated, with social groups formed largely around skin colour. I remember the 6th Form Common Room had an archway in the middle, splitting it in two. One side, quite organically, became the 'white' side, and the other was the 'black' or 'Asian' side. Looking back, it was a pretty horrible thing to happen.

As I progressed at that school, my friendship group changed. I became friends with the so-called 'Asians'. (The fact that most of them were probably born in England was lost on us back then.) I think fondly of the times spent with them over the years that followed: five-a-side football and table tennis in the sports centre; doing crossword puzzles or playing chess in the library; drinking coffee in the canteen while discussing video games. Normal things, really.

This group of friends was nicer to me than any group had been previously. I didn't share their skin colour/faith/cultural-heritage, but it didn't matter.

I remember clearly a conversation I had with one of my former white-'friends' (who had also been one of those who picked on me often). He approached me one break-time as I went to the vending machine.

'Why are you hanging out with the Asians?' he said.

I looked at him, slightly puzzled. It seemed obvious to me.

'Because they're my friends!' I said. (I'm proud of my younger-self for that response!)

It saddens me that we live in a world where racist ideas and thoughts are still so pervasive. Almost an entire year group of white people seemed to be growing up with the opinion that race made a difference to someone's value as a person. I don't know where most of them are now, or what their thoughts are. I can only hope they have matured into kinder people, but it's not hard for me to believe that any 'white' population might, largely, have racist beliefs underneath.

Racism is everywhere. It's constant in the unconscious (or not-so-unconscious in many cases) bias that all of us (including me) carry as a result of our culture and upbringing. There's no point denying it: it's there. But, if we recognise it in ourselves, we can challenge it, choose to act or think a different way, and change those biases for good.

We don't live in anything like a fair world: I can walk around with my white wife, without even having to think about what people might think of two people of our 'race' being together. A black or 'Asian' man with a white partner probably wouldn't have that privilege. And that's just one example straight off the top of my head.

The other day, I described the police as people who are supposed to be our 'protectors'. I'm not sure that would be the first word that came to mind for many black people, even before George Floyd's murder.

Yet, it's not just the American Police that needs to change. We all do. Let's start now.

#BlackLivesMatter

'My partner is SO annoying!'

I’ve seen a lot of posts about being ‘stuck’ at home with one's partner. These things often go around in the form of jokes or memes, and not just in this time of lock-down:

• My husband doesn’t pick up his socks.
• He doesn’t listen to me.
• They never empty the dryer!
• She doesn’t let me do what I want.
• All they ever want is sex!
• He’s clueless...
• She doesn’t understand me...
• Etc.

Don't get me wrong, I enjoy a good joke/meme as much as anyone but, when I see/hear people constantly moaning about their partners, my first thought is: ‘Why are you with them if they annoy you so much?!’

My wife doesn’t annoy me, and I don’t believe she gets annoyed by me, at least not for more than a minute or two. Then, we go back to being daft, talking in stupid voices, or making jokes about death (we do that a surprising amount, really).

I’m happy we get this chance to spend more time together. Life is short (that’s why we make so many jokes about death: it’s going to happen, so we might as well have a laugh about it!). I got married to share my life with her, why would I complain now we get to spend more of that precious-little-time together?!

It doesn’t mean we don’t like to do things separately. Of course we do: she’s downstairs doing Zumba right now, while I’m thinking about whether I can squeeze in a quick game of Plague Inc. before lunch. Time apart is healthy, but don’t squander this chance to enjoy extra time together.

You never know if you’ll get the chance again.

Here's Frank, who says it better than I can:

Friends...

It's not like a popular 90s' sitcom...

Friends. They’re hard to come by. And, as we get older, it becomes even harder to find, and keep, them.

When we do find them, all too often we let them go. A band I used to listen to a lot said: ‘I lost all my friends to a lack of commitment’ (Ballboy, I gave up my eyes to a man who was blind, 2003).

I’ve been thinking about my friends – those I’ve known for  years, and those I’ve met more recently – and trying to figure out how to make sure I don’t lose them. I think everyone struggles with the same doubts: they’re probably too busy to talk; I’ll just be annoying them if I message; if they wanted to speak to me, they’d have messaged me.

The latter, of course, is a self-fulfilling prophecy. We could all end up sitting around thinking the same thing, then no one would contact anyone and we’d all lose the friends we have.

I think we’re all too quick to assume we know what’s going on in someone’s life:

‘Oh, they’re married, they won’t want to come out.’

‘We’re different ages; we’re in different life-places.’

‘They have kids, they’ll be busy.’

‘They know loads of people, they won’t need me.’

Don’t assume anything; none of us are mind-readers. Don’t assume your friends don’t like you or want to hear from you. They probably do, otherwise they wouldn’t be friends.

The friends I’ve had throughout my life have always been very important to me. I totally accept I’m needier than most and, over the years, I’ve become more aware of the need to reign it in a bit. But it’s easy to go too far, I’ve found, and never contact people at all.

Since the majority of people who read this will be my friends, it felt like this was a good way of re-launching my blog (I’ve been wanting to for a while) and getting the message out there: you guys mean a lot to me.

I don’t think it’s said enough. Don’t assume people know it.

 Elbow - Dear Friends - 2011

Being crazy.

‘I always thought a man should have a dream, to dig himself out when he hit the floor.’ 

– Martyn Joseph, 'People Crazy As Me'.

People Crazy As Me - Martyn Joseph

In my darkest times, one thing has helped me to pull myself up again: my dreams. There are a few things I want to do before I die and, if I give in, cash in my chips, call it a day, those dreams will never get done.

But what happens if you try to achieve your dream, and fail? Or, what if you achieve it and it’s not enough?

I wanted to write a novel. It was my big ‘goal’ and I’ve done it. But I guess I was kidding myself: it turns out my real goal was to be a paid writer and, in that, I’ve failed. My novel has been rejected by pretty much every agent I could find to send it to over the course of the last eight months. I’ve received praise from colleagues for my work but there’s no hope, really, that it will ever find its way to the printing press.

It’s a bigger disappointment than I thought it would be and, coupled with the disappointment of still not being able to move back to my 'home', it's tough to take.

Martyn Joseph sings a song I’ve turned to in the past: ‘People Crazy As Me.’ Its opening line is what I felt in those dark times. As I listen to the song again now, I hear a message of a better way to live, a way to make this world better, and it’s not rocket science; it’s a simple message anyone can live.

I need to adjust my goals, again, and there’s a danger I’ll have to reduce them, to minimize them until they’re no longer recognisable as my dreams anymore, just to make them achievable.

But Mr Joseph never says the dream has to be attainable. (In any case, I’m still breathing; the dream isn’t unattainable yet.) I think of another song: ‘Dignity’ by Deacon Blue (I'll warn you now, it's quite '80s!) or, indeed, one I wrote myself: ‘I Want To Be An Astronaut’.

In recent years, I’ve often said I want to make this world a better place, to improve each moment, even if it’s only in some small way. I think I need to get back to that somehow: to write stories just because someone, somewhere, might enjoy it; to sing songs and record albums just because one person might find some hope or entertainment in the lyrics. To live each moment to the best of my ability so others might benefit from my talents, whether in writing, administration, or just through a listening ear.

And, sometimes, I see people as crazy as me.

I wonder if you’re one of them…?

What it really means to 'do your best'.

100% can be a fluid concept.

‘Do your best’ is a common piece of encouragement, and it’s a good one: no-one can ask any more of you than your ‘best’.

But sometimes we think we could’ve done better.  Maybe an article we’ve written isn’t as good as a previous one, or we don’t perform as well as we’d hoped in an interview, or perhaps we don’t achieve the grade we wanted in an exam.

We believe we haven’t done our best.

But I don’t think that’s necessarily the case.  There are so many factors influencing our performance: we could be ill at the time (mentally or physically), or we could have other demands on our time.  Perhaps the cellar flooded or the car broke down, and we lost time sorting it out, or were flustered when we got to the venue.  It doesn’t even have to be something so dramatic: we could’ve needed to get the house in order, or have been making an effort to keep friendships and relationships going.

I’d argue, unless we were sat around eating chips and playing on the Xbox for 3 weeks beforehand, we still did our ‘best’.  

Doing our best doesn’t necessarily mean achieving the maximum possible result we could under perfect circumstances.  Circumstances are rarely perfect, therefore the maximum possible result is rarely ‘perfection’. 

We only get one life, and only one opportunity to do any one thing.  The way things work out is the only way they could – ‘if onlys’ don’t exist.

So don’t give yourself a hard time if you don’t quite meet your own high standards every time you do something.  The chances are you have done your best with the circumstances or resources available to you.

Finding good role models: thoughts from a train following a best friend's wedding.

I had the privilege of witnessing one of my longest-serving, and best, friends get married yesterday. I sat in the reception and listened to various people comment on the excellent qualities of my friend, knowing that it was an accurate representation of this man I've known for my whole life.

As I sat there I couldn't help wondering what people might say about me should I get married again. And I felt a sense of shame: I doubt my references would be as glowing. At least, not if they were to be accurate.

'When I look at myself I don't see the man I wanted to be; somewhere down the line I slipped off track. One step up and two steps back.' - Bruce Springsteen, 'One Step Up'

But the man I saw yesterday, my friend, is still very much in my life, and we both expressed a strong desire to try and recapture some of the closeness that, as so often seems to happen as life goes on, has somehow been lost, just through the passage of time and that all-powerful force: 'stuff'.

In my friend I see a true 'man', and an excellent role model. Someone who I want to emulate, not necessarily in outward accomplishments or actions, but in strength of character, in loyalty of friendship, and in a personification of love. And I don't apologise for sounding overly sentimental.

Congratulations, mate. May your marriage be life-long and full of joy. I'm glad I have the opportunity to continue to be friends with, and learn from, you.

Stress relief: is there a 'quick fix'?

Sometimes this may be
your best option...
(in moderation, of course.)

I suffer with stress at the moment – everyone does sometimes.  I also suffer with Depression, and I’ve had my fair share of heart-breaks, loneliness and anxiety.

Recently, I heard somebody recommending ‘Rescue Remedies’ as a cure for stress.  Later that same week, I saw a stand in Boots pharmacy, stocking different varieties of the product.  Both of these events made me angry.

A few years ago, a friend of mine took part in the 10:23 campaign.  A prominent employee of Boots had openly admitted there was no evidence that homeopathic treatments were effective and yet, Boots, a trusted pharmacy, continued to sell them.  (If you’re unsure what homeopathy is, the 10:23 page has a good overview.)

The 10:23 campaign aimed to prove the fallacy of homeopathy through organising a mass overdose of homeopathic products.   The event proved the point: my friend took 30 times the recommended dose, and suffered no effects, positive or negative.

‘Rescue Remedies’ are a form of homeopathy known as ‘Bach Flower Remedies’.  If you read the label, it clearly states that the ‘medicine’ is a severe dilution of the ‘active ingredient’.   In reality, all that is left in the bottle is brandy.  (I’ll give them credit there: at least it’s not just water, as in many cases.  And I suppose a stiff-drink can sometimes help stress.)

These products are a placebo.  Nothing more. 

The reason they make me angry is because people believe they work, and so part with their cash for them (and they’re not cheap!), making someone very rich for ... nothing. 

A placebo may work – yes.  The brain is remarkable and the psychological impact of taking something you believe to work cannot be underestimated.  But many of the illnesses – such as Depression, for example – supposedly helped by homeopathy have genuine medical treatments, which are both effective and offer the same ‘placebo’ benefit of a...err...placebo.  And, the more money that is spent on ‘researching’, producing and stocking the placebos, the less there is for developing real treatments.

I wish there was a miracle cure for loneliness, anxiety, stress or the ‘Monday morning blues’ (seriously, it’s on their website!).  But there isn’t. 

There are, however, products that can genuinely assist with well-being – and I’m not just talking about prescription drugs.  For example, did you know black tea, bananas and omega 3 have all been linked with reducing stress?  (One of those three links contains several other stress-relieving foods!)

Please stop wasting your money on products such as Rescue Remedies.  If you’re taking anything branded as an ‘alternative medicine’, at least find out what it is and how it’s made first.

As Tim Minchin says in his song, Storm: ‘Do you know what they call "alternative medicine" that's been proved to work? ...

Medicine.’ 

How do you have fun?

Life can sometimes be work, work, work.

Fun doesn’t seem to feature in my life much.  I don’t really have time/money.

And I’m not sure this is a good thing.

I think having fun is important, I just find it hard.  When I use time on something meaningless, such as Football Manager, I consider it time wasted and feel guilty: I should have been writing.

The truth is, I’ve never really known what I enjoy.  My mother used to ask me: ‘Is there anything you do like?!’ after I had declared I didn’t like yet another activity: playing football, swimming, and youth groups, to name but a few.

Of course, there are things I do in my spare time: reading, playing music, or watching films, for example.  But I question whether I actually ‘enjoy’ them: are they fun?  Or do I do them to pass the time while I’m on the tram, or eating, or too tired lazy to write?

As I’ve grown older, I’ve learned what I want to do: writing.  And I’ve found I can write and perform songs as a side-line.  But I don’t do them for fun.  In fact, when I sit down to write, it feels like far harder work than the time I sit at my desk 9-5. 

And having sat at said desk all day/week, which is itself particularly unenjoyable, it’s then difficult to  do the hard writing, even though I ‘want’ to do it.

In fact, it leads to great frustration: knowing I could do my writing, if only I didn’t first have to tire myself out in a day job in order to pay the bills etc.

Apologies.  I don’t mean to whine.

I think we all need time for relaxation, and fun.   If you’re like me, I recommend trying to allow yourself to have fun from time to time.  And maybe I’ll make it a belated New Year’s Resolution.

I could even schedule it in, and then it might feel like a work activity...

Things I'm looking forward to - 2013

Love: an introduction

Love: it’s all around; it’s all you need; it will tear us apart.

In life there are many things we love: families, girlfriends/boyfriends, events, pets, pastimes...

‘I love it!’ we cry. 

And often we do – cry – because of love.

Love can sneak up on us, lift us higher than we’ve ever been before – or maybe ever will again – and bring us joy unimaginable.  And sometimes we can fall from those heights to equal – or perhaps even greater – depths, just as quickly as we fell ‘in love’.

But what is life without love?  This time of ours, marked out by birthday milestones – 30 years can pass by in a flash, and we bear the scars of loves found, lost...papered over.

Love can be unrequited (is there anything more painful?) or rejected; it can be risky and reckless, or perhaps real and rooted.

Love can lead us to so much: a new relationship, a new passion, a life of companionship, or a cherished memory.  A ‘labour of love’ could lead to a PhD, a novel, or even a new album.

You never know what the future might bring if we just ‘love’.

(My new album: 'Love?' is out this Saturday, 15th December 2012.  Check it out @ www.martinflett.net.  But don't worry, I'll post about it again next week to remind you!)

What makes you feel most like ‘yourself’?

'My' tools.

I think there are things we do that we feel are inherently ‘us’.   For me, it’s things like creating music, or writing stories.

Sometimes, I don’t do these things for a while; I might be busy or, more likely, become distracted by games/movies/whatever and so don’t do those things that make me feel like myself.

It can actually make me feel low, without me necessarily realising why I’m low.  Then, suddenly, one day I’ll switch on my PC, open up Cubase, and work on my album.  And I start to remember a part of myself; it’s like a reawakening of something inside me, and it spills over to the rest of my life – my relationships, my work.  I feel like I’ve remembered who I am, why I’m here, what I want to be/do in my life, and things sort of click back into place a little.  It’s almost like a reset button.

Without doing what I’m ‘built’ to do, I’m less than me.*  There’s a part of me that’s restless, dissatisfied, unfulfilled.

I don’t create music because it’s my job, or because it could make me money, or because I might get recognition and affirmation for it.  I make music because I enjoy the process and get a real kick out of having created something from scratch that would never have existed if it wasn’t for me.  Something from inside me is now out there, apart from me.  I’ve said before it must be, to a small extent, how a parent feels about their new born baby.

I firmly believe, as human beings, we’re all creative, as I’ve mentioned before in this blog.  I think a key to being ‘well’, or being the best we can be, is finding out what it is we can create, and doing it with everything we can give.

I think it’s the best way of being truly ‘ourselves’.

*Whether or not we believe we’re designed, I still feel we each have innate qualities and talents that make us who we are.

How much does where we live affect our mood?

I love this place.
(It's not Nottingham, as you may gather!)

I don’t like the town I live in.  In fact, of all the places I've ever been, it’s in the top three of those I don’t like.

Firstly, I never feel either myself or my possessions are safe here.  Secondly, there are only two venues I’ve been to I genuinely like.  Thirdly, everywhere is far away: I deliberately chose to live on the tram route here, yet it still takes me at least 45 minutes to get anywhere worth going.  Therefore, I can rarely be bothered to go out.  (Okay, admittedly I may have been spoiled by the ‘Everywhere is ten minutes walk’ scenario in my previous town, but still.)

All this (aside from being a good excuse for me to have a rant) got me thinking: how much is our mood affected by where we live?  I think probably quite a lot.

Granted, some of it is down to whether we have  friends nearby or a job we enjoy, but I’m pretty sure I’d be happier in my current situation if only it was in a place I liked more (such as Leamington, just as a random example.  It’s not as though it’s my favourite place on Earth or anything, no, not at all.)

I find my mood is generally more ‘down’ in this town.  (Hey, that rhymes!  I might use that sometime...) I know there are times when my mood has been lower because of some life-trauma or significant change, but I mean my ‘status quo’ mood is lower here than in...let’s say Leamington again.  Which isn’t good.

For me, this might mean seriously looking at moving elsewhere eventually, and it might mean that for others out there too.  In any case, I thought it was worth mentioning because I don’t know if ‘place of residence’ ever figures much in our (or at least my) thinking around Depression or mood.

It’d be interesting to see some statistics on depressive illnesses and geographical locations to see if there are towns that are literally more depressing.

'Something's bound to change.'

There’s a song I like at the moment: Clouds by Newton Faulkner.

The line: ‘Something’s bound to change’ struck me in a new way the other day.  I considered the meaning of the word ‘bound’ and wondered if it could mean ‘bound’ in the way something is bound by a rope: tied up, unable to escape. 

It occurred to me that’s what life is like: ‘bound’ to change.  We live in a constant state of flux; nothing stays the same for long, we’re tied to things changing.

'Stop looking down at the ground,
 just pick it out of the clouds.'
– Newton Faulkner

It’s no secret I’ve been having a tough time in recent months and perhaps that’s why these words resonated.  A few weeks ago I couldn’t imagine things might change for the better – ever – but, of course, they have.  As I said: nothing stays the same for long.  I’m back at work, my mood’s improved, and I’m picking up my projects/social life again.

As a good friend always reminds me when I’m struggling: ‘This too shall pass’.

It’s a good thing to remember: things do change.  Even though, sometimes, we can’t see or conceive what might change, we can be pretty sure that something will.  It’s bound to. 

Next time life feels like it’s at rock bottom, knowing it’s felt that way before and things did improve might just help in the struggle to keep going until that ‘change’ happens.

It might even be as soon as a couple of weeks away.  You never know.

Hitting 'rock bottom'...

I haven’t posted for a while, because I haven’t known what to write.  I’ve written a couple of posts, but not uploaded them, mainly because I haven’t known how I would feel the following day and didn’t want to say anything I might not agree with later.

Life has been very hard lately, and I’ve been more ‘down’ than perhaps ever before.  One thing after another, after another hit me; just when I thought I’d hit the bottom it was as though another, unseen trapdoor opened up and I plummeted further down still. 

As Rachel said in Friends: ‘I really thought I just hit rock bottom.  But today, it's like there's rock bottom, then 50 feet of crap, then me.’ (Friends, Series 2, Warner Bros, 1995)

Suffering from Depression makes life’s difficulties that much harder.  Such a mind is weak to begin with so, when a trauma strikes – whether that’s something like my redundancy last year, or work-related stress, or the loss of a relationship – it hits all the harder.  And when more than one big event comes along at once, the mind cannot cope.

Which is how I find myself here.

I’ve investigated suicide sites; I’ve cried until I had no more tears, or gave myself a headache; I’ve slept (or tried to) for more time than is probably healthy.  But, somewhere along the line, I decided I wanted to finish my novel.  I’m taking little pleasure in it, and finishing it probably won’t make me happy either, but I do want to finish it.  So, word by word, sentence by sentence, I’m writing it.

The other thing I can say is that time does help.  I saw my GP today and we agreed that I am better than two weeks ago when I sat crying in her office, even though it might not feel like I’m better right now.  And I'm getting the help I need with increased medication and referrals for pretty much every talking-therapy there is.

Going right back to basics is the only way to survive, I think.  Basics such as: ‘What am I living for?’  Finding things to live for is easy: my writing, my music, things in the future I don’t yet know about.  Finding things I want to live for is harder.  But I’m trying to work on that part...and we’ll see what happens.

Thanks for reading.  It’s not my usual, positive, optimistic style, I know.  But then life doesn’t always have things to be positive and optimistic about...

Taking advice and being who we really are.

Normally in life, when I have a problem, I talk to all my friends and family about it and end up with lots of voices in my head (theirs, rather than ones relating to any sort of insanity – I learned to tune those out years ago, after that second murder...) each giving me advice on what I should do.

I don’t mind that; I like knowing what other people think I ought to do (if only because it provides food for my innate desire to do the opposite of what people say).  The downside is that sometimes it’s hard to know what to do because there are so many pieces of advice floating around.  It can get a bit confusing.

Recently I’ve had a bit of space from my usual confidants for one reason and another and it’s been interesting.  I’ve found my own ‘voice’ in my mind is clearer and I can better understand what I want, how I feel, what I think I should do.  It’s been affirming to realise the course of action I’ve taken/am taking is the one I think is right.

I’m not about to change my usual way of dealing with things, and will no doubt be chewing my friends’ ears off again in the near future.  But sometimes we can get so caught up in what everyone else thinks, in the way other people believe we should live our lives, that we forget what it means to be ‘us’.  It’s easy to think other people know better how to live – a symptom of low self-esteem if ever there was one – and to try and emulate, or even please, them.  But who says they’re right?

Someone I know on Facebook posted the picture I’ve included on this post yesterday and it really struck me.  More than anyone else in my life, I am the one who makes me feel inferior, or ‘worthless’.  And I suspect I’m not the only one.

But we’re not worthless.  No one else is ‘better’ than us at living this life; we’re all just making it up as we go along.  And whilst it’s good to take advice and listen to trusted people, it’s just that – advice.  Our own choices/feelings/beliefs are equally valid.

And sometimes it’s those we need to trust.

Facing the demons...again...

Doing the right thing...

It’s been a difficult time for me recently, which has today ended with me off work with stress/depression.  Yep, the positive, optimistic author of this blog has succumbed once again to those demons that will seemingly just not lie down and die.

The one difference this time is it's definitely stress-induced.  Which is new.

Some may ask why I am writing about this in such a public forum.  It’s a fair question, and the answer is that I’ve always tried to be honest on these pages – I said at the start I would write about the struggles as well as the victories.

And, also, there is one positive insight to offer. 

At about 2am this morning, having awoken from another fitful sleep, I realised that, no matter how hard it was for me to ring my GP and to take time away from my employment, it was the right thing to do.  I didn’t want to do it, because it ‘lets people down’ at work, because it perhaps means I’m not as reliable an employee as I’d like to be, and it means I’m officially ‘not well’ and so have to try and figure out what in hell is going to make me better this time.

But I knew I couldn’t go on like I was.

So, at 8am this morning, I picked up my phone, almost against my will, and rang to make an appointment. 

Naturally, this being the British NHS, I couldn’t get an appointment until Monday.  (‘Is it an emergency?’ I was asked.  I would like to know what the definition of an emergency is.  If it were an ‘emergency’, would I not be attending my local A&E?)

This meant I then had to do another ‘right’ thing: go to work, and speak to my boss.  I really didn’t want to do this.  But it had to be done, again, if I was ever going to make any progress from this place I’m in.  She was understanding and supportive; I guess that’s one of the perks of working for an organisation with extensive experience of helping vulnerable people, including many with mental health issues.  And together we came up with a way forward in the medium term, and an agreement that, in the short term, I needed to be at home.

So here I am.

Doing the right thing is not always easy.  Sometimes we might want to bury our head in the sand, keep on running, hide away from the problems we are facing, perhaps even distract ourselves with other skirmishes, rather than fight the true problem.  And maybe I’ve done that for a while.  But, in the long run, it’s not going to benefit anyone – least of all ourselves – to keep doing that.

Far better to stop, turn around if necessary, and face the real battle.  In this case, for me, it’s the battle within...

Which is possibly the hardest one of all.

Yes, it's Switchfoot again...'The War Inside'

Love Does.

I’ve raved about this book for a while now, and I finished it this week.  Love Does, by Bob Goff (2012, Thomas Nelson), is incredible.  It’s filled with stories of how Bob has spent his life loving people – and I mean really loving them. 

There are few tales of hearts, flowers, or poetry, but many of him taking off on flights to Uganda to help free imprisoned children.  Or of him letting people into his life in whatever way they need.  Or of refusing to give up on a dream because he knows it’s what he would love to do.

Even the one chapter on the pursuit of his now-wife is a tale of unrelenting hope, of choosing to keep on loving ‘Sweet Maria’, in spite of her apparent disinterest.  He tells the story of being ‘trigger-locked (on her) while she treated me with a polite distance’. 

In the end though, he says: ‘Fortunately, Maria understood that for some of us – most of us – the language of love is laced with whimsy.  It sometimes borders on the irrational.  Like I’ve been saying, though, love is a do thing.  It’s an energy that has to be dissipated.’  ((I would say love almost always borders on the irrational, but there you go.)

Bob is a Christian and writes as such, including many references to how he believes his faith impacts on his chosen path.  But it’s not a cringe-inducing faith, or even a faith particularly recognisable as being the same as is often seen in ‘the Church’.  So please don’t be put off by it!

Why am I telling you about this book?  Because as I’ve read it, it kept resonating with me, with who I am trying to be.  I, too, believe that ‘love does’ – love is above all else a verb, and the only way to show it is to do something with it. 

That can mean being there at 3am for someone when everyone’s had enough.  Or it can mean taking the hit when they need to rant at ... someone.  Or it can mean ignoring how much something is hurting, because the person needs you to be strong for them.

It can even mean turning up and doing a job we really don’t feel like doing today, because it will benefit someone else in need.

Most of this is pretty contrary to popular opinion.  Many people counsel to ‘look after yourself’, to make sure we’re not going to get hurt.  And whilst that might seem like wisdom, it isn’t the way of love as I understand it.

Love puts the other person first, regardless of cost.  And sometimes the cost is high but, even so, I believe love goes right ahead and does it anyway.

Love Does is available from Amazon here.

The memories we make are our greatest treasure.

I’ve been listening to one album pretty much exclusively the last few days.  (Those of you who know me will know there’s a lot of time for this: tram journeys, hours spent in my house, even odd hours marshalling charity events.) 

When I was thinking about this blogpost, one song in particular stood out:

‘I close my eyes and go back in time, I can see you smiling, you’re so alive.’ – Switchfoot.

I’ve written before about losing things, and missing them (The Value of a Moment and, Taking Risks.) – relationships, connections to places, the ‘good old days’.  This happens to me a lot, and it’s something I worry about: what if I lose the things I’m attached to now?  How will I cope? 

This kind of thinking could even stop me/us doing something, stepping out, starting ... anything.  What if it goes wrong?  What if s/he breaks up with me?  What if I end up hurt or disappointed?  We can start to think it’s not worth the risk.

But what kind of life would that be?  One where we don’t do anything, don’t try anything, don’t make any connections or ties because we might lose them?  A life spent entirely without ever having any of the things we ‘might lose’: how would that make us happy?

Recently, I’ve been making a lot of memories I know will stay with me forever.  Should things change and I lose things I’m really attached to then, sure, I’ll be devastated.  But I’ll always have the memories, the knowledge I was part of something amazing. 

I can keep those memories on a shelf in my mind, take them down, examine them, remember them, and smile, thinking: Wow! ... I was there!   I’ll certainly be extremely sad not to still ‘be there’ but a) it’s not certain I won’t be, and b) I’m glad I’m here now. 

Truthfully, I do get terrified about losing things/people I love because I’m not sure how I would cope.  But, just as there are no guarantees something will last, there are no guarantees it won’t.  ‘Every minute of the future isn’t written...’ as Jason Mraz puts it (Everything is Sound, 2012).  Don’t we want to find out?

The connections and memories we make are our greatest treasure.  Find some, make some, enjoy them.  May they last forever...

Taking risks.

Vrrroooooooommmm!!!

I read this recently about a father and his 10 year old son on a trip to ride motorbikes across the desert:

When we got to the desert, we headed for the sand dunes.  These dunes were different from the ten-footers I rolled down at the beach as a kid.  These were seven hundred feet tall.  Once you start up these monsters in a motorcycle, you need to get to the top without stopping.  If you hesitate or try to pause halfway, the result is that you, with the motorcycle on top of you, cartwheel all the way down to the bottom.  It’s a pass/fail course because there’s no in between.

                After topping several huge sand dunes with Adam and then losing track of him for a moment, I heard his motor racing just over the next dune.  I made my way over to where the noise was coming from and it was apparent in an instant that Adam was planning to jump from the top of one sand dune to the top of another.  I was yelling ”No!” across a canyon of sand, and it felt like a movie-style slow motion sequence kicked in as Adam raced through the gears and hit the peak of the dune doing more than 60 miles per hour.  Almost immediately, Adam and his machine separated.  It was quite a sight, really.  He had the look of both Superman and a gut-shot pheasant at the same time.  Adam landed 120 feet later surrounded by the scrap metal remains of what he was riding.  His first words when I rushed over to him were “That was awesome.”  And you know what?  It was.  Even though things didn’t go as planned and Adam crashed and burned, there was a huge sense of accomplishment for him in that. (Bob Goff, ‘Love Does’, published by Thomas Nelson, 2012.)

People tell me I’m a bit of a risk-taker.  I don’t really do physical risks, like sky-diving or bungee-jumping (although I would quite like to!), but I suppose I have been known to take emotional risks pursuing love or a connection or ... something.  (Moi?  Really???  Never...!)

With my heart on my sleeve, I hit the top of a dune like a kid at 60 miles per hour launching into the unknown.

Inevitably, I occasionally end up face down in the sand with a wreckage around me.  And it hurts.

But, in the end, sometimes through the tears, I’ll look you in the eye and say with absolute conviction: ‘That was awesome.’  And you know what?  It was.  Hell, I got to fly!

Don’t be afraid of falling, you’ll miss out on the spectacular.

And when you do fall, get up, collect the bike, go back to the foot of that dune, and start revving the engine...

Let’s go again.