Depression and Suicide Part 3

I could not stop crying, every five minutes, the bottom had fallen out of my world, I had built myself up again only to crash right back down, I felt bad, I didn't wash, didn't eat, couldn't sleep, had been right to the brink of suicide, seen that particular demon and stepped back, now I just lay on my kitchen floor sobbing, sobbing and sobbing, real floods of tears, my face was wet with them my t-shirt too.

That voice in my head spoke up again, "What are you going to do now Gaz?" I didn't know. Between bouts of sobbing I phoned Fay, I told her what I'd just nearly done, it was so nice to hear a friendly voice. Calm, very soothing. I read Fay the list from start to finish, I explained the reasons for each one, then I asked her a question, "Fay, do you believe me, that I've been in an abusive marriage?" There was a few seconds silence "Yes". I broke down again, the relief of it, somebody finally believed me!

I said thank you to her, put the phone down and sobbed again, that damn sobbing went on all through the day, it didn't come out all in one go, it was dribs and drabs, each sobbing bout was just as bad as the previous one. I made my mind up there and then I needed help, but how to go about it? I didn't have a clue. What popped into my mind was Angel.

Dragging myself up of the floor, subconsciously I made that first step back to recovery, for the first time in what seemed like ages I went for a wash, cleaned my teeth and got dressed, still the sobbing would not go away. I didn't feel any shame for the sobbing, they're was absolutely nothing I could do about it, I'd held it in for so long, I'm not talking a matter of days or weeks, I'm talking years and years.

I grabbed my diary, put some shoes on and headed off to Angel's. The conversation with Angel is a blank in my mind, I remember turning up at her house and sobbing. I'm sat here having a coffee, desperately trying to remember that conversation, its just not happening! Angel advised me to go to the doctors, yea right get in at the doctors! that takes ages, she had a trick up her sleeve though, she wrote me a letter to give to the doctor. I still have that letter, I don't read it anymore, neither am I going to share it with you, its not that I don't want to, its more that I have no need to dig it out and refresh my memory of what it says.

I didn't phone the doctor, I went directly to the doctors, by this time I'm fairly sure it was mid afternoon, time had no meaning. Heading to the receptionist I didn't say a word, just handed her the note, she read it, handed it me back, got on the phone and told me to take a seat. I don't know how long I sat there, it could have been minute's or hours, every now and again I would sob. I didn't say a word to anybody, didn't take any notice of my surrounding's, the place could have been full or empty, I have no idea.


The receptionist fetched me to see the doctor, I don't know if they were calling for me before that, not a clue, I know its unusual for the receptionist to escort patients to the doctors office, I went through the door, sat down, before the doctor could say anything, I was sobbing again. I handed her the note, she read it. Then she started talking, I don't remember the exact words of what she said, some of it I do though.

I read her that list, she said "Why do you need that list?" I couldn't answer her, why did I need that list? Simple answer I didn't, that list was just screwing me into the ground, it had become malignant, instead of helping it had become a thing of evil, an instrument of Kathy, a way for her to still get at me. I thought about it for a minute or two, ripped it out of my diary and tore the pages into tiny pieces. Some two years later, I don't remember all that was in that list, I don't want or need to remember, it was and remains a completely unnecessary evil that took me to the brink of oblivion. Don't get me wrong when I first wrote that list it felt necessary to do so, it felt the correct thing to do, its like this blog, writing it now is the thing I need to do, in a few years, who knows?

We talked about a few other things, not that I remember what they were, the mists of time have obscured the rest of it from me, I remember sobbing a couple of times. She finally diagnosed me with depression, no surprise that one! We talked about getting some counselling, I agreed it could be a good idea, I must admit that the thought didn't fill me with enthusiasm, I mean you've got to be crazy for counselling right? (That will be covered in another chapter)


She also prescribed me some anti-depressants, explaining to me that when I start taking them they will take me even further down than what I already was, great, that would be an enormous help. She did repeat herself over and over that it was completely normal to go further down after starting the course and to just keep with it, don't act on the thoughts that were bound to follow. Easier said than done but I managed it.

That was pretty much it, after I left her surgery I felt better, I'd reached out, got help, it wasn't anything to be ashamed about, the sobbing dried up gradually over the next couple of hours, for the first time in a while, a good nights sleep was in order, which is what happened, my final thoughts that night, I scribbled into my diary "This is the first day, of the rest of my life"

Those words have turned out to be true, ever since that day life has treated me well, sure there has been days of sheer hell, ups and down's but that is life, I know that I will never be that low again, I just will not let it happen to myself, I will not let myself experience anything like what Kathy did, again, it has not been an easy path to this point in time. It has been a long road to travel, with many twists and turns, many ups and downs. It is a journey that I am now enjoying to the full, I intend to enjoy my journey, no matter what life throws at me, be it good, bad or indifferent, I will not rest until I reach my destination.

Depression and Suicide Part 2

Writing in the diary helped, it didn't help much, at the time it seemed a good idea. Looking at the diary now its gibberish, the writings of a desperate man close to the edge. The edge of what? I ask myself now, simple answer, I have no idea.

One of my biggest problems is thinking too much, its not a good thing, the simple stuff yea sure anyone can do that, like how far does space really go and how long is it before the world comes to a stop, simple shit like that is easy to answer, its the difficult stuff that gets me, like how can a good relationship turn sour right after getting married or how is it possible to be in an abusive relationship without knowing it?

I'm still not really sure of the answers, don't think I ever will. Some people say that getting married doesn't change anything, yea ok, well it does , it changes a lot of things, it changes how you look at each other, it changes how much effort goes into the relationship, those two rings and a bit of paper have a lot to be responsible for.

Referring back to my diary.

Page after page, right at the top it says "Do Not Contact Her" that was very difficult to do, I didn't recognise the downward spiral I was in, I tried not to dump on my friends to much, I mean who wants to hear some bloke droning on about how shit life is day after day? So no, I didn't and couldn't do that every day, I sat in my kitchen window contemplating where and how life had got so fucked up. The more I sat and thought about things the more bad thoughts entered my head the more I didn't sleep properly, stopped eating, stopped washing, stopped giving a fuck, my attitude started to swing more and more to putting an end to things.

Facebook? That was both a good and bad thing, I vented on facebook a lot, I didn't give a fuck what anybody thought about that, I still don't, I got lots of encouragement messages, quite a few man up ones as well, well fuck you then, those ones obviously didn't understand, so I started kicking them out my life. I have no regrets about that, I got rid of all her family members, got rid of anybody that had a slight connection with her however tenuous, that is the ones that didn't mean anything to me.

I suppose boredom was a factor, far to much time to think, no job at that time, nothing to really occupy my mind, I had a few books, no radio, no television, no internet, it was quiet, so very very quiet. Describing this downward spiral is harder than I thought it would be. What crossed my mind more than anything was, why? What had I done that was so wrong? Why did I fall for her in the first place? Why did she manipulate me so much? What gave her the right to tell me what I could and couldn't do? Why did it feel like my fault? and down the spiral I went, day after day, night after night.

I must have stank to high heaven, nothing was getting me out of the funk, no words of encouragement, made any difference, the things that people said I didn't believe anyway, and I knew that nobody believed me, why would they? after all men don't suffer abusive relationships from women do they? or that's what I thought, so everything must have been down to me, so it must be my fault, something must be wrong with me, I just cant see what it is. Further and further down, down lower than I have ever been in my life. 

I got desperate. Desperate for someone to believe me, desperate for someone to just say "its ok". My tired brain started to work overtime, started to make things up, started to make connections that didn't exist, I started to distrust everyone. I made a list, a list of all the things she had done over the years, I did it in the front of my diary, one thing after another, over three pages, it started at the beginning, with her pouring molten wax over my junk, even though I didn't want her to, it finished with the day she lied to the police about me.

I read that list over and over, I read it so many times that I would dream about it. The more I read it the further down I went, that damn list took over my life, the more I read it the further down I went, the further down I went the more I read it, a vicious never ending circle of misery that I created, so it went on day after day.

Gin helped, it helped about as much as a lead weight, half a bottle a day, sometimes the whole bottle, then Brandy at night, in hot chocolate, just to make oblivion a little easier, it didn't make anything easier, I just thought it did. The only easy thing was reading that list! and smoking, smoking was easy.

Sat in my kitchen window one morning, by this time I had stopped getting dressed and going out, I was reading that list again, a small voice in my mind spoke up, I don't know what prompted it or where it came from, I remember it well "Enough, finish it" what the fuck does that mean? "Go, out the window, theres nothing left, finish it"

That was it, my way out of this hell, away from all this shit, away from that list, away from the horrors of the last 12 years or so, suicide, oblivion, a release from this living hell. Things became very calm at that point, putting the diary down, I grabbed my phone, why did I grab my phone? I have no idea! I opened my kitchen window, climbed up onto the window sill and started to climb through.

It was simple enough, climb through the window and dive head first into the concrete below, crack the skull open, obliterate the stupid brain matter, job done, no more worries or cares forever. Just that welcoming darkness that is death. 

It wasn't my time, I was not on the reapers list to die that day, I wasn't scared or anything, very calm in fact, its just a big voice shouted in my brain "STOP! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING, SHE'S NOT WORTH DYING OVER!" I climbed back inside, collapsed onto my kitchen floor and cried. Sobbed is the proper word for it, sobbed and sobbed and sobbed, I couldn't stop, for the rest of that day I would sob every five minutes or so, I couldn't control it, I didn't want to control it, every time I sobbed I felt a little bit better. It felt strange, It felt almost alien, I guess things had been bottling up for a long while.

I had hit rock bottom, no two ways about it, I had got as low as I was going. From here on in the only way was up.

Coming soon

Depression and Suicide Part 3

My Kitchen

Death

It took 40 years to come to terms with the fact, death, its the only way out of this life, I've had, some would say a morbid curiosity about death for a very long time. What does it feel like to die? Strange subject to write about, but its what I feel like doing.

Death first crossed my path at about the age of 7, give or take a year or two. I remember it clearly, it was at Cadwell Park for a bike meeting back in what must have been the late 70s. A sidecar was flat out down the main straight, for some reason it swerved off the track and hit either a tree or the barrier next to the tree, there was a massive great thump. I watched these two poor guys flying through the air, they seemed to go up forever, they both had full black leathers on with white crash helmets, they seemed to come down very quickly, both of them landed on the track neither moved a muscle, they just didn't move again, it wasn't right, they should have got up and carried on having a life.

That must have been a Sunday, I went to school the next day, when I got home the radio was on, one of the local stations, the news came on and announced that the two guys in the accident at Cadwell Park had died, I don't remember their names, but I remember how they died plain as day. 

The next one to die was at Oliver's Mount at Scarborough, I didn't see it, some rider had hit a tree, it was announced over the public address system that one of the riders had been killed, the meeting carried on, the people around me didn't seem bothered, why were they not bothered? It bothered me, it bothered me a lot.

Next to go was Jock Taylor and Benga Johansson, World Champion sidecar riders, I met them both at Cadwell Park, they signed a poster for me and chatted for a while, a week later they both died in Finland. Nice guy Jock Taylor, that chat left an impression on me, then he died, why? for what reason?

Skipping forward a few years, a friends husband to be, goes out in the morning for a ride on his bike, he kissed her and said goodbye, he never came back. The grief it caused that poor woman was terrible. The shock came through on her facebook plain as day, she put some form of status about him having an accident, two of the replies I remember, "Is ***** ok love?" her reply, "No he's dead".  That got to me, I cried, not for him but for her. For her and the young son, he had left behind.

Marco Simoncelli, was the last straw for me, watching a very talented young man die on tv was just the pits. I switched the tv off and vowed their and then never to watch any form of bike racing again, not ever, be it on tv or at Cadwell Park. I have seen too much death in that area, that isn't to say I wont go on a bike, I will, but only if its a Hog, and only if I'm pillion to a woman, men cant be trusted to ride carefully. Other than that my days with bikes are over for good.

My first experience with death up close and personal, was my grandad Fred, he was a great old guy, built like a brick shit house, he used to be the blacksmith in Croft, I will always remember how he used to craft metal, genius, be it a horse shoe or some other form of metal work, one of my biggest regrets is that he retired before I was old enough to learn the trade from him. Watching him work was fascinating, heating the metal up in his forge, then hammering it like hell on his anvil, backwards and forwards between the two, until he had a perfect horse shoe or something then quenching it in water, truly fascinating stuff, I could and did watch him for hour after hour.

Life eventually took its toll, I'd turned 18, so wasn't really expecting my grandad to die, I thought he would be around forever. I don't remember the date or the year, I recall it was a lovely summers day, the flowers were in full bloom the birds were singing, it was lovely and quiet, sat out in the garden at Spilsby hospital. Id sit out in the hospital garden having a smoke between visits to my grandad, he was suffering from liver failure, dosed up on morphine, he looked peaceful, like he was asleep. With him was his wife, (my grandmother), their two children, (my auntie and my dad), his grand children, (my sister and me).

When I first saw him laying on that bed, I cried, I cried like I've never cried before, I couldn't help it, it just would not stop, it must have lasted ten, fifteen minutes, maybe more, I just don't know how long it was that I cried, I recon if somebody had collected all those tears they would have filled a bucket or two.

Eventually the tears stopped and I headed outside again for a smoke, just sat on a bench, taking in my surroundings but not thinking much, if anything at all. Watching the birds flying around, the gentle breeze moving the flowers around, nurses and visitors coming and going, it was very peaceful.

Back inside the hospital, stood at the foot of grandads bed, I begin to see subtle changes in his appearance, my auntie is a nurse, shes holding his wrist, checking his pulse, but she doesn't let go, just keeps holding him, my grandmother is holding Fred's other hand, just gazing at him, whats going on in her mind? Shes watching a man shes been with for a very very long time passing from this world, leaving her forever. My dad is expressionless, I don't think he knows what to do, my sister has a look of pure horror on her face, shes as white as a ghost.

My mind records all this, its like some form of film I can play back, over and over again. I watch grandads finger nails slowly but surely turning blue, I can feel panic rising, I want to run away, I cant, its like I've turned into a tree firmly rooted to the spot, it doesn't feel real, its very surreal, yet I know its happening, right before my eyes, surrounded by his family, I'm going to watch my grandad die.

I watch his fingers turn blue, not a nice shade of blue, more an angry blue, purple sort of colour, I look up to his face and notice that his lips are also the same horrible colour, no longer red and healthy, but that vile nasty blue colour, his skin seems to change colour as well, it may be the light but it seems to go a ghostly pale tone, like its transparent. His breathing slows down, from a regular in and out it goes irregular, I watch his chest moving up and down very slowly, the gaps between breaths get longer and longer. I breath with him, willing him to take one more, wanting him not to die, to keep on living.

There's an audible sigh, a very strange sound, its my grandads last breath, he doesn't take another one, nobody says a word, my auntie is still taking Fred's pulse, after what seems forever she opens her mouth and says two words "He's Gone". 

The spell is broken, I look at my grandmother, she's looking down at Fred, an extreme look of sorrow on her face, whats going through her mind now? I dare not ask, my auntie has her nurse face on, I'd hate to play poker with her, no expression at all, I don't look at my dad or sister, I have to get out of the place, but I cant just turn around and leave, or can I? I don't know what to do. My grandmother rescues me, she looks at me, I just know that she knows I need to escape, "Gary" she says, not a tremble in her voice or anything, "Say goodbye to your grandad before you go".

A shiver goes through me, I know that's my grandad laying in  his deathbed but hes dead! I want to escape, perhaps I'm being selfish, I don't know. I take a deep breath, walk up to the head of the bed bend over and kiss my grandad on the forehead, all the fears leave me, its not some corpse in a bed, its my grandad, a hulking great gentle bear of a man, with a good heart and a good sole, one of the few men I've ever admired in my entire 18 years of existence, "Goodbye, grandad" with that I stand up and leave, I don't look back, its straight outside for a smoke.

Sat on a bench outside, the day could not get any nicer, the birds are still singing, the flowers are still in bloom, the world hasn't stopped, its just my grandad Fred that has stopped. Half way through my smoke, I feel like I'm being watched, I look all around me, nothing obvious, its not an uncomfortable feeling, but I know somebody is watching me, the feeling doesn't go away, I look around me again, nothing. 

The feeling doesn't go away, I look at the buildings, to my left, the main hospital, straight in front of me some form of auxiliary building with a tall chimney, my eyes follow the chimney upwards, up to the very top, odd as it is, or as it may be, I cant see anything, but I know that whatever is looking at me is atop that chimney, before I consciously think about it, my brain forms those words again and forces them from my mouth "Goodbye, Grandad", the being watched feeling left me after that, make of it what you will.

A Ramble, Part One

Sometimes just focusing on the bad things in life has a way of making things worse, its a downward spiral, I don't mean the big things that are happening in the world, the ones that I don't have any control over, I'm talking about the little things, the things that it is possible to change, the things that make life bearable. For this part I'm going to have a ramble about the good things that have happened over the last couple of years.

I've had very few ambitions in life, one was to ride a horse in the Grand National, that went out the window at a very early age, I'm 6 foot tall and weigh more than I should, so it would be one hell of a horse to take me around the course, a Shire horse might manage it, but I doubt it. Another is to win a Championship, it doesn't matter in what but I'd like to, just winning a trophy of some description will do now. Being an Olympian was another one, but I don't have the drive or commitment to those sports for that to happen, I can dream about it though, dream about what it feels like to walk into that stadium during the opening ceremony, I'm damn sure it would be emotional.

Odd as it sounds being given a bunch of flowers has been high on my ambitions list for a long while, its not something I've mentioned a lot, a few days ago it happened, a friend came to visit, she brought with her a nice bunch of Daffodils, they are now in my kitchen window, they smell beautiful and look extremely pretty. I'm experimenting with one of them on my memory wall, its pinned upside down, fingers crossed it should dry out and preserve itself fairly well.

One of the better things to happen was driving down to London a couple of times, to help with research on a book. The book is all about aircraft accidents that happened in Lincolnshire during World War Two. That entailed driving down to the National Archives in Kew, to look through old RAF Station records, very interesting reading. It opened my eyes to what those young men and women did for our country, compared to them, my own experiences are miniscule, very humbling.

Sometimes just going for a walk on the beach has brightened my days up no end, I live two minutes walk away if that, just having a bumble along, looking at what has been washed up, or watching the holiday makers enjoying the beach, its a different story in winter. On a cold January afternoon watching the waves during a storm brings home just how powerful the world is around us, the sea is grey, extremely rough and the beach is devoid of human life, its magnificent, it makes me feel good just to be alive.

Going for tea at a friends house, then just shooting the breeze afterwards, putting the world to rights over a coffee and a ciggy, the time flies so quickly, an hour turns into two, then three, then four, before I know it, its late and time to head home again, very relaxed, with a nice calm feeling and a full belly, my only bug bear with this is it doesn't happen enough, work commitments are a bitch, but that's life.

Its the simple things, the dog downstairs, called Max, strange dog, sometimes wants fusses most of the time he doesn't, sitting in my kitchen window watching the world go past, not so often now, but at one point it used to be every day, just sitting watching the cats struggling out an existence, watching them avoid each other, sometimes fighting, and once gang raping a female, 6 or 7 Toms to one female, it didn't seem fair to me, but it was interesting to watch. The birds! the feathered variety, lots of those kicking about, watching male Pigeons doing a mating dance only for the female to fly off, my heart went out to them, unlucky.

Some interesting goings on too, having to call the fire brigade twice for fires that have happened in the waste land between my castle and the beach, watching someone from the house next door hanging out her washing dressed in a onesie, her dog ran off, she chased it, the dog ran back, she came back after it, still running her boobs fell out the onesie! No reaction from me, just another day sat watching the world go past. The local kids building a den in the woods, one of my neighbours heading into the waste land to pick flowers, or drink from his secret stash of booze. The odd tent or two springing up in the wasteland, who are these people? where have they come from? where are they going? 

Going out for a beer or three, not often, drink is a depressant, so why make things worse? One memorable Halloween getting dressed down as death, white face, purple cloak, a bottle of Rum consumed just getting ready. A tootle off to Wellies, and watching a friend falling arse over tit down the stairs, not laughing at her, it is funny but I care about her so concern for her took over, she was drunk as a skunk and bounced those stairs like a rubber ball, falling in a heap at the bottom, completely unhurt. Catching a friends boyfriend talking on the phone to his other girlfriend, concern took hold, do I say anything, or don't I? Figuring that Kama would get him sooner rather than later, I keep stum, Kama got him a few weeks later. I love Kama, its either good or bad, it never chooses sides, treats everyone equally, its Ying and Yang. 

Off to the next watering hole, The Marine, its hot and sweaty, some good vibes going on, the ladies are delightful, but I'm an old man, I need to sit down in the cocktail bar for a while, Gin and Tonics start flowing my way, they depress the shit out of me, after three I'm nearly in tears, very close to going home, but whats at home? nothing. Stay out, change drinks, a couple of colas put me back on track, the depression goes away as quickly as it started. Over to the Watering Hole, reasonably quiet, time to have a  pint or three just sat outside chatting and smoking, LA next.

LA is nuts! Vodka and Coke is cheap and plentiful, everyone is in fancy dress, the music is loud, I do mean real LOUD!! and the place is heaving, its hot, its sweaty, my make up is running down my face, I'm dripping wet through and the Vodka is working a treat, its bloody brilliant, the animal inside of me is let loose. When the animal comes out, its like somebody else takes over, my stupid brain only records flashes, visiting the bar, for more Vodka, a woman with snakes in her hair, her friend, I recall her eyes, blue. A flaming red head dancing seductively, in a devils dress, I pick my spot, on some stairs with a clear view over everybody, all I see is heads, heads talking, laughing, drinking, angry heads, happy heads, just heads. I know whats coming next, its the animal taking over fully, the music gets louder, my vision starts to fade and nothing else gets recorded.

I woke up in my flat, still fully dressed, my legs in the kitchen, the rest of me in my hallway, I'm still fully dressed and still drunk, I try to stand up, but the world starts spinning and I just follow it, oblivion takes over again. Mid afternoon and the world comes back into focus, this time I can stand up, I know I'm not fit for anything, so I strip off, wash whats left of the crap on my face off, grab a glass of water and head off to bed, happy as a pig in shit.

Its 4:20 in the morning now and I'm feeling the pull of sleep, sweet dreams.

Wedding Day

I don't remember the exact year we got married, it was either 2000 or 2003, I do remember the date though, 5th June, it would have been the 6th but the registry office was not open on that day. Odd how some things remain clear in my mind, we picked the 6th because it was exactly half way between our birthdays.

If I had known what was coming in the following years I would have listened to my instincts.

We had been together for around 3 years before we got hitched, already Kathy had removed my friends, I had no one to invite to the wedding, no one to be best man, her son at the grand old age of 11 got that particular job, telling you all about this now it seems particularly sad. At the time it seemed a great idea, now it just shows me how manipulative Kathy really is.

It started with her asking me to marry her, I was working nights at the time. I need my sleep so it was sleep all day for me, get up, go to work. This particular evening, I came down stairs to find Kathy and Damian both in the house, both sat downstairs waiting for me, I knew something was going on straight away, Kathy went and made me a coffee and insisted I sat down because she had something to ask me. That got my guard up, made me wary, this was not normal behaviour. 

She brought me the coffee and sat down next to me, she had a glint in her eyes that made me get even more wary, I looked over at Damian, he had that same glint, now I knew that trouble was brewing, big trouble. She looked at me and just spat it out "Gaz, will you marry me?" My first thought was shit! the second was fuck! then over and over again, fuck! fuck! fuck! fuck! fuck! hell fuck no! fuck! fuck! shit! I looked at her, that glint was still in her eyes, she looked so hopeful, so tense, I knew straight away that if I said no it would cause an argument. Damian was exactly the same, talk about two peas in a pod, same glint in his eyes, same body language, my mind started again shit! shit! fuck! how do i say no! how can i let these two down without causing upset and a lot of grief? I didn't know, so I took the cowards way out "yes".

The next few minutes are a blur, Kathy hugged Damian, a ring magically appeared on my wedding finger and I was on my way out the door, off to work. My contract with the devil had been drawn up but I was yet to sign.

At that point I lost control, the further into this wedding lark I got, the harder it was going to be to get out of it, I knew, damn it, I just knew, that I didn't want to marry her, I was too damned soft, I didn't want to hurt her or Damian by backing out of it, I should have, I should have said no right from the very beginning, hind sight is a wonderful thing, I should have got out of that house and not looked back. I paid a terrible price for not listening to myself.

The arrangements were out of my hands, the only part I helped with was getting a wedding car and paying for the marriage license. Everything else Kathy arranged, the wedding car, looking back I find that amusing, it wasn't your normal limousine or horse drawn carriage, it was a funeral car! a limousine from a funeral home, if I remember correctly it cost me 70 quid, for this big black monster of a thing with a few flowers arranged in it. Was it a sign that I was selling my soul? I think so, did I take any notice? nope!

The big day arrived, it was scary, I was nervous, I had put all thoughts of doing the wrong thing out of my mind, I had convinced myself that it was the correct thing to do. So I toddled off to my nans (my nan played a big part in my life for a long time, I will get around to writing about her eventually) with Damian to get ready. I had made no plans on how to get to the wedding, I figured that driving myself and Damian would be the order of the day, Mathew had other ideas, (Mathew started out as one of Kathy's friends that I got to know, he is still one of my friends to this day) he turned up at my nans in a bloody great big white Mercedes Benz and offered to take Damian and myself to the registry office. The irony of the fact I got the real wedding car is not lost on me.

We were due to get married at Spilsby registry office, I forget the time but it was in the afternoon. Anyway, that's beside the point. All three of us get ready and we pile into this huge great beast of a car (I would end up owning that car, my first ever Merc) and off we trot to Spilsby, I smoked the whole trip, roll up after roll up, that journey seemed a long one but it was over far too quickly.

We parked up outside the registry office, nobody else had turned up yet, so what to do now? sit and just wait or pass the time some other way? yep, you guessed it, with The George pub just up the road some dutch courage was in order! I nearly ran to that bloody pub! It was a beautiful sunny June day, so sitting outside on a bench we quickly got the first pint out the way. I headed to the bar for another round, I will always remember the next events, the barmaid was an absolute stunner! Here I am dressed to the nines, in a suit with a flower for a button hole, about to get married and this barmaid crosses my path, my spirit left me, it dragged her upstairs for a wicked afternoon of debauchery! "Getting married hun?" she said, my spirit returned with a crash "yea, fraid so", "good luck hun", "thank you". That was that, the finality of it hit me, from then on I felt like a convict facing the gallows.

On the third or fourth pint, Kathy turns up, in her funeral car, with her dad. "Oh, shit, she's here!" came forth out of my gob without thinking, I'm sure she read my lips, she just pointed at me and smiled. Her driver must have been thinking pretty quickly, he turned away from the registry office to head through Spilsby, presumably to give me time to finish the drinks. They went down real quick, I was not going to leave that last pint! By this time three sheets to the wind my bladder was starting to fill up, not just fill up, but expand to the point of needing an auxiliary bladder. I had to have a pee, desperately!

The walk to the registry office was a quick one, I had to get in there for a pee before Kathy turned up, by now our few guests and witnesses had turned up, I ignored all of them, the only thing I could think about was having a wee. I walked through the registry office door, the registrar was directly in front of me, before she could say anything my gob opened again "I'm busting for a wee, wheres the loo!" she laughed and pointed to the back of the building, I ran! I ran so quickly through that place into the gents, it was like my arse was on fire. Into the gents I went, yanked down my flies, pulled the old man out and let fire. The relief was immense! 

It wouldn't stop, the stream just kept on going, that pee is still the longest one I've ever had! To say I only drank three or four pints I must have passed several gallons back out. I could hear every one going into the wedding room, they were being directed where to sit and where to stand then everything went quiet. All of a sudden I hear this voice sing out "We have lost the groom, does anybody know where he is?" That struck me as hilariously funny, then again that voice "Has anyone seen the groom?" again "Wheres the groom gone!" The pee stream is still flowing, I could have shouted back, I couldn't, it was all I could do to keep aiming properly through my laughter, it would not have been good getting married with wet trousers.

Finally after what seemed like hours, the stream stopped. Stuffing the old man back in and doing my flies up, I washed my hands, took a deep breath and headed to the wedding room. "Your late!" is what I got greeted with from the registrar, I mumbled something back, what it was I don't recall. She opened the door to the wedding room, I was the last one in, they were all waiting for me, Kathy, Kathy's family, a few of my family, around ten or twelve people in all, not many by some wedding standards.

This was the first time that I had entered one of these wedding rooms but they are boring, neutral colours on the walls, a few flowers and a big huge desk, not the kind of room that's inviting, functional, but that's it, I had a good look around, all these people are looking back at me, I'm drunk! all of a sudden I'm also embarrassed, the bride is supposed to be late not the groom! I can feel my face turning a brighter shade of red, and I think to myself aaaaaahhhh shit, lets get on with it I step up to the desk and stand next to Kathy.

The registrar starts talking, I don't register what she is saying, sure I listened but it didn't go in, just bounced right of again, my brain is at it again though fuck, fuck, fuck ,fuck, fuck! don't do it fuck fuck fuck don't you dare, fuck, fuck, fuck. Kathy says her bits and pieces and that "I do" part, then its my turn "Do you, blah, blah take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

Time slowed down, everything went quiet, I could hear the birds singing outside, the cars travelling past, my brain screams at me "SAY NO, JUST SAY FUCKING NO!!!!!!!"  I look at my future father in law, I look at Kathy, I sold out, I sold my soul to the devil and paid the consequences, out of my stupid, stupid, mouth came those words "I DO".

That was it, I didn't listen to myself, right from the beginning I should have said no, those two words changed my whole life, sure it was good for a few days, after that it just turned crap. My advise to anyone now who is planning on getting married, if you have even the slightest incling of doubt don't do it. It doesn't matter if its when your asked or at the alter or anywhere, if your not 100% sure, get out, don't say those words.


 

Depression and Suicide Part 1

Its time, I cant keep avoiding this issue any longer, I've learnt today that my blog has inspired one person to seek help after going through a similar experience as me. That feels strange, all I'm doing is writing this as a form of self help, it is helping me a lot, knowing that it has helped another lost sole has inspired me to take this subject by the horns. I don't know how long it will take or how many parts it will be........

February 2015 hit me like a ton of bricks, I went from flat out to doing nothing over night, suddenly everything was done, or as much as I could do anyway, I had all my belongings, I had a place to live, I didn't yet have a job, that was in the pipeline though, I'd arranged a job for the season playing with Dinosaurs, as things transpired that didn't happen, a better more stable job came my way.

For a while, things were ok, I didn't have much of a clue about my direction in life, neither did I have any idea what had brought me to this place in time. It still hadn't occurred to me that my experience was not a normal one, that my marriage was possibly a sham, right from the get go, from the honeymoon onwards.  

 Its been nearly, a week since I last wrote any of this blog, its so hard getting out what I have to say, it all wants to come out in one go, putting it in order is difficult. Please bear with me.

I got miserable,  it had been such a high getting everything sorted,  it was like surfing on the top of a wave, sooner or later the wave breaks, my wave broke, it broke big style.  First thing I had to do was get Kathy out of my life, easier said than done. She was still calling me, still texting me, it was driving me up the wall, we were now living separate lives but she still wanted to be in charge of mine.

What I did was fairly simple, I sent her a text saying that I needed to cut contact from her, she had me removed from our home of 14/15 years, forced me into starting a new life and now she wanted to be part of my new life. It was not going to happen! A quick nip down to Tescos for a simcard and a top up voucher, swap the sims over and bingo job done, only it wasn't that simple. It took me hours and hours, I agonised over it, sweated over it, cried about it, smoked a lot of ciggies and drank a lot of tea!

Finally I sent her the last text, I cant remember what I put in it, possibly something about goodbye  or maybe a thank you , I just don't recall it, I do know it was polite, by this time I had made my mind up that I wasn't going to stoop to her level. It would have been easy to get angry, get really really angry, drive round to her house and in all honesty probably kill her, but I'm better than that, I always have been and I always will be, no matter how low I sank, I could never let myself get down to her level, I just wouldn't allow myself to go that far down.

 The sim card cost me 99p, I bought it at about 11 on a Saturday morning, I finally changed it at around 5pm that afternoon.  Strange thing is after I had swapped sim's I sat looking at my phone for about an hour, just waiting for a text from her, some part of me thought she would have the number, of course she didn't, some part of my brain was just not working properly, I expected that text or the phone call, thankfully it didn't happen.
   
I had started to write a diary, looking at it now it makes no sense to me at all, its gibberish, repeated over and over again, at the top of every page, from February 1st onwards are the words "Do not contact her". They are on the top of every page for the next 17 days, that's the day when I nearly ended things, a small drop from my kitchen window into oblivion.



The mental block about this time, is starting to clear a little, I've still got a lot to write about, I know its not going to be easy, this is easily one of the hardest things I've ever done in my life. 

The support I'm receiving for writing this blog is incredible to name a few out of the many..... Jo, Nikki, Steph, Kim, Cindy, Chris and the countless other people in my life.

I thank you.

As you all know, my door is always open........

To be continued....... 

Photography and Weddings

I used to love photography, not so much now, I have lost my mojo for it. I first picked up a camera at the grand old age of 14, a clapped out old Pentax, a wet film camera, you know the type, one of those with either 24 or 36 exposures. I didn't think much to it back then, it took months to get the films developed and when they returned they were pretty damned awful really, thank heavens for digital.

Around 2005/6 I was given a Cannon 400D for Christmas, the habit returned pretty damned quickly, no longer waiting months to see the results it was instantaneous! magic. I must have learnt a lot back in the wet film days, my photos were soon being published all over the world, I didn't see why, nothing special, just point, shoot and pray.

Back in either 2012 or 2013 I was asked to photograph a wedding, I had my misgivings but the bride pretty much pleaded with me, as these things go I gave in to her. The day went pretty well, everything went like clockwork and her photos, much to my surprise, she wasn't just happy with them, she was elated, again I couldn't figure out why, the point and shoot method, really does work. I found the best way was not to stage any shots at all, just let every photo be perfectly natural, not everyones cup of tea, but it worked for me.

Word got around, soon I photographed another wedding, then another, and another. It got silly, I had to turn a few brides down, they either wanted more than I was capable of doing or I had already been booked. It struck me as strange that it was always the bride getting in touch never the groom, I eventually figured that these brides had been planning their wedding not only for months but for years, perhaps decades, all of a sudden that thought scared me, what happens if I have equipment failure? or something else goes wrong? by this time my camera collection had grown to include three or four different bodies with multiple lens choices.

2014 was the busiest year, it was wedding after wedding after wedding, one in particular stays in my mind, that one was at The Southview Hotel in Skegness, the bride wanted me to start at 9:30 in the morning and finish after the first dance, no problem, I generally finished after the first dance anyway. Unfortunately bridezilla was alive and well, nothing was good enough, even though her wedding went like clockwork, all she did all day was moan and whinge, it should have been the happiest day of her life, but no, it seemed to be her worst. That rattled me, even though the Bride and Groom invited me to stay after the wedding it got me thinking, why am I doing this? I stayed anyway, drank everyone under the table and left at about 6 the next morning just as the sun was rising, hell of a day and one I wont forget in a hurry.

For some reason 2015 was not going to be a busy wedding year, very few bookings, if I remember correctly there was only 6 for the entire year, as things would turn out this was a good thing. The life changing events of December and January happened, these brides must have known something wasn't right or I was being undercut price wise. I didn't charge a lot, enough to cover my costs and time, with a little added on top. 3 of them cancelled, I forget the reasons, but I'm please they did, one of the grooms died! not the best of reasons to get out of a wedding but still a good one.

That left two, in the middle of summer June/July time, both back to back over one weekend. By this time depression had its greedy hands around me, it didn't matter what I did it had a hold and wouldn't let go, the doctors had prescribed anti-depressants and some counselling had happened (more about that in depression and suicide) it didn't help, not one little bit. To make matters worse the day before I suffered an accident at work, I dropped something onto my head and was suffering from a nice concussion. The full on works, dizziness, double vision, being sick, the lot. I couldn't back out of these weddings, well you cant can you? No back up photographer or contingency plans, I just had to get on with it.

It was a strange feeling, suffering concussion, trying to pretend everything was just fine, be on top of my game and pretend to be happy for the wedding couple, it was hard. I went through the motions with the first wedding, did all the right things, said all the right words in all the correct places, got involved taking all the photos I could, but things had changed, I had changed, surrounded by all these people enjoying the day, I was miserable, to the point that a few times I excused myself, went to the car and cried.

The day could not go quick enough, it just seemed to drag, it was all I could do not to get the happy couple to do their first dance extremely early, it was not to be though, I had to continue suffering. Every so often I would take a step back and just watch all these people enjoying themselves. I find myself watching people a lot, be it at McDonald's, sat on a park bench or at a wedding reception. I hated it, hated it with a passion, surrounded by all these people, some genuinely happy, some pretending to be happy, some like me just miserable, but the over all feeling was of being alone. 

Being alone in a room full of 200 people is quite an over whelming experience, I wanted to run away, of course I couldn't, I just had to put up with it. People would come up to me, talk at me, I would nod and agree or suddenly hide behind my camera and take their photo, all the time I would be thinking "fuck off, just go away and leave me alone", eventually the bridal couple had the first dance. I was out of that place so quickly I nearly ran, I said my goodbyes to them, hurriedly, as politely as I could. After that I didn't look back, headed for my car and home.

Getting home, I uploaded the photos to my computer, put my batteries on charge, made sure everything would be ready for the next day, wedding number 2. While laying in bed that night all sorts of thoughts ran through my head, why would that couple get married? what have they got in their relationship that was never in mine? why did I feel so alone in that room? the answers still elude me, one thought did pop in my head though, why am I doing this to myself? I couldn't come up with an answer, the only option left to me was to retire from wedding photography. With that decision a weight got lifted from my shoulders, it was and still is the correct one.

The next day, I was comfortable with retiring from wedding photography, but that didn't make going through the whole rigmarole any easier, I still felt alone surrounded by 200 people, still couldn't see why the bride and groom were doing what they did, I just didn't understand it. I had not learnt yet, that everyone is different, every relationship is different, I had it in my mind that everyones relationship was exaxctly the same as my broken down relationship, of course that is not correct, but its how I thought at the time.

Everything went very smoothly with the second wedding, the photos felt natural, it just worked as it should, I'm not sure why, perhaps it was just a good day or things were starting to get better in my broken mind, perhaps it was just the thought of never photographing another wedding? Maybe the concussion was starting to ease off a little bit, the events of those two days are misty in my mind, I remember the odd flash of them but that's it.

Yet again after the first dance I excused myself, said congratulations to the happy couple and headed home, uploaded their photos to my computer and went off to bed.

Something after that went wrong in my brain, I suffered some form of mental breakdown over those photos, I would put my computer on all ready to edit the photos, look at them for 5 minutes without doing anything and just break down, those photos destroyed something inside me whenever I looked at them, I eventually got to the point of not switching my computer on, just ignoring that they were there, just sitting waiting for me to edit them. This was not fair to the two parties involved, for every wedding I have ever photographed I tried to get the photos ready as soon as possible, normally for when they came back from honeymoon. This time though it just didn't happen. I couldn't bear to even look at them let alone edit them.

Eventually as these things go the two couples involved wanted their photos, I knew I had to do them, knew that I was being a complete shit to them, I knew it, they knew it. So sitting down one quiet afternoon, I put on my computer and figured out a way of editing them without actually looking at them. That's what I did, without looking at the subjects I found a routine to crop, level and sharpen the photos all in one go. It took a few hours and cost me a packet of ciggies, one after the other, that was the last time I chain smoked. Finally they were done, copying them onto memory sticks I delivered them the next day.

Even now, I cant look at those photos, I have no idea, what they look like, no idea what the quality is like, I have not heard back from the two couples involved, so I must assume they are happy with them, I guess if they weren't I would have heard something back by now.

I have still not got my mojo for photography back, I have picked up my cameras a couple of times since then, but its not the same, there is no enjoyment to it anymore, I used to be out every couple of days with my camera. Looking back I think it was an escape mechanism, a way to get out of all the shit that was happening in my life, I didn't realise it at the time and just writing about it now is the first time I've thought about it, but that is what it was, a way to escape, a way to relax both my body and my mind. Perhaps that's why I don't take my cameras out now, I have nothing to escape from. Only time will tell.

The First Month, January 2015, Part 3

I didn't have time to think, sorting everything out just took all my time up, it was get up, run around like a lunatic all day, fall in bed, sleep. Day after day after day. I would chat to certain friends, when I had time, they all said the same thing "take your time Gaz, there is no rush". I did not listen to them, the main reason being I figured if I stopped I might wake up from a nightmare and everything that had happened would be just that, a nightmare.

Only of course I didn't wake up it was all very real. The big nightmare was having to face Kathy, to get what bits and pieces I owned, I didn't want to, I didn't ever want to go back to that house but I had to face it. I think this is when I started to put my defences up, it could have been earlier, much earlier, maybe a decade ago, I just don't know. I put up a crispy exterior, like I didn't care about anything, it was my fuck or fight attitude.

That fuck or fight attitude has been an absolute bitch to get out of, putting up a front is not good, its not good for anybody. A few people can see right through it, they can see that I do care, very much so, but a lot of people cant, sad to say a few of those people could have been good friends now if I hadn't had that front in place. I had to though, it was for my own protection. 

I feel in myself, that the front is nearly gone, over the last couple of years I have done some dreadful things, some things that I very much regret doing, (I might talk about them later in another chapter or I may just keep them to myself)  one thing that I can see now is other people who put up the same fuck or fight attitude, I see the signs of it, and can see straight through it. If they talk to me, I ignore the attitude and try to talk to the human inside, if they don't then I just wonder what has happened to make them put up those awful defences. In a way, I connect with them, can sympathise with them, and hope that one day they pull out the other side.

Back to Kathy, during January I had to visit that house a number of times, to collect the few belongings that I owned, not much, a few books, a coffee table, some electronic bits and pieces, a desk for my bedroom, and the few clothes that I owned (Clothes, were an issue for me, Kathy wangled her way into me so much that clothes shopping was strictly her domain, if I liked an item of clothing but she didn't like it, I couldn't buy it, and if she liked an item of clothing but I didn't, she would buy it anyway. God help me if I didn't wear it. This is something I'm struggling to get out of, clothes shopping is a complete nightmare, my nose twitches continually, and I eventually end up leaving the shop, one day I will grasp this issue face on and deal with it.)

Every time I went round to that house she would be more and more friendly, it started off with her friend in the house as well, eventually it got to the point that it was just me and her. She scared me, to be in that house with her alone scared me, to be in that house with her while she was being friendly was even more scary, eventually I got all my belongings out. On the last trip, after I had filled the car up, she offered me a cup of coffee, against my better judgement I agreed. 

She started waffling, waffling complete and utter bullshit, about how it had been a happy marriage, how she hadn't meant for anything to go wrong, how she was sorry for all of it, how it was my fault in the first place. All these words tumbled out of her mouth, all I could think about was finishing my drink and wondering why my nose would not stop twitching. My nose! it was slowly but surely driving me even more crazy than I already was. There is no doubt in my mind looking back, both in my diary and searching my memories that something had broken inside of me mentally.

This friendliness from her was quite a puzzle, it was not her normal behaviour, her normal behaviour was somewhere between anger and hysteria, it took me a while to figure it out, she had lost control. She had lost control of me, that thought popped in my head like a great big shinny sun just suddenly popping on, boom! Over the next couple of weeks she tried her hardest to regain control, she would text me or call me, I let her get on with it, I knew now why she was being friendly, but it was too late, I'd caught on to her game, I knew how to deal with it. (that will be covered in depression and suicide)

It took a while, but eventually I got everything up in my flat, I got nearly everything unpacked (I only unpacked the last of my books a few months ago) my bedroom was all in place, a desk in one corner, my bed in the other. My kitchen had things in it, a kettle, toaster, other cooking implements. My living room was and is the best though, my memory wall, the darts board, my sofa and those bar stools, and of course my coffee table.

During all this time, I had been talking to an old school friend, Sarah. I sent her a text saying everything was finished and unpacked, she sent one back saying "OK, cool, now get one of your stools, sit in the middle of your living room and take in what you have created"

I did, I sat on that stool, smoking a ciggy and revolved very slowly in a 360 degree circle, the enormity of it hit me, like a ton of bricks dropped from a great height, I had created this! this is my home! Something broke inside me, it was like a dam wall being breached, everything came out of me all at once, I broke down and cried, cried like I have never cried before, it was an unusual feeling to be crying so much, but it would not be the last time. The next time would be for very different reasons.

That's it, that was my January 2015, next up if I can do it, and I will try, depression and suicide......

The First Month, January 2015, Part 2

The rest of the month absolutely flew past, its just a blur in my mind. A blur of meals at friends, collecting bits and pieces, some things stick in my mind though. First night in my bed after it was delivered, getting my settee and the delivery guy gasping in amazement at my view. I cant fault him, its very very good. 

 I missed out on a pool table! When I payed for my bed at the British Heart Foundation shop, we left via the back exit, in the back they had a pool table in bits, the guy who runs the place claimed they had had it for years, I could have it for 25 quid. The thought of a pool table sent shock waves through me. It was slowly dawning on me that I had nobody to tell me what I can and can't do anymore.

 That weekend I planned the layout of my living room, pool table in the middle (yes there is that much room!) a bar off to the right next to the window, a photographic studio on one wall,  the sofa against another wall, a darts board next to the door, and that wall paper, that god awful wallpaper, I didn't particularly want to remove it, but I didn't want to keep it either. So I figured covering it in things would be a good idea, that's what I do. Its now my memory wall.

The memory wall started with a few bits and pieces, some memento's from my time in the military, a t-shirt signed by Bruce Dickinson, the last ever birthday card my nan sent me. It started very empty but its growing, it now has post cards from all over the world, bits and pieces that past friends have given me, the strangest things are a wooden stirrer from Mcdees and a dried flower from a quarry.

I digress, after the bed arrived, I headed back to the heart shop, my mind was firmly set on this pool table. I didn't think about the practicalities of it, getting it into my flat in the first place, up three flights of stairs and through the door. Now this wasn't your ordinary toy pool table, it was the real deal, a  genuine pub pool table, the thing must have weighed half a ton, but it was a pool table! (In my mind now, I realise that just maybe I was/am slightly crazy)

Arriving back at the shop, I find the guy who runs the place, to buy this pool table. Disappointment beckoned, after having the table hanging around for years, over the weekend they had sold it! Gutted, to say the least. I couldn't believe it, in fact I didn't believe him, I went in the back of the shop to see for my self, yep, the guy was honest, it had gone!

That night I reflected on why that pool table didn't become part of my life. Silly thing to think about perhaps, but just how silly is it? Reflecting now, I think that this was my first step in healing myself, I eventually came to the conclusion that I just wasn't meant to have it. 

I'm a firm believer, that everything happens for a reason, what those reasons might be only becomes clear in hindsight. I didn't believe it then, I didn't think about why and how things were happening, but a lot of good things were happening all at once.

My flat, my car, small things like the fridge, my memory wall, the sofa, they all happened for a reason. There is a grander scheme to things, its not something that's blindingly obvious to me, its just a feeling, that comes and goes. I sometimes just sit in my flat and look around me, I look at all the things I've collected over the last two years. The books, the coffee tables, the sofas (yes two of them now) the half full bottle of Strawberry Bon-Bons that I was given, but never touched.  The map of Lincolnshire on my wall, the kite that wont fly (I shit you not, the bloody thing will not fly, it just crashes) and now permanently flies next to my darts board.

I have over time learnt to listen to my inner self, the one that gives a good feeling is pretty common now, but the bad one is still around. That one I listen to the most, mainly because it is accurate. There have been a few times when I haven't listened to it, the first woman to walk into my life, I got a bad feeling about her, she came into my flat, sat at my kitchen window and complained about the view. That pissed me off, she was gone in a matter of minutes. The good feeling came back after she left. 

The most valuable lesson happened last year, yet again it was a woman that walked into my life, I don't really know what love is, I haven't experienced what other people would call love, its a stranger to me. I thought I fell in love with her, but all the time when she was around that bad feeling would be hanging around, it only ever went away when she wasn't about. I didn't listen to it for 7 months, eventually she came to my flat one night a bit worse for the old booze. We started arguing, one thing lead to another and she walked out, I let her. The bad feeling went away.

The feelings for her didn't go away, I missed her friendship, the laughter, her company, I didn't miss that bad feeling. It was replaced by something else, not loneliness (I'm used to that) a more sort of emptiness. Over the last six months or so that emptiness has gone away but I've had to make a few decisions, the main one being that I'm not capable of having a real lasting relationship, not yet anyway. So I have had to stop looking for one, I've had to stop looking in the mirror and seeing my own hauntingly horrible image looking back, instead I look in the mirror and tell myself I'm perfect, that there is nothing wrong with me. Its working, slowly, but it is working.   

To be continued.......

Coming soon

Depression and suicide

Christine

January 2015 part 3