Talking is Hard; But it can often be the most important thing we can do.
For a long time I thought I was irreparably broken.
The spark behind my eyes, the spark that we all strive to maintain, would barely even flicker. On my best days I would function, I would converse, I would smile but I would very rarely laugh. On my worst days I would wake myself by chasing caffeine pills with jet black coffee the consistency of syrup. Later that day I would then send myself to slumber by popping sleeping pills and having just the right amount of pints. Enough to make me lucid but not enough to cause a downpour from the heavy cloud of melancholy that hovered above my head. Internal parentheses would sometimes skew the formulae and the darkness would come but in the main I would tell myself that it worked.
There would be nights, sometimes weeks, where sleep would be the most abstract of concepts. On the occasions where I had decided alchemy was not the answer I would drive for hours in the middle of the night, trying to soothe myself to sleep in the same way a parent does with a restless child.
I have never thought about suicide. It’s a strong word to write down but one that we as a society have to face up to, and while the pain I have seen it cause others means that I have resolved to never let things get that bad, there have been times where I wondered what would happen if I just disappeared.
During those times I was also being a hypocrite. An advocate of talking whilst keeping my own problems to myself. Muddling along, battling, without really doing anything to resolve my sadness. It wasn’t until an incident at the end of August last year that I realised I couldn’t hide any longer.
I had headed up to Lewis & Harris on a bit of a pilgrimmage to take in some football on the Western Isles. Football has often been my comfort blanket, the match-day experience one that can be enjoyed alone without ever feeling lonely. You can absorb a kind of collective comfort from those around you, choosing to be embraced by it or feel it’s warmth from afar. That ability to feel surrounded without being at your peak is one I’m sure is not exclusive to football terraces.
Having returned from a match earlier in the day and meandered my way in and out of Stornoway’s finest hostelries I found myself standing on a shallow stone beach with a Chicken Fried Rice in one hand and my eyeballs bawling in the other. Looking out into the darkness of The Minch, and for the briefest of moments, I wondered, “if I walk in and let the waves wash over me would anybody notice that I had drifted away with the tide.”
To this day I don’t know what prompted that thought, but often in those moments you rarely do. I didn’t want to die, and in that moment the thought of death never actually entered my head, but the fact that I was willing to take a punt on not dying in the sea in the hope I’d magically find myself washed up somewhere to start anew was fucking scary.
Naturally, the first thing I did when I got back home was tell nobody. Like most people who struggle with their mental health (with anything for that matter) I had got hiding the truth down to a fine art; buried at the bottom of the sea I thought about walking into, but as I found the old routines of what we will loosely call “survival” start to take hold again I knew I had to head the next incident off at the pass.
I confided in a friend. I talked, and to be honest I’ve never looked back. I talked to more friends and then did the most difficult thing and talked to my parents. I cried too, I have cried more in the last two years than I have in the many that have preceded them, sometimes in sadness, sometimes with joy but mainly as a release.
As conversations have continued I’ve started to unpick more clearly thoughts that had been shrouded in fog. The spark has started to flicker again and I am so grateful to those who have kept that flame burning when all I wanted to do is smother it with the wettest of blankets.
People familiar and those less so who strive to put good out into the world. Who speak with bravery, honesty and emotion. Those who empower voices that should be heard. People that inspire me to be the best version of what I can be. For the first time in my life I feel like I am in a position to take those things I have learned, that I keep learning, and start to return the favour. That, is an absolute buzz.
Is life perfect? No. Am I fixed? No, but who is. Flaws are universal, we all have them and they are what make us unique. We can own them and we can learn from them. There are still days where the coffee has to be a little bit stronger in the morning, where I will try and make myself the most invisible person in a room and where I lie on the couch and just do nothing but breathe but I’ve realised that’s OK. Not every waking moment has to be a relentless pursuit of the next step.
I also know that just because a new year is upon us it doesn’t mean that those flaws will dissipate, life does not spin back to zero as the clock strikes midnight on Hogmanay each year. I won’t wake up and the battles I face will have all of a sudden decided to succumb to surrender, but I know now that I am not afraid to tackle them, to ask for support and to give others support if they want or need it.
Talking is hard, but it can often be the most important thing we can do.
I wanted to share a couple of things that have helped me in this last year beyond the usual friends and family. Things that you can watch, read, listen to or do whatever you see fit with.
This article from Annie MacManus about being more present. It focuses on WhatsApp but applies to video-calls, emails and all other forms of communication that can be acknowledged without an answer, without a human connection.
The Stadio Podcast has shown that discussions around football can be different. That the game is fun but the power to make a difference and open your eyes beyond familiar narratives can be just as joyous and impactful.
Speaking of Musa Okwonga, his short book about finding himself is an excellent heartfelt and honest read.
As somebody who covers women’s football in Scotland (kinda, sort of) I’ve known Clare Shine’s story for a long time. For those that don’t her autobiography is a raw account of her battles with mental health.
Look I like a bit of the wrasslin’ and Jon Moxley’s return promo following his self-admission for alcoholism was one of the rawest expressions of emotion I have seen. “We all carry scars.” is a line I think about a lot.
I just think Leah Williamson is in general class. Somebody who, as her platform has grown, has continued to use it to try and make positive change. It’s OK to say you’re tired resonated hard.
And finally…
This is my sad song.
This is my current happy song.
Peace and Love in 2023 troops!