Wednesday 5 February 2014

Whips and Chains - The End.

I would like to dedicate this post to my friend, Discordian High Priest Nick Margerrison: "The critique says more about the critic than the criticised", and to you for tolerating such indulgence.


Like all good intentions my goal to be more attentive with this blog fell to shit midway through last year, when I was side-tracked by a relationship. As I swore off relationships, I unintentionally ended up in one. An actual relationship. An almost-in-love-but-not-quite relationship. My first in five years.

He was intelligent, sincere, eccentric, charming; a big character. One who would call me out for being a gobshite. I liked this fella; he clearly liked me, to the extent where there was some imbalance, but I was complemented and gifted with generous tokens endlessly and this was new to me. He thought me sexy, talented, funny, and many other adjectives that meant I'd allow him into my 'den of sin' with ease. I felt like a Queen. 

Being fully aware of my nuclear-like intensity that has been my undoing many times prior, it became apparent early on I was now on the receiving end of an individual who was too much. I was experiencing me, and how I'd behaved with people I've 'cared' about, when in reality I'd been sabotaging any chance of cohesion. Enjoyable at first, his demands for my attention and the frequency with which we were in each others company was beginning to choke me. 

My career means an awful lot to me; I love my work and entertaining people, and his lack of understanding about how as a 'radio personality' and performer my ego or 'extended character' is integral to how I earn a living caused a big rift. He accused me of being self-centred, selfish, egotistical, ungrateful - accusations I don't deny. I AM self-centred. At this stage in my life I have no responsibilities. I only have to look after myself; I am and have always been self-employed, and the ungratefulness I can only attribute to his insistence in doing an awful lot for me, and when I rejected him - as you might expect - you will be called ungrateful for not reciprocating such attentions. For all my 'faults' I am fully aware of my self-contained attitude, and this may cause friction when attempting to include someone in your life who doesn't really get 'it'. Finally, when I felt my independence was being infringed, and that couple-morphing was occurring - he pushed, I pulled - I couldn't do it anymore; it was making me ill. I had to 'call time'. 

An unfortunate choice of words in hindsight. 

But of course, there's more to it than that...

I haven't really discussed my addictive/obsessive personality in the past. It exists within the family. My dead dad had a plethora of excesses. My brother is a sugar fiend; my sister a bread junkie, and me, well add the two and multiply by everything else. My self-control is pitiful. Fortunately I have been able to exercise innate sensibility with regards to avoiding wholly destructive temptations where others have failed, and sadly lost. 

I may have alluded to a particular 'acceptable' addiction through the stream of naive poetry that was pouring out of me during December 2011, but I've never been direct about it. Stigma's linger and damage reputations and credibility; they hurt. First hand, I know this is fact.

So let me tell you a story. And it is a story. The entire experience felt and still feels filmic. 

I was very ill over two years ago, when depression visited me for a lengthier period than I was able to recognise, and it finally culminated in a mighty crash. I'd encountered the black dog on two other occasions, but never with the severity of the bleakness leading up to the events of 2011 that I believe had been building for around 3 years. Awful. This hadn't been aided by my GP at the time, (and yes, this did actually happen) telling me to "pull yourself together". I attempted to, but in flailing for clarity I opted to ignore myself through self-medication. In addition, I hadn't helped matters by enduring (and not seeking help) and suppressing, via illicit means, a physiological illness due to my absolute necessity to continue funding myself (via my self-employed means) to remain in education. Taking time out was an inconceivable idea. Additionally my family weren't close by to realise how thin and crazy I was getting. And I was clearly sedated 'elsewhere' not to give a flying shit.

To two years later and following a continuance of prior habits - to a lesser degree - it finally took this relationship to realise it was only me who could rebuild myself. And for that insight I have to say this is the best relationship I have ever had. 

Observing my former mate, I saw myself in him; mirrored in his behaviour. His actions and the excess he embraced left me in disbelief. It became evident that his indulgence was not only disrupting his life, but also holding him back and making him ill. Of course, at first I chose to ignore it, and believe his tales of shaking hands were due to medication, but it was staring me in the face, and blinkers on, I chose not to question. This guy had a problem. Subtly, in companionship I began to drink a little more than I was used to, disguised as the quaffing of quality wines; smoking more fags to accompany the drinking, and dabbling in recreations of the past when stress reared its fearful head. This was becoming unhealthy. I'd been here before. But the turning point wasn't too far off...

When I returned from a very intense day in rehearsal, I dropped by his house as I hadn't heard from him regarding prior arrangements. What I found was arresting. When he failed to answer the door, I shouted through the letter box. It was then I heard the sound of rain coming from inside the house. I tried the front door, it was open. Diving in, I shouted his name. He, thankfully, responded. As I discovered, four hours prior he'd returned from a bender to take a bath, but instead, having ran the bath, got into bed for several hours of slumber. The house was shitting water. 

Calmly, during the clean up of Operation 'My-House-is-Fucked', he remarked it wasn't the first time this had happened. Nor the second.

I was speechless.

How can you live like this and think it normal, or acceptable? And why - after the first time - would a massive alarm not go off, "Oh I dropped a bollock there, mustn't let that happen again."

Shortly thereafter I ended the relationship. I'd been lucky, my by-proxy warning flare had been fired. 

Since January 1st 2014 I have been sober and I haven't touched a cigarette or any other 'herbal' relief. And I hope I remain strong enough for it to stay that way. I now run to relieve the stress, and I'm losing weight and feeling reborn almost.

My new life begins this year. I can only hope that my rediscovered clarity, focus, fitness and happiness continues. I have never felt stronger in recognising my faults and taking responsibility for them and in doing so, looking after myself and being a 'good' selfish. 

Changes will be made. I can't drink, because I will smoke, I will become sluttish - and that's not me. I have to socialise in other ways and I have to develop relationships that don't involve talking shite down the pub; friendships with real depth. 

I'm becoming someone else without a glazed outlook blurring those sharp edges of experience. I don't know quite - fully - what she's about yet, but I'm willing to have a craic. And it feels fucking fantastic. I'm finally free! This car crash of a woman was not a write off, and I hope that others who too fight their own demons through excess can see that truth isn't that scary. But it is down to yourself. Be selfish; be self-centred, be interested in you.

For me, it's early days, but I'm so proud of myself for finally getting on track.

This will likely be my last blog post. Thank you to all for the attention, particularly my plethora of amazing friends - I love you all so much, without you I am nothing.

Got to go, this big (baby) bird has got to fly...


4 comments:

  1. A mightily honest and very open post Vic. Good luck with everything this year and, in the words of a better man - Go easy, step lightly, stay free…...

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  2. Beautifully inspiring. I too stumbled down a not too dissimilar path circa 2010... Thankyou for having the courage to share. Stay strong and free, baby bird... Let your ginger feathers shine. Xx

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  3. 'Honesty is the best policy' I was once told... it stuck with me through the years and I believed it to be about always being honest to others. But after many years of learning... actually... the best honesty is within ourselves, being true to your own self... a harsh reality yet one that brings such a beautiful life that you never thought possible. Eyes wide open Vic, enjoy the ride xxx

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  4. Laceratingly honest, but too hard on yourself. The black wave of depression hits everyone of intelligence and sensitivity; the trick is to cling on to the rocks, and climb back. You've evidently done that. Good luck in yr future endeavours.. I'm still trying

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