In the last entry about this subject I focused on the first thing I can look back on, and identify as a coping mechanism for dealing with anxiety. The problem there is it is a retrospective glance back, and I can say categorically that I was completely unaware that any of this was going on. Sure I knew I had to have my hanky in my pocket, and I guess if you had asked me about it at the time I would have compared it to a comforter of some sort. In my younger years I had actually played with my hair a lot more (back when I had some), and would play with my fringe or the hair on the crown of my head. Probably why they are the first to areas to disappear. I guess as I got older and appearance mattered more, I switched my hair for a hanky. Kinda makes sense really.
Again, all of this was very much a habit, and a subconscious behaviour to deal with my feelings about certain situations. One thing I can say though is, for a period of time in my teens and early twenties I had far less in the way of social anxiety, my inhibitions were almost non-existent, or so it seemed, and I feel like I behaved like a "normal" person. I don't have any recollections of much in the way of worries about doing things. I was a bit of a gym rat, working out 5-6 times a week, training hard, comfortable in a gym environment, a little shy socially but nothing terrible. Girls really were no on my radar at this point, so I think I was happy in my own little world of gym, friends and home life.
I think back quite regularly to try and work out when I first became aware of my issues, and if anything happened to start the ball rolling. I have had quite a few moments now where I think I have put my finger on it, but ultimately I think it is a catalogue of events and experiences which all added up together, finally triggered by an event which acted as a catalyst.
Early years, we grew up poor, and I mean POOR! OK not homeless, but hand-me-downs, handouts, living on benefits, three of us in a one bed flat. (me, my mum and my sister) Single parent family, short holidays provided by social services, dinner would sometimes be toasted burger buns with tomato ketchup (no burger), being the kid at school who struggled to bring a toy in. My aunts would send money to my mum at holiday times so we could have a tin of Quality Street, the only actual family holidays were twice a year to North Wales to stay with my aunts, travel paid for by them. I can recall my mum saving the two or four pages in her benefits book which could be stamped by a different Post Office other than the nominated one, which she would use when we were in Wales. Aware of my position on the scales of society, so limited the people I socialised with. Older mum than most kids so stood out for that. The fat kid, struggled with bed wetting, the list goes on. It wasn't the best of starts, but I would not change it for the world. Mum did her best to make the best of a bad situation, and rather than being an ungrateful child who wanted for nothing, I feel it has prepared me in life to know what nothing feels like, and to be thankful for what I have. Which I sometimes struggle to do.
Going back to Wales for a moment, I think it is fair to say that the three or four weeks a year we would spend there really impacted me deeply. And although I still live in the same house I grew up in (not the one bedroom, we moved when I was eight), 42 years later being back in Wales almost feels more like a home than being here. I am going to analyse my thoughts here and say that Wales offered me hope and security growing up. It was always a happy place, great memories were made there, and I can't look back and think of any negatives. Instead it gave me a happy place, somewhere to escape to a couple of times a year, and something to look forward to. I have to say I think that feeling lives on today, and arriving in Wales each time we travel there gives me the most honest feeling of "home" I can experience anywhere. Familiarity of the areas, space to walk and breathe, surrounded by nature, and somehow able to escape my own mind, and my fears for a moment.
Getting back on track, I can remember when changing schools came around, the idea of leaving the nest of St Michaels seemed terrifying. I had been to nursery, infants, and junior school all on the same site. Almost 10 years of the same routine, same walk to school (back when kids walked to school!), being around the same children, and all that was going to be ripped away from me. My new school would not be a local one, but instead I would have to get the bus five miles each morning and evening, travelling to a new area, and one which was home turf for most of the kids at the school. I felt like an outsider for sure, most of the others knew other kids from primary school but not me. Our tutor group was good though, and over time I managed to forge bonds with a small handful who I would stick with through my years there.
Secondary school was also the first time I really experienced someone dying. My aunt had died a few years earlier while I was at primary, but I had known she was ill, and my mum told me on the bus home from school one evening. Damn, I got a bus home from school, that was lazy. The news was sad, and I remember feeling a loss, but not much more than that. It felt very matter of fact, not in the way it was delivered, but the way I received it. I think my mum probably expected more of a reaction, but there wasn't to be one. It was not until secondary school, and hearing the news that one of the boys I travelled on the bus with each day had died as a result of being hit by a car at the bus stop we got off at daily, that I had any kind of emotional reaction to a death at all. In fact looking back over my life since, I think that was the one and only time I ever cried at the news of someone dying. I certainly didn't for my mum, or the passing of a number of close friends in close succession. I will come back to that.
From around this time, I would say I became quite emotionally numb to life in general. Little sympathy for much going on around me in day to day life, feelings of sadness, but crying wasn't really a thing. I would hazard a guess and say that from that point on, the only reason I cried was in pain, and even that was pretty rare. A few broken wrists didn't really bring tears to my eyes, but a couple of other notable moments of physical pain definitely did.
As my teens passed, I carried on like any normal kid, got a job, learned to drive, but avoided things like alcohol or smoking, and definitely no drugs. I would describe myself as quietly adventurous at that stage in life. I had a passion for cars and speed, liked to go to clubs for the atmosphere and feeling of belonging. Weekends at Equinox in Leicester Square were the norm. When I was 18 I went away for the first time, buying a holiday from a newspaper ad, with two friends from work, and flying off to Poros in Greece for two weeks. Somewhere I would have my first experience with alcohol in the form of copious amounts of tequila shots each night. I had grown up !
At some point my social circles changed a bit and I "modified" a car for the first time. Ironically it all started with a trip to Wales. Leaving home for a trip with Steve, we got as far as Elephant and Castle, I pulled up to the petrol pump to fill up, and saw it was out of use. Manoeuvring the car to another pump I clipped the island puncturing a tyre. We swapped it for the space which was a different size, and drove to Wales. Arriving in Wales and deciding it needed to be changed, and a spare sought, we went to Kwik-Fit in Llandudno. They had the tyre in stock and the car went off to get sorted. The guy then came through and asked would I be interested in four new tyres, and could get them on buy now pay later...CREDIT !!
Of course I jumped at the idea, but on leaving the Kwik-Fit the car felt different. Arriving at my aunts house and looking at the car, they had fitted lower profile tyres to the car, and I loved it! And so started my love for modifying my cars. Now in the new world I was going to new places and meeting new people, and still at this point enjoying the social side of life. This is where things changed a bit. Hanging out with a new group of friends, which included a couple of girls. The story gets a bit messy from here on in, so will spare you some of the details, but the long and the short of it.. One of the guys who was seeing one of the girls went on a short holiday to HMP Feltham, and in the time he was away, I kinda started seeing the girl. This turned into something quite deep and emotional, and at the grand old age of 20, I lost my virginity! Immediately besotted with her we stuck together, I moved in to her place, and in a few short months we were at Bromley Hospital A&E as she had "food poisoning" which turned out to be pregnancy. A child was born. This was 1995.
After about 18 months of her being born, me and her mum were drifting a bit, and after a silly argument we split up. Determined my child would not grow up as a single parent child, I made sure I was there all the time, supported them financially, and tried to be a father. Seeing her develop was amazing.
All was well til around 1998, when for reasons I won't go into, access was stopped with immediate effect. I would honestly say, that as the years have gone by, I have denied the impact this had on my mental health. But recent years of digging deep and being honest with myself, I would have to say that THIS was the moment my mind started to fall apart. Occasional phone calls from her mum would anger me, filled with demands and accusations, to the point when I punched through a laminated panel, slicing my hand open. I recall calling Sainsburys in Forest Hill straight after, asking to speak to my heavily pregnant sister, and telling her "don't panic, but I have cut my hand open quite badly and it won't stop bleeding". She very kindly rushed home from work, bandaged me up and came to the hospital with me.
I think 1999 was a bad year for me, desperately trying to find my feet again. Throwing myself head first into gym life, changing jobs now working nights doing security. The majority of my life was now work (60-80 hours a week) and going to the gym sometimes twice daily, five times a week. Retreating more and more from the more social side of things, and I guess distracting myself from anything around me that could hurt me again. Relationships were short lived, jumping around trying to find a sense of happiness and belonging, but still coming to terms with not being able to see my daughter. I tried to be matter of fact about it, but the reality was it was eating me up inside, and stopping me from getting close to people, or having any meaningful friendships of relationships.
So THAT, I think was the moment my life changed, and I altered course to arrive where I am today. To this day I have issues with closeness, there are certain situations, especially around kids, even my own nieces and nephews which make me highly uncomfortable, and affect my relationships with family and loved ones. Obviously a lot more has happened since then, and I will carry to story on soon. But for now my mind is tired and frantic from thinking this all through, so now is probably a good time to call it a day.
Thanks for reading one of the longest entries I have written for a while. I do love it when the flow returns, but hate deciding where to call it a day for an entry.
Til next time.