Read All About It...

A few months back, I couldn’t seem to break away from feeling down in the dumps. For a good month or two, I was feeling really quite low and what some would describe as depressed. I was beating myself up mentally. If I tried to list what was making me feeling down, I could have easily reeled off ten things without stopping for breath. Of these issues, many were things that I have absolutely no control over. 

I thought I was failing as a man, failing as a parent & failing as a partner. I felt as if I should be doing far better in everything than I am doing.  I couldn’t pin point one thing which was getting me down. Instead it was just anything and everything. I was waking up and just knowing that the day ahead was going to be a shit day. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy.  I needed to get myself out of the mind-set that was starting to take hold.

Watch the Documentary here

At the same time, I saw a documentary on BBC Three – Professor Green: Suicide and Me. I watched attentively as we saw the rapper - Pro Green (real name Stephen Manderson) open up and show us an extremely private, emotional side to him, which as a fan, showed just how he managed to write some of the extremely moving lyrics to many of his tracks. 

Read All About It featuring Emeli Sande is his biggest hit to date. I cant listen to that song without thinking of the real reason behind it, and relating that story to my own life. It is weird how music and certain songs can immediately put you into a certain mind state. Emeli Sande's solo version of the song was picked up by the 2012 London Olympics and was performed at the closing ceremony. But many of the Olympic fans probably didn’t know the real inspiration behind the song being written initially was Manderson’s father committing suicide.

The documentary showed the rapper dealing with the pain that his father’s passing had on him and his family members. It made me think more and more about the pain in my own family. It is not something that we feel comfortable talking about. As I have got older, I have related further to my late uncle and wondered what went through his mind in the lead up to taking his own life aged 41.

Manderson met with the charity CALM, who I had first heard of listening to the Tottenham football podcast ‘The Fighting Cock’. It emphasized the great job that they are doing.

In the coming days, I decided that in order to get myself out of my current slump, I needed a way get back to normal. A way to better express my emotions. Although I was reluctant to label myself as anything else than feeling down, I pondered if this could be the start of a longer running issue with depression. I was tempted to use the anonymous chat service that CALM offer. Instead I decided to write my something down. I didn’t know what I would write. So I decided to tell my story. My own version of the documentary I had seen.

That led me to what became my first blog post. Forever In Our Hearts.

I felt good to write something down. I had always enjoyed writing as a kid. I then decided that perhaps this could be my way out. This could be the release I needed. I decided to share this with the editor of the CALM website, as they stated they were looking writers. Days passed, and I didn’t hear anything. I assumed it wasn’t something they were interested in. I am not even sure why I submitted it to them. I wasn’t looking for attention. I wasn’t looking to achieve anything. I just wanted someone to hear the story. There was a definite release in writing something down.

My story: Forever In Our Hearts - on the homepage of CALM's website.

I decided that if there was a subject that I wasn’t able to discuss with those around me, I would write about it. So I made a blog. I was able to create every aspect, and design it exactly how I wanted. I decided it would be solely for those who follow me on twitter. I wasn’t going to share it with family or friends on my Facebook page. 

My story on the CALM Facebook page

On Tuesday, my story went live on the CALM website, and yesterday they placed it onto their Facebook page. It was surreal seeing my story on the main page of a charity so established in their field. It made me feel proud that the story I wanted to tell could be shared with people who have been through the same thing, or show people who are in a dark place that their potential actions will have a knock on effect in ways that they cannot even imagine. 

 I wasn’t able to press the like button on Facebook, as my contacts would see my activity. My immediate friends and family haven’t seen my writing, and I do not know how my mum and dad in particular, would react to what I have written.

My blog is now on its way to 1000 hits, which is completely overwhelming. I am in a far better place mentally, and I although I have dark days, for the most part I am feeling good. I think a large part of that is down to enjoying writing again.

Lyrics from 'Read All About It'
 

Dear dad,
As a kid I looked up to you,
Only thing was I never saw enough of you.
The last thing I said to you was I hated you,
I loved you and now it's too late to say to you.

Just didn't know what to do or how to deal with it,
Even now deep down I'm still livid.
To think, I used to blame me,
I wondered what I did to you to make you hate me.
I wasn't even 5, life's a journey and mine wasn't an easy ride,
You never even got to see me rhyme,
I just wished you would have reached out
I wish you would've been round when I'd been down.
I wish that you could see me now,
Wherever you are I really hope you found peace.
But know that if I ever have kids,

Ill never let them be without me.

 

If you or anyone you know is feeling low, there are people they can talk to. CALM are there 365 days a year. https://www.thecalmzone.net/help/get-help/

The Permanent Solution...

Any bereavement is hard to deal with. It rocks you in so many ways, and can do so continuously, striking like hammer blows over the years. In my case, my emotions regarding my Uncle’s death have re-emerged over the past few years, and I am feeling emotions that must have been locked up deep inside me.

I think that this is down to various factors.

Firstly, I was a child when he passed away. Time perception was different back then. A child year seems to be an adult month. Our sense of time changes as we grow older. The intervening years have been my developmental, grown up years. Lots of water has passed under the bridge since Charlie died. I have matured and had to deal with other bereavements, stresses, struggles and finding my own path in life. It is only now as I am rapidly approaching the age that he passed, that my feelings to his passing are re-emerging. As a child I was able to accept that grown-ups will die at some point. I was told that he had a heart attack, and that seemed logical to me at the time. It wasn’t til I approached adulthood, did I find out and was able to comprehend the darker truth.

“When I was a child, I used to speak like a child, think like a child, reason like a child; when I became a man, I did away with childish things”

Another factor has to be that in clearing out my Grandfather’s property after his death three years ago, I found my Uncle’s suicide letter. 

Having only ever heard my parent’s perspective on the reasons they believed led to his decision to end his life, it was a roller-coaster to quickly read his letter, all at the same time as being emotional towards the passing of my Grandfather.

My head was spinning, my heart was racing and it was hard to focus as I began to read the actual letter that was found alongside my Uncle all those years ago. Addressed to ‘Mum’ the words on the paper in my hands were the last thing to go through his mind. His despair and depression was clearly evident. He blamed himself for everything that had happened. The breakup of a relationship. The breakdown of a business. The financial ruin, and the disappointment he saw himself as. The letter apologised to his parents, and instructed my grandmother to pass on messages to his friends. But there was no mention of his brothers. No mentions of me, my sister or his other nephews and nieces. No mention of other family members. This hurt immensely when reading the letter. It made me think that on the night that he set about his task to end his life, the wider ramifications of his actions were not present in his thought process. In many ways, it made me see him as very selfish. It made me blame the bottle of alcohol that he was clearly consuming as he wrote the letter. It made me think that if he hadn’t have been drinking that night, he may be with us now.

But that was naive and of me. It took some time to reflect and study more about the subject of depression, and learn more about the man that in reality, I only knew as a playmate. Mental health issues are widely ignored even now, and back in 1993 when my uncle took his life, I can’t imagine opening up to peers, or seeking help was that common. Instead as typical south London male, he wanted to get himself out of the predicament he was in, and not unload his issues on other people. His decision to end his life was not a spur of the moment thing. He had planned his method. This was not going to be a cry for help. This was going to be a permanent solution to his pain.

Finally, the fact that I still hate the fact he chose that permanent solution, to what I now see 23 years later as an illness that can be helped. I hate the fact he didn’t reach out for help. I hate the fact that he didn’t think of his three brothers; about how this would send their world crashing down around them. I hate the fact that my Nan blamed herself fully for the loss of her son. I hate the fact that she never recovered from his passing. I hate the fact that my sister, my cousins and I missed out on getting to know him as a man. I’m gutted that we never shared a pint and laugh together. At family events, I often think that family members who have passed away are with us, watching us have fun and live life. I hope they are proud of us.

The Campaign Against Living Miserably (CALM – www.thecalmzone.net) believe that there are social and cultural barriers which prevent men from speaking out. That state that men do not feel comfortable expressing feelings and emotions. That men think they are expected to be strong at all times. I certainly agree with this statement in regards to my uncle. 

I wish he could have opened up to someone. He would have been 65 just after Valentines day. I wish we could have shared a pint in celebration.

Forever In Our Hearts..

It was Thursday July 1^st 1993, my 10^th birthday, when the phone rang. It was Uncle Charlie, my dad’s slightly older brother and best man. 

After a few minutes on the phone with Dad, I was called to come to the phone as Charlie wanted to say ‘Hello’. Charlie wished me Happy Birthday, and asked me if I wanted to go to Chessington World of Adventures theme park at the weekend for my birthday present, like he did the summer before.

But this year I was busy on the Saturday, and my parents had arranged a football party for me and my friends on the Sunday. So I told Charlie that I had my party coming up, and that he could come to that instead. After a few more seconds of chat, I quickly was told “no worries, I have got to go now, see ya soon” and after saying good bye, I hung up the phone. I soon went back to my Sonic the Hedgehog, unknowing that this would be our final conversation.

Sunday afternoon finally arrived. July 4^th. Party day! I was sitting in my living room, in my new football kit. My socks were pulled up and I was ready for action. I was full of excitement and anticipation for my party that I knew we would be leaving for in twenty minutes time. My sister was upstairs, Mum was in the kitchen, and Dad was in their bedroom, directly above the living room. The phone rang.  Mum answered it from the kitchen and you could tell there was immediately something wrong. At that moment the house was silent. I can’t recall if the TV was on, but if it was, I couldn’t hear it. Mum rushed upstairs to the bedroom and said for my sister to go downstairs immediately. Mum closed her bedroom door shut behind her, something which never happened before or again after. The house had never been so quiet.

From the living room my sister and I could hear muffled talk from inside Mum and Dads room above us, and within a few seconds I could hear the moment my Dad broke down after being informed that his brother and best friend was no longer with us. 

I am not sure how much time passed, but Mum came down with tears in her eyes and rushed me and my sister to get to the car, ready to go to the party. I got my stuff ready and as I was leaving the living room, my dad appeared in the door way; “Have you heard?” he said to me, with tears in his eyes and cracks in his voice. The man who had been He-Man to me my whole life stood in front of me distraught. This was the first time I had seen him vulnerable. The first time I had seen negative emotion from him. I hadn’t heard the news that he had just been informed of, but I immediately started to cry, as I knew it was something life changing that had happened. I didn’t even know who that phone call had been about, and to this day I do not know who was on the other end of that phone.

But I knew life was about to change.

Mum took me and my sister to my party. I can’t remember the journey at all. I do remember that I played footy that day like a boy possessed, and have clear memories of the goals that I scored that day. Mum went ahead with the party, giving 14 rowdy ten years old's party food, party games and birthday cake after the match had ended. She made that day so special for me. Photos from that day show the fun that was had by us kids, but also show the pain and despair behind my mums eyes, as she tried to show a sense of normality for her son, all while trying to come to terms with the loss of her brother in law, and the fact that her husband and my Dad’s world was caving in as the truth was revealed to him, of how his brother had been found earlier that morning.

As a 10 year old boy, I grieved for my Uncle. As a 15year old young man, when my Grandmother passed away, we grieved again, and I was part of more adult conversations about what had happened to my Uncle. It was then that I was able to start to gain perspective on what had happened to Charlie. He had suffered from a run of serious bad luck, bad decisions, and heartbreak. This had led to the black dog of depression dragging him down. I often wonder if he had hoped to take me to Chessington as a way of cheering himself up. Only for me to have plans and for him to think that he couldn’t even do that right, adding to his list of things that had gone against him. 

In reality he was probably just trying to do his duties as a loving uncle. But what he failed to think of that night when no doubt he had a hundred thoughts racing through his head, where he couldn’t see a way out, is that we needed him and still do. It appears that drinking too much on the night that he ended things played a part too. I only wish someone could have been with him so that he wasn’t drinking alone, with a pen in his hand writing a goodbye letter, and idea in his head of ending his life. Only 8 years older than I am now.

There is a huge hole in our family, and younger relatives who do not share the same loving memories that my sister and I have, do not share the grief that we feel when we talk about him. He was the uncle who would play with us kids as if he was a kid himself, he would wrestle with us and always not really know his own strength. He would get us really worked up, and then leave our parents to calm us down. He was our friend and playmate as well as our uncle. He held a special place in my heart and I still think of him daily. 

I wasn’t informed what had actually happened to Charlie until my teenage years, when for some reason I questioned the original story of ‘illness’ which I had been told as an innocent ten year old. My mother wondered if I had been questioning it in the subsequent years. I hadn’t. I don’t even know where the question came from that day. Only now, in my early thirties, with a mortgage and family of my own, do I feel I can begin to understand what may have gone through his mind, and I think about it more and more. I too can wallow in self-doubt and anxiety, but I know I can share my issues with those around me. But if things got that bad, as bad as it got for him, would I still be able to reach out for help? Could I? Would I be judged? Will Charlie’s suicide have a knock on effect in my life?

I wish someone could have told my Uncle Charlie that he was not alone. I wish someone could have told him that were people who loved him eternally and would have always be there to help ease the burden, to ensure that he seeks support. My Dad wishes that Charlie would have decided to open up to him, to reach out to him and share his troubles. But that wasn’t Charlie. Apparently he decided that he didn’t want to ‘burden’ those around him. As far as we know he didn’t try to find help. I wonder if he was in my generation whether he would reach out to his friends and family. Times are changing, but not changing enough when you consider the alarming stat that CALM - the Campaign Against Living Miserably (http://www.thecalmzone.net) are trying to change, that suicide is the biggest killer of men my age.

I wish that the 10 year old me could have gone to Chessington on the Saturday, so that he had a great day, and the dark thoughts not appear that fateful Saturday night. I wish he had agreed to come to the party on the Sunday. But he didn’t. 

But life goes on, and I will teach my own son to open up and to express himself. To know that showing feelings and emotions does not make him weak. To know that should things go against him, should he encounter heartache, failure, and/or depression set in, there are people out there to help.

I saw a quote that said “suicide doesn’t just take away your own pain, it just gives it to someone else” – I totally agree with that..

Uncle Charlie– left us aged 41, – Forever in our hearts til we meet again.