Mother, probably fucked, now deceased.
Half a decade dead, that's a bizarre thing to say.
I thought it apt to write something as the past two years have been the sanest i've been in a long, long time - I mean it's all perpetual progression right 'til the grave but the feeling of trudging through the hours which occupied years and years and years worth of my life post-them and that has somewhat ceased.
Here are some notes on the process:
1. February 15th 2012 - 2014 People are right when they say a part of you simply vanishes, a feeling of terrifying openness to the world and its experience. Everything is scary, everything is pronounced, every moment feels important - the spotlight is on you and you've forgotten your words. I became the most extreme of personalities, primarily manifesting itself in militant veganism (kind of) & neurotic addiction to creativity (the latter still lingers)
But there was a liberation there, my mother was a maniac, addiction is a Jekyll / Hyde monster - there's only so many times you can hold someones hand and listen to them say they want to die and know exactly how to do it before you give in and agree to help them if ever it came to it. I collapsed when I heard, but walking to the train station I felt a sublime sense of relief. Thank fuck it's finally over. I could start again. 22 fucking years. She wet herself in public so much we could barely go into any cafes in Driffield, she crashed cars with me in them, we nearly got taken into care, she passed out on seafronts when I was a child meaning I as a child had to phone an ambulance when all I wanted to do that day was buy a fucking Tamagotchi, she missed important dates in our lives, she fell down stairs and I stepped over her body, she broke her nose on the radiator, she went to the most expensive rehab clinics in the world and came out equally as drunk as she'd gone in. She missed her mother, she missed her father, she didn't know how to connect with her kids. She drank a bottle of whiskey and a bottle of vodka and died curled up on the floor in the downstairs bathroom. She essentially killed herself. She was born into money, prestige, land, history, the highest social class available and fucked it all. Camus would be fucking proud at her level of metaphysical rebellion. Thank fuck it's over.
Overarching feeling during this time: Look at how fucking beautiful the world is. I am unhindered and alive, it is horrible and overwhelming.
2. Janet / Danny / Carl they all went too within 1.5 years. In 2013 ruined a relationship for the 'promise' of another, only to be betrayed by it. It was then I spiraled out of control. This was when the reset button was hit, I did nothing aside from lie in bed and keep myself alive - no art, no reading, no music, no enjoyment in anything whatsoever. I remember looking up at the ceiling and there was a serene optimism, because I knew that this was it - I simply could not feel any worse, there was nothing left to take. My mum and aunt had died, my friends had died, I had ruined a relationship so incredible only for its reason to vanish. Thus began the process of rebuilding myself, I went through my mind and reintroduced myself to things I loved, music / art / exercise. I felt stripped of excess interests, these were the things that mattered.
Overarching feeling during this time: That I had reached the very core of being, that there was no lower point. That it was quite nice, a wry smile. I could only go upwards.
3. 2014 - Dec 2015 Understanding. Whilst you get over the immediate grief, it took me years to fully understand the subtle behavioural ticks that growing up with a non-functioning neurotic alcoholic for a mother and-every-fucker-else-being-either-absent-dead-or-schizophrenic leaves you with. These years were spent making a shit ton of mistakes, being overwhelmingly emotional, coping with a more ingrained, overarching & trickier grief and trying to piece together a personality to find a source of strength I could rely on. If you think you're fine, it's most likely you are not. Having to address a constant anxiety and perilously low self-esteem.
Overarching feeling during this time: Right, well.... I've fucked that haven't I.
4. Dec 2015 - Dec 2016. Responsibility and growth (two parts). This has to fucking stop now. Realising I simply could not exist like that took me to counselling and Samaritans. Councilling taught me to talk and actually explore all this shit, which was a unrivaled success - the load was automatically lighter, for the first time in years I actually felt free of burdens, Samaritans was really useful - venting to strangers who didn't have to know your name and being able to inhabit a space where I could just talk unhindered went further to unpacking mindsets, especially when the lady said "what you are searching for, you will never find". Feeling ready to make a change meant that even when my insecurities reared their head I understood it was all a part of me and 'this too shall pass'. I accepted that I'd been damaged and learnt to forgive myself, finding it humurous how ridiculously some of my behaviour was. Who I am now that I have no excuse for my behavior anymore? Who am I when they'e all dead or dormant?
Overarching feeling during this time: This is it, it's time to make a change, fucking Rocky Balboa training montage.
5. Dec 2016 onwards. Power and anxiety (Fear & Tremendousness).
This takes us to where we are now. February 15th 2017, the 5th anniversary of my mothers death and its consequent beginning of a series of events which would royally fuck me over and absolutely change my existence on this planet. I am still learning about myself, I still suffer from cycles of neurotic anxiety but within the past month I have started a notebook, in which I mark things about myself I have noticed - I am being of cycles, I get obsessed with things in the most intense and overwhelming way. They pass and I freak out because I feel i'm not doing enough with my life. There is a brief period of about a week or so where I feel awful, depressed and worried i'm not succeeding then I say 'well, what would you like to do now' and the whole process starts again. But last night I wrote that this period of down time is useful, I am a compulsive neurotic creative who creates to escape because I was always told I would be something powerful one day. These cycles of obsession last around 2 / 3 weeks? (I have yet to pin it down) and then fade, My new focus is on learning to relax in between these periods and make the most of them when come.
I have a new job as an art teacher for troubled kids, I have helped build movements, I have interviewed my favourite artists in the world, websites have stolen my questioning style (I'M LOOKING AT YOU SPRAY DAILY), I'm a published journalist, my poetry was nominated for television adverts.
Overarching feeling during this time:I miss them all every single day, one more than I am allowed to say but beneath my bizarre and constant anxious mindset I feel more in control than ever. The past 2 years have meant growth, the previous meant understanding and just staying alive, the preceding 22 were theirs. This year I have been more comfortable and confident in myself than I have felt in well...more than half a decade and quite possibly a life time.
Mum (or AB as you were known) you were a maniac, a troubled and ridiculous maniac, but from dealing drugs to 80's pop stars and smuggling drugs across international borders and taking far too much cocaine you lived your life (or atleast your youth) with a individuality I have come to find inspiring.
"I love the sea, it always knows what to say" - A.B
R.I.P Annabel Macdonald-Evans / Sykes
R.I.P Janet Macdonald / Trapp
R.I.P Daniel Penny
R.I.P Carl (for I cannot remember your last name)
R.I.P Deborah Macdonald / Fleury
And for the sake of honesty, Samantha Littler - for she was an equally important part in this whole saga and someone I owe an apology to. If you ever read this, it's been beyond hard.
See you in 5 years.
