it's okay not to be okay

genuine warning: this particular blog isn't your regular tongue-in-cheek saturday lol-fest that you've come to expect. things have happened over the past few days (/months) which have instilled me with a sense of pride and confidence and, because of that, today's post won't riddled with rude words and irreverent comedy. instead, it's an all too realistic look back at why this blog is the way it is. it's what i've wanted to say for so long but haven't had the courage to. it's the honest truth.

"oh fucking hell, it really is emo hour"

i pride myself on being pretty honest with you guys on here but there's a few truths that i wasn't ready to own up to until recently aka this morning. it's taken a lot of mistakes, shame, reflection and experience to make me change my mind but i've decided that i can't keep using this blog as fuel to the lie that my life is peachy perfect and funny all the time. to put it bluntly, it's not. but i'm sure those of you who understand the power of social media came to accept that a while back.

i've never been a "positive" person. sure, my persona around my friends is that of a lively, happy, funny, crude, slightly manic little man. maybe that's how i come across on this blog to those who don't know me so well. to an extent, that's all a lie. it's a brave face i've perfected over the years: i love time alone but when i'm by myself, i'm a bit broken. dark, directionless, pessimistic, hopeless, lacking in any sense of self-worth, and just plain flat most of the time. to some, this is old news. to others, it's a harsh new reality.

it's been years since i've felt happy in myself. i remember being sad as a fat tween a lot of the time, i remember basking in the knowledge that a lot of other emos (black fringe, piercings, angry music etc) were genuinely emotionally inept too and i remember feeling different to a lot of my friends when they spoke about anything and everything. time went on, so did life, and i didn't feel any better. i took a gap year to experience "real life after uni" before uni but i just felt trapped and alone. i went to uni and hated nearly every second of it. people around me died, terrible diagnoses were given and i wanted out.

so it's strange to say that somehow i graduated. with a good degree? no but a degree nonetheless and, with my new "find the silver lining" approach, that's nothing but a good thing. life back home wasn't what i wanted it to be: i got a job using my degree but struggled to adapt, i found it really hard to adjust to adult life and my life-affirming relationship, which was under a lot of strain, eventually dissipated and i came away broken hearted. i couldn't shake the feeling that something was really wrong. terribly wrong. these events seemed to act as triggers and my brain quite literally went into overdrive. i found myself questioning too many aspects of my life and realised i didn't have very much to look forward to in the immediate, or distant, future.

in june, after a big discussion with my friends about the woes of 23 year olds, i'd had enough. i came home, packed a bag and hopped in a taxi, intending to catch a train to anywhere else but here, away from distractions, to clear my head and force myself better. the second i got in the taxi, i knew what i was going to do. at 5am, i found myself on clifton suspension bridge, mulling over what i'd achieved in my years on this planet. i called the samaritans, already knowing what material they would use to talk me down from the ledge, but it was the lonely furious man on the bridge who called the police. i won't beat around the bush - i tried to jump and an officer caught my arms and dragged me to the floor.

they detained me and took me to a cell for the night where i had numerous tests and interviews with mental health experts, doctors, psychiatrists and policemen. the next morning, i was told that i was "an intelligent young man who knew what was happening". i just didn't know why it was happening or how to change it. i signed myself out and was free to go: i got home and my family staged an intervention for me. hours of conversation later and i made an emergency appointment with the doctor, was prescribed a cocktail of medication and have been encouraged to try therapy before being tested for bipolar, ocd, low self-esteem and a range of other afflictions.

so what if i've been struggling with depression and anxiety for the best part of my life? so what that it was finally diagnosed 6 months ago and i'm working tirelessly every day to make myself better? does it make me a worse person? what does it matter that people will think differently of me because of this? fuck them. they should have no bearing on how i see myself. but they do and that's something i've struggled with for a very long time. why do we let people shape our self-perceptions with their moronic judgements when, i've no doubt, they've got their own shit going on too. to quote paramore, a favourite band of mine: "next time you point a finger i might have to bend it back or break it off. next time you point a finger, i'll point you to the mirror."

i've not written this piece for attention. my "episode" is firmly behind me and, although it mightn't feel like it, i've made enough progress to talk about this finally. i've read too many articles on depression and suicide recently, especially ones centred around men, too many of whom are gay and for so long, i've battled with my thoughts and been genuinely terrified to share real details about what's happened. but why? it's nothing to be ashamed of. jessie j might be a bit of a bellend but she's got it so right: "it's okay not to be okay". it doesn't make you weak or feeble, it certainly doesn't make you a coward. in fact, it proves your strength and worth. the fact that i have sought out help, the fact that i'm still trying to get better and the fact that i'm realistic about it: some days i feel on top of the world and other days, i wonder if i'd be better off at the bottom of that bridge.

but the fact of the matter is, i'm not. and i'm learning to be thankful: thankful for the samaritans; thankful for the policeman who stopped me; thankful for the reams of doctors, psychiatrists, therapists, psychologists and other medical professionals i've encountered along the way; thankful for you guys who read, comment on and care about my roller-coaster of emotions; infinitely thankful for my staggeringly supportive friends and family who no doubt have been dragged through hell and back with me. maybe now you'll better understand what this blog is about. it isn't a shallow focus on the silly things i do or buy every day. it isn't an arrogant, self-righteous stream of consciousness. and it isn't a cry for help. it's about consciously deciding to be happy and focussing on the baby steps to get there. it's a journey, one which i am so honoured to be sharing with you xo