How are you feeling ?

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XTreme
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Re: How are you feeling ?

Post by XTreme » Thu Oct 15, 2020 4:21 pm

NeilM wrote:
Thu Oct 15, 2020 3:55 pm
I suffer from and was relatively recently diagnosed with PTSD.
What was it that caused that Neil?

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Re: How are you feeling ?

Post by learningtofly » Thu Oct 15, 2020 5:24 pm

Kudos to @fastbob for starting this thread, and it's really good to see people prepared to open up and share their thoughts/troubles with everyone on here. I'm not going to say that I haven't been impacted by this horrible pandemic (my business has all but collapsed and I've had zero income this year), nor that I've escaped hardship in earlier times. However, I'm still around, I have my bike and Spurs are going to win the Premiership title this season... it could be worse :twisted:

(I also have a wife who loves me, and children who do as well. I even have a new granddaughter in NYC, not that I've been able to meet her yet!)

Anyway, thoughts are with everyone in these difficult times.

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Re: How are you feeling ?

Post by Six30 » Thu Oct 15, 2020 5:47 pm

learningtofly wrote:
Thu Oct 15, 2020 5:24 pm
Kudos to @fastbob for starting this thread, and it's really good to see people prepared to open up and share their thoughts/troubles with everyone on here. I'm not going to say that I haven't been impacted by this horrible pandemic (my business has all but collapsed and I've had zero income this year), nor that I've escaped hardship in earlier times. However, I'm still around, I have my bike and Spurs are going to win the Premiership title this season... it could be worse :twisted:

(I also have a wife who loves me, and children who do as well. I even have a new granddaughter in NYC, not that I've been able to meet her yet!)

Anyway, thoughts are with everyone in these difficult times.
you clearly need serious help... Spurs winning the league...
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Re: How are you feeling ?

Post by Bender » Thu Oct 15, 2020 5:53 pm

learningtofly wrote:
Thu Oct 15, 2020 5:24 pm
Kudos to @fastbob for starting this thread, and it's really good to see people prepared to open up and share their thoughts/troubles with everyone on here. I'm not going to say that I haven't been impacted by this horrible pandemic (my business has all but collapsed and I've had zero income this year), nor that I've escaped hardship in earlier times. However, I'm still around, I have my bike and Spurs are going to win the Premiership title this season... it could be worse :twisted:

(I also have a wife who loves me, and children who do as well. I even have a new granddaughter in NYC, not that I've been able to meet her yet!)

Anyway, thoughts are with everyone in these difficult times.
I'm willing to pop in and say hi to your family in NYC, both me and the wife love NYC 😁
Bite my shiny metal ass..

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Re: How are you feeling ?

Post by MarkW » Thu Oct 15, 2020 6:06 pm

Back in the summer of 1988 we were driving home after a family camping holiday in France – me, my brother, my mother and my father. When we arrived, three of us jumped out of the car and went inside to do all those things you do when you get home after a long holiday – putting the kettle on, opening the mountain of post behind the door – the usual stuff. Being slightly preoccupied, it was several minutes before we realised that my father had driven away.

Sitting here 32 years later it’s a struggle to remember the precise sequence of events that night, but I know that at some point my mother phoned the police to report him missing, and that I went out to look for him several times. What I do remember very clearly is the futility of a 15 year old boy walking every inch of the neighbourhood in the pouring rain, desperately hoping to find his father.

The next morning the police came round to tell us that they had found a body 30 miles away in Buxton, and that my mother had to go and identify it. They knew she couldn’t drive - and in any case didn’t have the car- but they just told us where we had to go and left us to it. Thankfully one of our neighbours took us. I can still remember as clearly as if it were yesterday sitting in the passenger seat of his car as we waited for my mother to come out of the police station, listening to the rain gently drumming on the roof and watching the rivulets of water run down the windscreen.

When she did finally come out it was to confirm what we already knew, which was that the body they had found was my dad. The feeling I experienced then is one I’ve never been able to describe accurately - as though the ground had disappeared from beneath me, and that I was tumbling through space. Everything that had given my life structure up to that point had collapsed around me, and I completely lost all my bearings.

I remember very little of the funeral. It was held in the huge chapel of the university where he worked, and it was packed. Clearly a popular man then, my dad.

I’m not ashamed to say that I adored my father, and thought he was fantastic. I had wanted to learn everything I could from him, and I craved his company. Although I didn’t really give it any thought at the time, I always knew that he wasn’t quite so enthusiastic about spending time with me. Whenever I did spend time with him - fixing the car, doing some DIY around the house, or joining in his main hobby which was photography - my presence was barely tolerated at best, and certainly never encouraged. I assumed it was because I was just an irritating kid who pestered the life out of him when what he really wanted was a bit of peace and quiet, but it was an open secret that he much preferred my younger brother, who he thought was far superior to me in every way – especially intellectually and musically. Funnily enough it never bothered me at the time, probably because I was too stupid to realise how morally repulsive it was.

Like most people who take their own lives, my father had left a note, and after some initial hesitation my mother allowed me to read it - some time just after the funeral, I believe. Her reluctance was well founded, because in it he made it very clear that I fell some considerable way short of being the son he wanted – if indeed he wanted me at all. As criticisms go it was pretty damning, and the fact that his last thoughts of me had been so hateful came as another devastating blow. He must have known full well what effect that would have on a young boy.

But as bad as that was, it got much worse when she went through his papers. His original idea had been to have some company on his journey into oblivion, and he had made quite elaborate plans to take me along with him. This was motivated for the most part by his dislike for me, but also by his desire to spite my mother. In the end it would seem that the logistics of the enterprise were what put him off - not so much a case of what Hunter S Thompson would have categorised as “Too weird to live, and too rare to die” and more “Too worthless to live, but too much effort to kill.”

That was the beginning of the end of whoever it was that I was ever going to have been. Perhaps there is a more effective way to take a kind, loving and trusting child and completely destroy every aspect of his personality, but I’ll be damned if I can think of it. The father that I trusted with my life would have had no hesitation in taking it away from me - not out of that misguided love and fear of eternal separation that drives some suicidal parents to take their children with them, but out of contempt, and a mind-set that saw me as nothing more than a disposable commodity whose murder might add a bit extra to the hurt he wanted to cause my mother. It was as though I had unknowingly been in the crosshairs of a sniper’s rifle, and that at the last moment, for some random reason, they had decided not to pull the trigger; that the only reason I was still here was because of some arbitrary decision he had taken. The anger that made me feel was like nothing I had experienced before or since – a visceral rage that burned so intensely for so long that it incinerated every last trace of the person I had been.

Of course if he had decided to take me along with him on that day in 1988 I would have been a lamb to the slaughter, not suspecting a thing until it was all too late. For years my mother had a recurring nightmare that he had come back for me, and that there was nothing she could do to stop him from dragging me away to the grave. Even now, on the rare occasions that he appears in my dreams we are always fighting, and I am always losing.

I learned a harsh lesson at 15: if you can’t even trust your father with something as fundamental as your life, you’d be a bloody fool ever to trust anyone. In much the same vein I eventually came to see ‘friendship’ for what it really was, and came to the conclusion that I’d be much better off without it. With the sole exception of my wife, I am as detached from meaningful relationships with other people now (or ‘ruggedly individualistic’ as I prefer to call it) as I was 30 years ago. On the rare occasions when people ask me about not having any friends I make a joke about it being my SAS training (you know – be friendly to everyone but be friends with no-one) and quickly change the subject. The truth is I’m not entirely convinced it’s such a good thing, and have always had a sneaking admiration for people like my wife who make friends easily. It’s done though, and the die is cast. No sympathy for the devil.

I can’t even begin to describe the path I had to travel to get back to being something even approximating the sort of person I might ordinarily have been, or the years it took. As an adult I was once asked to describe my personality in a few words as part of one of those pointless personality tests that second-rate employers are so keen on. I said “It’s the best I could do with what was left.” That’s probably as truthful an explanation as it’s possible to give.

On the plus side, I’ll never be an alcoholic. The early stages of inebriation are always pleasant enough, but then it shifts gears on you without warning, and you find yourself in a waking nightmare of hellish introspection; two or three hours of catatonic despair with nothing for company but dark thoughts and the relentless ringing of chronic tinnitus in my ears. Socrates may well have believed that the unexamined life was not worth living, but in my experience there are some things it pays not to look at too closely. Even simple things like a hug from my kids can pull me up short sometimes: as the wave of love for my children washes over me it makes me wonder why my father couldn’t feel that for me: what must have been wrong with me? I think back to his funeral, and how many people packed the place to pay their respects to a friend and colleague: surely they can’t all have been wrong about him? It must be me…

But none of this has ever caused me any mental health issues. At the time I guess I was too preoccupied with surviving – just keeping our heads above water whilst the debt collectors queued up at the door until we were finally turfed out of our house – and I simply didn’t have the time to dwell on it. Perhaps I should caveat that by saying that for years my biggest regret was that medical science couldn’t bring my father back just so I could have the satisfaction of killing him with my bare hands. I’d genuinely enjoy that, although I realise it might not be a totally sane desire…

Of all those who have posted here the person I identify most strongly with is Xtreme (apart from that bit about tucking into Edwina’s hairy pie, or whatever deplorable Welsh depravity it was that he was getting up to). My early experiences taught me in the most brutal way possible that life sometimes turns to shit in an instant through no fault of your own, that no-one has truly got your back, and that you’d better find a way to deal with it if you don’t want to go under. I came very close to not being here at all, so I’ll gladly take whatever life throws at me. I also lost my best friend some years ago in a horrific accident, and not a day goes by when I’m not grateful for the fact that whatever unpleasantness I may have to deal with, I am at least here to experience it.

:thumb:
Last edited by MarkW on Thu Oct 15, 2020 6:22 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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Re: How are you feeling ?

Post by NeilM » Thu Oct 15, 2020 6:09 pm

XTreme wrote:
Thu Oct 15, 2020 4:21 pm
NeilM wrote:
Thu Oct 15, 2020 3:55 pm
I suffer from and was relatively recently diagnosed with PTSD.
What was it that caused that Neil?
It was a couple of things mate.
Firstly had a strange entry to the world. Abandoned/adopted etc. (Life very different back in the day as we know)
Then in my late teens i got shot ha ha ha ha which didn't help matters.

It was really a culmination of several episodes from birth to my mid 20's which were never dealt with.
It all came to a head a few year back.

Opened up. Saw my gp.
Informed my work who were fantastic and put me through some intense CBT and other counselling.

Funny thing was for the first 3 month of counselling i still thought everything i did/thought was perfectly normal.

One of the ways things manifest itself with me is i have OCD in certain situations.
My first counselling session. I re rearranged this poor womans wall pictures to get them straight and re routed her wiring for the plugs etc..... Couldn't xxxxxxing write it. Perfectly normal.

Finished with the counselling 18 month back.
Still have some odd behaviour and thoughts at times but i have strategies to deal with them now.

Bizarrely though...
I am a qualified mental health first aider.....

So it goes to show even though you know what you should be doing, doesn't mean you can do it.

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Re: How are you feeling ?

Post by NeilM » Thu Oct 15, 2020 6:16 pm

MarkW wrote:
Thu Oct 15, 2020 6:06 pm
Back in the summer of 1988 we were driving home after a family camping holiday in France – me, my brother, my mother and my father. When we arrived, three of us jumped out of the car and went inside to do all those things you do when you get home after a long holiday – putting the kettle on, opening the mountain of post behind the door – the usual stuff. Being slightly preoccupied, it was several minutes before we realised that my father had driven away.

Sitting here 32 years later it’s a struggle to remember the precise sequence of events that night, but I know that at some point my mother phoned the police to report him missing, and that I went out to look for him several times. What I do remember very clearly is the futility of a 15 year old boy walking every inch of the neighbourhood in the pouring rain, desperately hoping to find his father.

The next morning the police came round to tell us that they had found a body 30 miles away in Buxton, and that my mother had to go and identify it. They knew she couldn’t drive - and in any case didn’t have the car- but they just told us where we had to go and left us to it. Thankfully one of our neighbours took us. I can still remember as clearly as if it were yesterday sitting in the passenger seat of his car as we waited for my mother to come out of the police station, listening to the rain gently drumming on the roof and watching the rivulets of water run down the windscreen.

When she did finally come out it was to confirm what we already knew, which was that the body they had found was my dad. The feeling I experienced then is one I’ve never been able to describe accurately - as though the ground had disappeared from beneath me, and that I was tumbling through space. Everything that had given my life structure up to that point had collapsed around me, and I completely lost all my bearings.

I remember very little of the funeral. It was held in the huge chapel of the university where he worked, and it was packed. Clearly a popular man then, my dad.

I’m not ashamed to say that I adored my father, and thought he was fantastic. I had wanted to learn everything I could from him, and I craved his company. Although I didn’t really give it any thought at the time, I always knew that he wasn’t quite so enthusiastic about spending time with me. Whenever I did spend time with him - fixing the car, doing some DIY around the house, or joining in his main hobby which was photography - my presence was barely tolerated at best, and certainly never encouraged. I assumed it was because I was just an irritating kid who pestered the life out of him when what he really wanted was a bit of peace and quiet, but it was an open secret that he much preferred my younger brother, and thought he was far superior to me in every way – especially intellectually and musically. Funnily enough it never bothered me at the time, probably because I was too stupid to realise how morally repulsive it was.

Like most people who take their own lives, my father had left a note, and after some initial hesitation my mother allowed me to read it - some time just after the funeral, I believe. Her reluctance was well founded, because in it he made it very clear that I fell some considerable way short of being the son he wanted – if indeed he wanted me at all. As criticisms go it was pretty damning, and the fact that his last thoughts of me had been so hateful came as another devastating blow. He must have known full well what effect that would have on a young boy.

But as bad as that was, it got much worse when she went through his papers. His original idea had been to have some company on his journey into oblivion, and he had made quite elaborate plans to take me along with him. This was motivated for the most part by his dislike for me, but also by his desire to spite my mother. In the end it would seem that the logistics of the enterprise were what put him off - not so much a case of what Hunter S Thompson would have categorised as “Too weird to live, and too rare to die” and more “Too worthless to live, but too much effort to kill.”

That was the beginning of the end of whoever it was that I was ever going to have been. Perhaps there is a more effective way to take a kind, loving and trusting child and completely destroy every aspect of his personality, but I’ll be damned if I can think of it. The father that I trusted with my life would have had no hesitation in taking it away from me - not out of that misguided love and fear of eternal separation that drives some suicidal parents to take their children with them, but out of contempt, and a mind-set that saw me as nothing more than a disposable commodity whose murder might add a bit extra to the hurt he wanted to cause my mother. It was as though I had unknowingly been in the crosshairs of a sniper’s rifle, and that at the last moment, for some random reason, they had decided not to pull the trigger; that the only reason I was still here was because of some arbitrary decision he had taken. The anger that made me feel was like nothing I had experienced before or since – a visceral rage that burned so intensely for so long that it incinerated every last trace of the person I had been.

Of course if he had decided to take me along with him on that day in 1988 I would have been a lamb to the slaughter, not suspecting a thing until it was all too late. For years my mother had a recurring nightmare that he had come back for me, and that there was nothing she could do to stop him from dragging me away to the grave. Even now, on the rare occasions that he appears in my dreams we are always fighting, and I am always losing.

I learned a harsh lesson at 15: if you can’t even trust your father with something as fundamental as your life, you’d be a bloody fool ever to trust anyone. In much the same vein I eventually came to see ‘friendship’ for what it really was, and came to the conclusion that I’d be much better off without it. With the sole exception of my wife, I am as detached from meaningful relationships with other people now (or ‘ruggedly individualistic’ as I prefer to call it) as I was 30 years ago. On the rare occasions when people ask me about not having any friends I make a joke about it being my SAS training (you know – be friendly to everyone but be friends with no-one) and quickly change the subject. The truth is I’m not entirely convinced it’s such a good thing, and have always had a sneaking admiration for people like my wife who make friends easily. It’s done though, and the die is cast. No sympathy for the devil.

I can’t even begin to describe the path I had to travel to get back to being something even approximating the sort of person I might ordinarily have been, or the years it took. As an adult I was once asked to describe my personality in a few words as part of one of those pointless personality tests that second-rate employers are so keen on. I said “It’s the best I could do with what was left.” That’s probably as truthful an explanation as it’s possible to give.

On the plus side, I’ll never be an alcoholic. The early stages of inebriation are always pleasant enough, but then it shifts gears on you without warning, and you find yourself in a waking nightmare of hellish introspection; two or three hours of catatonic despair with nothing for company but dark thoughts and the relentless ringing of chronic tinnitus in my ears. Socrates may well have believed that the unexamined life was not worth living, but in my experience there are some things it pays not to look at too closely. Even simple things like a hug from my kids can pull me up short sometimes: as the wave of love for my children washes over me it makes me wonder why my father couldn’t feel that for me: what must have been wrong with me? I think back to his funeral, and how many people packed the place to pay their respects to a friend and colleague: surely they can’t all have been wrong about him? It must be me…

But none of this has never caused me any mental health issues. At the time I guess I was too preoccupied with surviving – just keeping our heads above water whilst the debt collectors queued up at the door until we were finally turfed out of our house – and I simply didn’t have the time to dwell on it. Perhaps I should caveat that by saying that for years my biggest regret was that medical science couldn’t bring my father back just so I could have the satisfaction of killing him with my bare hands. I’d genuinely enjoy that, although I realise it might not be a totally sane desire…

Of all those who have posted here the person I identify most strongly with is Xtreme (apart from that bit about tucking into Edwina’s hairy pie, or whatever deplorable Welsh depravity it was that he was getting up to). My early experiences taught me in the most brutal way possible that life sometimes turns to shit in an instant through no fault of your own, that no-one has truly got your back, and that you’d better find a way to deal with it if you don’t want to go under. I came very close to not being here at all, so I’ll gladly take whatever life throws at me. I also lost my best friend some years ago in a horrific accident, and not a day goes by when I’m not grateful for the fact that whatever unpleasantness I may have to deal with, I am at least here to experience it.

:thumb:
Fxxx me Mark.
At work n blubbing.
As someone who has been in your company and met your family.
You did alright kidder...

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Re: How are you feeling ?

Post by rennie » Thu Oct 15, 2020 6:31 pm

I'm both humbled and slightly concerned by some of the posts in this thread!
Well done to all of you! They do say it's good to talk :thumb:

I'm not brave enough to tell my full story publicly and I don't think I need to
(I'm still coping, just) :lol:

It's the thing about not knowing that's concerning me!

The Covid thing is certainly not helping with people's health both mental and in general
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Re: How are you feeling ?

Post by onesea » Thu Oct 15, 2020 6:32 pm

XTreme wrote:
Thu Oct 15, 2020 12:39 pm
Frankly I'm surprised by the number of people on here who are reporting mental health issues.
To be honest I am not "Suicide is the single biggest killer of men under the age of 45 in the country." many on this forum will be the highest risk:
Middle aged male,
Austerity measures
Divorced,
Access issues,
Job Loss,
Midlife Carrier Change,
Loneliness & Isolation,

https://www.samaritans.org/about-samari ... d-figures/
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Suicide_i ... %20groups.

When people tell me motorcycling is dangerous, I remind them that I am probably safer on my bike than left on my own...

The other area that is alarming is the high rate of self harm by young females, mainly as a method of dealing with emotions.
https://www.nhs.uk/news/mental-health/n ... land-rise/
A survey showed profiles with a location are 80% more likely to get a response :thumb:
To add location on phone or desktop browser:
1) Click your profile name (this brings up Popup), 2) Tap User control Panel, 3) Tap the Profile Tab Scroll down to: Location
Or click this link: https://themotorbikeforum.co.uk/ucp.php ... ofile_info

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Re: How are you feeling ?

Post by XTreme » Thu Oct 15, 2020 6:46 pm

MarkW wrote:
Thu Oct 15, 2020 6:06 pm
Back in the summer of 1988 we were driving home after a family camping holiday in France – me, my brother, my mother and my father. When we arrived, three of us jumped out of the car and went inside to do all those things you do when you get home after a long holiday – putting the kettle on, opening the mountain of post behind the door – the usual stuff. Being slightly preoccupied, it was several minutes before we realised that my father had driven away.

Sitting here 32 years later it’s a struggle to remember the precise sequence of events that night, but I know that at some point my mother phoned the police to report him missing, and that I went out to look for him several times. What I do remember very clearly is the futility of a 15 year old boy walking every inch of the neighbourhood in the pouring rain, desperately hoping to find his father.

The next morning the police came round to tell us that they had found a body 30 miles away in Buxton, and that my mother had to go and identify it. They knew she couldn’t drive - and in any case didn’t have the car- but they just told us where we had to go and left us to it. Thankfully one of our neighbours took us. I can still remember as clearly as if it were yesterday sitting in the passenger seat of his car as we waited for my mother to come out of the police station, listening to the rain gently drumming on the roof and watching the rivulets of water run down the windscreen.

When she did finally come out it was to confirm what we already knew, which was that the body they had found was my dad. The feeling I experienced then is one I’ve never been able to describe accurately - as though the ground had disappeared from beneath me, and that I was tumbling through space. Everything that had given my life structure up to that point had collapsed around me, and I completely lost all my bearings.

I remember very little of the funeral. It was held in the huge chapel of the university where he worked, and it was packed. Clearly a popular man then, my dad.

I’m not ashamed to say that I adored my father, and thought he was fantastic. I had wanted to learn everything I could from him, and I craved his company. Although I didn’t really give it any thought at the time, I always knew that he wasn’t quite so enthusiastic about spending time with me. Whenever I did spend time with him - fixing the car, doing some DIY around the house, or joining in his main hobby which was photography - my presence was barely tolerated at best, and certainly never encouraged. I assumed it was because I was just an irritating kid who pestered the life out of him when what he really wanted was a bit of peace and quiet, but it was an open secret that he much preferred my younger brother, who he thought was far superior to me in every way – especially intellectually and musically. Funnily enough it never bothered me at the time, probably because I was too stupid to realise how morally repulsive it was.

Like most people who take their own lives, my father had left a note, and after some initial hesitation my mother allowed me to read it - some time just after the funeral, I believe. Her reluctance was well founded, because in it he made it very clear that I fell some considerable way short of being the son he wanted – if indeed he wanted me at all. As criticisms go it was pretty damning, and the fact that his last thoughts of me had been so hateful came as another devastating blow. He must have known full well what effect that would have on a young boy.

But as bad as that was, it got much worse when she went through his papers. His original idea had been to have some company on his journey into oblivion, and he had made quite elaborate plans to take me along with him. This was motivated for the most part by his dislike for me, but also by his desire to spite my mother. In the end it would seem that the logistics of the enterprise were what put him off - not so much a case of what Hunter S Thompson would have categorised as “Too weird to live, and too rare to die” and more “Too worthless to live, but too much effort to kill.”

That was the beginning of the end of whoever it was that I was ever going to have been. Perhaps there is a more effective way to take a kind, loving and trusting child and completely destroy every aspect of his personality, but I’ll be damned if I can think of it. The father that I trusted with my life would have had no hesitation in taking it away from me - not out of that misguided love and fear of eternal separation that drives some suicidal parents to take their children with them, but out of contempt, and a mind-set that saw me as nothing more than a disposable commodity whose murder might add a bit extra to the hurt he wanted to cause my mother. It was as though I had unknowingly been in the crosshairs of a sniper’s rifle, and that at the last moment, for some random reason, they had decided not to pull the trigger; that the only reason I was still here was because of some arbitrary decision he had taken. The anger that made me feel was like nothing I had experienced before or since – a visceral rage that burned so intensely for so long that it incinerated every last trace of the person I had been.

Of course if he had decided to take me along with him on that day in 1988 I would have been a lamb to the slaughter, not suspecting a thing until it was all too late. For years my mother had a recurring nightmare that he had come back for me, and that there was nothing she could do to stop him from dragging me away to the grave. Even now, on the rare occasions that he appears in my dreams we are always fighting, and I am always losing.

I learned a harsh lesson at 15: if you can’t even trust your father with something as fundamental as your life, you’d be a bloody fool ever to trust anyone. In much the same vein I eventually came to see ‘friendship’ for what it really was, and came to the conclusion that I’d be much better off without it. With the sole exception of my wife, I am as detached from meaningful relationships with other people now (or ‘ruggedly individualistic’ as I prefer to call it) as I was 30 years ago. On the rare occasions when people ask me about not having any friends I make a joke about it being my SAS training (you know – be friendly to everyone but be friends with no-one) and quickly change the subject. The truth is I’m not entirely convinced it’s such a good thing, and have always had a sneaking admiration for people like my wife who make friends easily. It’s done though, and the die is cast. No sympathy for the devil.

I can’t even begin to describe the path I had to travel to get back to being something even approximating the sort of person I might ordinarily have been, or the years it took. As an adult I was once asked to describe my personality in a few words as part of one of those pointless personality tests that second-rate employers are so keen on. I said “It’s the best I could do with what was left.” That’s probably as truthful an explanation as it’s possible to give.

On the plus side, I’ll never be an alcoholic. The early stages of inebriation are always pleasant enough, but then it shifts gears on you without warning, and you find yourself in a waking nightmare of hellish introspection; two or three hours of catatonic despair with nothing for company but dark thoughts and the relentless ringing of chronic tinnitus in my ears. Socrates may well have believed that the unexamined life was not worth living, but in my experience there are some things it pays not to look at too closely. Even simple things like a hug from my kids can pull me up short sometimes: as the wave of love for my children washes over me it makes me wonder why my father couldn’t feel that for me: what must have been wrong with me? I think back to his funeral, and how many people packed the place to pay their respects to a friend and colleague: surely they can’t all have been wrong about him? It must be me…

But none of this has ever caused me any mental health issues. At the time I guess I was too preoccupied with surviving – just keeping our heads above water whilst the debt collectors queued up at the door until we were finally turfed out of our house – and I simply didn’t have the time to dwell on it. Perhaps I should caveat that by saying that for years my biggest regret was that medical science couldn’t bring my father back just so I could have the satisfaction of killing him with my bare hands. I’d genuinely enjoy that, although I realise it might not be a totally sane desire…

Of all those who have posted here the person I identify most strongly with is Xtreme (apart from that bit about tucking into Edwina’s hairy pie, or whatever deplorable Welsh depravity it was that he was getting up to). My early experiences taught me in the most brutal way possible that life sometimes turns to shit in an instant through no fault of your own, that no-one has truly got your back, and that you’d better find a way to deal with it if you don’t want to go under. I came very close to not being here at all, so I’ll gladly take whatever life throws at me. I also lost my best friend some years ago in a horrific accident, and not a day goes by when I’m not grateful for the fact that whatever unpleasantness I may have to deal with, I am at least here to experience it.

:thumb:
That is really chilling Mark! The thought that a parent could do to their own child what you described is beyond words.

After I posted what I did earlier I thought maybe I'd gone on too much. But like in your case, sometimes you need to give the history to show how you've arrived at this particular point in your life. And the things that have occurred to make you the person you are today.

In my case, I just lived with the knowledge that my mother never wanted me, cried in despair when I was born, and hated the sight of me till the day she died. (My father died when I was 4.....so it was only her around).

Can't say I lost any sleep over it really......I didn't do any soul searching to find out why I was so unwanted. I just thought she was a completely f@cking nutjob, and as the years went by I identified more and more characteristics that would basically class her as a schizophrenic!

Despite that, I still did what I could for her throughout her life (she died in 1999 aged 81).....case of misplaced duty I suppose. At numerous times over those years she'd do various things to cause problems in my life......and when she died she gave me the final kick in the nuts by leaving me nothing. I pretty much expected her to do that anyway.....so it was no great surprise. If she was expecting me to be devastated by it she was out of luck....cos I was way ahead of the curve on that one.

So we're joined at the hip here with having parents who were batshit f@cking crazy! But you know what? We f@cking came through it!

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Re: How are you feeling ?

Post by XTreme » Thu Oct 15, 2020 6:50 pm

NeilM wrote:
Thu Oct 15, 2020 6:09 pm

It was a couple of things mate.
Firstly had a strange entry to the world. Abandoned/adopted etc. (Life very different back in the day as we know)
Then in my late teens i got shot ha ha ha ha which didn't help matters.

It was really a culmination of several episodes from birth to my mid 20's which were never dealt with.
It all came to a head a few year back.

Opened up. Saw my gp.
Informed my work who were fantastic and put me through some intense CBT and other counselling.

Funny thing was for the first 3 month of counselling i still thought everything i did/thought was perfectly normal.

One of the ways things manifest itself with me is i have OCD in certain situations.
My first counselling session. I re rearranged this poor womans wall pictures to get them straight and re routed her wiring for the plugs etc..... Couldn't xxxxxxing write it. Perfectly normal.

Finished with the counselling 18 month back.
Still have some odd behaviour and thoughts at times but i have strategies to deal with them now.

Bizarrely though...
I am a qualified mental health first aider.....

So it goes to show even though you know what you should be doing, doesn't mean you can do it.
Glad you're feeling better now Neil......just goes to show that everybody has a story to tell.

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Re: How are you feeling ?

Post by XTreme » Thu Oct 15, 2020 7:34 pm

One thing I want to add......I didn't reference it in my original post cos I'd go on too long.

But every day I live under the cloud of not knowing whether my 3 oldest sons from my first marriage (43, 41, 39) are alive or dead. And I have done for 16 years! Those of you who are parents let that sink in!

They all went off the rails in different ways (the eldest one who I brought up as a single parent got into drugs for example)......they all left South Wales, and now they could be anywhere.

Once a week, every week, I scan UK online death notices to see if they show up. My stomach is in my mouth as I do it.....and even though nothing showing up isn't conclusive evidence that they're still alive, I still breathe a sigh of relief.

In earlier years I was trying to find somebody in DSS who could run searches.......but I couldn't get anybody who'd take the risk. Now it's been so long I wonder whether I'd be able to handle the answers that I might get back. A case of damned if I do, damned if I don't.

But I can't shy away from reality.....I have to face it head on and deal with it. So if anybody has connections like Police, DSS, DWP etc and you think you can run a search without incriminating yourself then I can give you full names and DOB's for them.

The irony to all this is that I got a letter from the Red Cross forwarded to me via DWP about 4 years ago. My first wife was also desperately trying to find them.....I suspect it was because she may have been seriously ill and time was running out for her.

I didn't reply......after all I don't know anything. And that's the way she wanted it......to spite me by distancing me from the kids! So she tries to get a message to me to find their whereabouts when she's the one who created that situation in the first place. She tried to take me down but ended up taking herself down!

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Re: How are you feeling ?

Post by fastbob » Thu Oct 15, 2020 7:40 pm

I've spent ten minutes trying to write something meaningful about what has emerged here but I'm stuck for words . Heartfelt thanks to everyone who has contributed so far . I'll be reading this stuff for a long time . I hope that others among us are getting something out of this . For me it feels like the mirror has been broken and I'm looking outwards instead of inwards .

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Re: How are you feeling ?

Post by XTreme » Thu Oct 15, 2020 7:53 pm

fastbob wrote:
Thu Oct 15, 2020 7:40 pm
I've spent ten minutes trying to write something meaningful about what has emerged here but I'm stuck for words . Heartfelt thanks to everyone who has contributed so far . I'll be reading this stuff for a long time . I hope that others among us are getting something out of this . For me it feels like the mirror has been broken and I'm looking outwards instead of inwards .
Good to hear it Bob......the thing is, everybody has a story to tell.

And that story will read like chapters in a book building up to how they're dealing with life at this present time.

And as you know, we've never lived through times like these before. Because it's not just our own demons that we face.......it's all the other things happening around us that we have no control over.

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Re: How are you feeling ?

Post by NeilM » Thu Oct 15, 2020 8:05 pm

One of the things i struggle with is this:
Do other people know i have issues?
Is it obvious?
Etc etc.

Just symptoms of a little paranoia but can become quite debilitating at times.

But then you hide it for years. Which ofcourse makes it worse.
Since being relatively open about it (i certainly don't shout it from the rooftops) i have found it so much easier.

On another serious note.
If anyone does wish to talk. Im not difficult to get hold of and are more than willing to help in any way.

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