2018; it was what it was

I've tried to start this post numerous times at this point but I'm rusty and emotional but I feel the urge to do it as I need to sign off on 2018 and move on.

I started the year like any other year with the usual "new year, new me" bull. I was going to go to the gym more, I was going to quit vaping, I was going to drink less, I was stop giving Pizza Dog a huge chunk of my salary... But in the space of a 90 second phone call all my plans meant nothing.

My dad passed away on January 12th. That's a sentence I find hard to say. I have to keep repeating it to myself to make it real... And yet, I'm not sure it ever will be.

He wasn't sick. He was only 52. He had plans for the future.

It didn't make sense and it still doesn't.

Due to circumstances, I grew up with my grandparents but my dad was a constant. He was in the US Air Force and so travelled a lot but the Saturday phone calls were a highlight. And every Christmas, my brothers and I would wait at the dining room window to wait for him to come home. Christmas was the one time of year where I was guaranteed to see him. To me, he was Santa.

Dad was clever, funny, kind, generous, loving, and always there. He may not have been great for the "emotional rub down" (as he put it) but he was there and would listen. I want to write more about him but I can't find the right words. I'm not sure I could ever encapsulate just how amazing he was and how much he meant to me.

My dad was my hero. I long for the day where I can allow myself to think enough to feel the ghost of his protective arm around my shoulders.

In March, my beloved Grandpa passed away. Not many people get the chance to know their grandparents in the way I did and I'm so grateful I got to spend as much time as I did with them.

My Grandpa was a massive influence on my life. The only person in my whole life who could really get my temper to kick off. He would wind me up and then sit back smiling when I would go on my rampage (we lived in the middle of nowhere so it really was a case of finding fun wherever you
could!).

He idolised my grandmother and my fondest memories are watching the Rose of Tralee with him and him changing the name "Mary" to "Bridie" and giving me a cheeky grin afterwards.

Such tiny moments in time that bring me such needed joy now.

You know when you're a kid and your parents are telling you to turn off the TV or to go to bed and all you can say is "Just 5 more minutes!"? That's how I feel. Just five more minutes to say what I wish I had said. Just 300 seconds to immerse myself in them, fully breathe in their scents so I don't forget, get the music of their voices stuck in my head so that I never forget their melody, wrap myself in the protection of their arms so tightly that my body will remember even when my mind doesn't.

Five more minutes.

But as my dad always sang at me "You can't always get what you want". Infuriatingly true.

I am lucky though. I have a wonderful mother in Julie, a beautiful family, and a circle of friends who bring me back to life even in my darkest moments.

I spent most of this year trying not to feel. All of the emotions filed away to only be looked at another day; another day which I'd hoped would never come.

I thought I was doing a good job of it. Fully immersing myself in the safety of work, I was fine... Until I wasn't.

I took part in the Dublin marathon for the 3rd time this year and I thought this would be the chance to
let the filing cabinet burst open. The previous two times I did the marathon, everything I had gone through came out and I cried and the relief... Oh the relief. This year, however, I crossed that line listening to the Rocky soundtrack (my dad trained for the Air Force to this) holding my dad's dog tags and I felt... nothing. I was numb. There was no moment of joy at having beaten my previous times, there was no crying, there was no relief.

I got home and that's when I broke.

Sitting in a bath, I broke and cried out everything I had been keeping it (this image is either extremely poetic or extremely pathetic...).

I couldn't fight it anymore. I was too tired to fight it. I went to therapy and, for the first time, I was honest about everything. I opened up for real and let it all out; getting out of bed is difficult, I can't find my joy, the dark thoughts... everything.

I was signed off work for two weeks by my doctor and I have never felt so weak. I am great with mental health when it comes to other people but me? Depressed? Never!

Not being able to get out of bed is just being lazy. Breaking down crying is just being dramatic. Not wanting to see people is just being selfish. Cancelling things that have been committed to is the worst thing a person can do. Taking time off work means any effort put in to rise up was all for nothing.

Yeah. All of the things you would never say to anyone else if they were going through it.

Before I hit this particular bottom of the barrel, I did something without thinking. I had gone for a run and while I was in the shower afterwards I realised just how much I miss the stage. I got out of the shower and booked a venue before I could talk myself out of it.

So there was I was, signed off work for two weeks, stressed about everything and anything, and I had added this other thing to worry about.  But it wasn't worrying me as much as I thought it would. The stress of the stage is exhilarating. I realised that this was giving me my life back.

I had always wanted to be a performer but I was constantly being told that I needed to have a "back up" plan. Well, you know what? I've been living the back up plan without ever even have tried the original plan.

On the 27th of November, I performed my one woman stand up show. I was terrified and nervous. I've never done stand up before and improv is not one of my strong points but I did it. People laughed. People didn't leave (even though I went way over my original estimate of 90 mins). It was one of the greatest experiences of my whole life.

I forgot about everything. Nothing mattered except the warmth of the stage and, I may be grossly
overestimating how the show went, but I'm not done. I'm squishing down the fears and putting myself out there. I refuse to simply exist, I am going to live.

2018 has been the biggest test I have ever had to endure. I'm ready to put it in a box and move forward.

I miss my father and my grandfather more and more every day and that will never change but what I need to do now is be grateful to them. They will live on in my memories and someday I'll be able to think back on them and smile rather than be consumed by pain.

2019 will be my year of doing what makes me feel like me... And figuring out who that me is (which should probably be the first thing I do). Small steps to bigger, better things.

So 2018, I'm ready to wave you off because, fuck me, you have been a shit! But you have taught me that I have the strength to keep getting back up even when I think I can't.

Unfinished

The below was written at least 9 years ago and was something I'd always wanted to work on and develop but unfortunately it wasn't meant to be.

(I have not proof-read this and therefore the typos are the fault of a past me so blame her if the grammar offends you)

*********

The hot glare of the bright sun woke John. Squinting in the light he felt his way to his jeans, trying not to open his eyes too wide as then the hangover would hit him. He sat on the edge of his bed holding his head in his hands. Christ, he thought, what the hell did I do last night?

He tried hard to get the memories to come back to him. He had been at work, left promptly at half five and wandered aimlessly around some shops. He remembered thinking ‘I’ll just go for one quick pint’ and that’s where it all seemed to stop.

He was used to taking drug after drug and never suffering any kind of memory loss. While he couldn’t be too sure, coke was the only thing he had taken that night. It was all he had on him when he had been at work.

It had been a tough day with call after call coming in. It seemed like every computer had conspired against him to break down. A virus.

One of the temps had been stupid enough to click on an offer for free porn and so had downloaded a worm that had infected the entire network. He had spent the best part of the day on the phone telling people that ‘Yes, I am aware of the problem’ and ‘Yes, we all should be back online by the evening’. This didn’t seem good enough for the managing director so John just put the phone down on his desk for the five minutes the shouting went on. Half five came and John did not care if the computers were back online or not. He was getting out of there.

He took a few deep breaths while massaging his temples. Slowly building the pressure on the outside of his skull in a vain attempt to avoid the climax of his hangover. There was movement from behind him and he couldn’t help but jump up.

Now that his eyes were open he realised he wasn’t in his apartment like he had assumed. The room was unfamiliar and feminine. Shit, was the only word that came to John’s mind.

‘Hey’ came a lazy greeting. John took a sharp intake of breath and turned to face his bedfellow.

She smiled at him and he couldn’t help be grateful that she was pretty with bright green eyes and dark brown hair. The blanket was wrapped around her and so he couldn’t examine that body that had been his the night before.

‘Hi,’ he replied, blushing at the fact that he could not remember her name.

Still smiling she beckoned him to come back to bed. He stood rooted to the spot, not quite knowing what was the right thing to do. Should he ignore the fact that he has no idea who this girl is and hop back into bed with her? Am I that much of a prick, he thought. Or should he cut his losses and run, making up some lame excuse of having to work? It’s Saturday – damn, he thought.

John ignored his conscience and his hangover and pulled off his jeans. She smiled once more at him and turned her back. He couldn’t help but admire the sexy curve of her, the toned muscles of her back. The way her hair was swept across the pillow leaving her neck bare and vulnerable. If he had ever really thought about leaving, he had definitely changed his mind.

**************

What have I done? She manoeuvred herself into the crook of his arm. He felt oddly uncomfortable with this and wished he had left when the option had been there, if it ever really was. The feel of her soft, warm skin seemed to repel him, pushing him more and more towards the door. He eyed it longingly.

How do I subtly ask her what her name is? I should have admitted just admitted I couldn’t remember anything. Not how I met her, not where I met her, nothing. Ideas of what he could have done flew through him but it was too late for that now. The current problem was how to get the hell out of there before he got any deeper

It wasn’t that it hadn’t been fantastic but there was too much of the previous night missing for him to really let himself go and immerse release himself in her. He held the bridge of his nose in deep thought trying to coax back images. Some sort of signal that would enable him to piece together the puzzle. She began stoking his thigh.

“What are you thinking about?” she whispered, each word tickling his ear. John sighed but couldn’t reply. She didn’t stop stroking him.

“Well?” she asked, her mouth moving tantalisingly closer to his. Her breath sweet and fresh, her words soft and caring, her body pressing closer to him, her grip on his thigh getting tighter.

John realised he couldn’t do this. He opened his eyes and looked directly into hers. They were bright and shining with lust. He knew what he had to do.

“Good-bye”

It was all he could say. He pulled away from her and got out of the bed. He didn’t dare look at her again. He grabbed his clothes and threw them on. Inside-out, back-to-front, he didn’t care. It was how he felt at this moment in time.

She wasn’t saying anything. The silence was deafening. Internally he shuddered.

Be a prick, be a prick.

He threw a half-glance back at her, never meeting her eyes. “Thanks.”

The last thing John heard as he walked out the door was “Go fuck yourself”. He head drooped. The venom and hurt in her words stung him. It was what he wanted. It was what he had deserved.

The closeness was too close. He didn’t know her but he could tell that she knew him. He had no idea what he had told her or what they had shared. It was a moment lost in time, never to be found.

John shoved his hand in his pocket, probing, searching for it. He felt the tip of the plastic and gently pulled it out. Coke. Coke would give him the clarity he ached for. He nervously waited for the elevator, shuffling his weight from one foot to the other, wanting his moment of privacy. As the elevator opened, he stepped in and pulled a coin from his pocket. He flicked it over and over again begging the doors to close.

The sight of the tiny pile of white powder made him feel better. His heart was thumping in his chest. His blood was rushing through his veins in anticipation. He held the coin to his nose and took a deep breath in. He couldn’t help but release a gasp of happiness with the feeling of it already working. Tidying his nose, he pressed the ground floor button.

********

Jim peeled his face from the edge of the leather couch. ‘Fuck’, he groaned wiping the sleep from his eyes. He could still taste the remainder if the kebab in his mouth. He had known it was going to be bad idea but he just needed something that wasn’t cider in his system.

He always forgot after a few pints how bad it was to bring hash into the mix. The way the paper would shake in his hand. How he would drop most of his weed and tobacco when trying to roll it. He would watch the money he had spent on it fall to the ground. Jim never bothered trying to pick it up, being far too vain to look that desperate.

It was always worth it for that first smell of the joint as you lit it, to feel that first wave of magic sift through your lungs and to finally feel relaxation like you’d never known it before.Jim’s throat ached as he remembered the burning from the night before. The cider had had all the wrong effects on him. He would never blame his hash. It had to have been the cider.

Bleary-eyed he looked around his sitting room. Nothing seemed too out of place. There was a load of dried out tobacco on his sitting room table. Two cans by the couch. One must have been knocked in the middle of the night and was somehow balanced at a forty-five degree angle threatening to spill at any moment. Impressive, thought Jim feeling oddly triumphant.

The remainder of his kebab lay on the kitchen counter, looking more like a mangled animal than it probably had when the Turks got to it. Nothing was broken. Everything seemed to be in order but best of all it seemed as though no one had come back with him.

He slumped back against the back of the couch and closed his eyes, trying to think about why he had gone out in the first place.He had called in sick that morning. He and Lisa had had a vicious argument the night before. He couldn’t be too sure what it was about. He never knew what it was about. Oftentimes he would come home and she would be waiting for him, snarling and ready to pounce. But this time she had left.Something about there being no direction, evolution or promise.

Jim smiled to himself.‘Evolution!’ he laughed out loud to the empty flat. She’d been reading Charles Darwin and some self-help books and decided that relationship and the theory of survival of the fittest were related. Thus she came up with the crazy theory that Jim was in the relationship for convenience.

If this is what convenient is, I want my money back, he thought ruefully.He scratched the top of his head hard and flattened out his hair. That was it, the argument had happened. She stormed out to go back to her mothers and he lit a spliff. His phone had rang and rang and rang. Jim didn’t bother to check it. He knew it was Lisa and that the second he answered the phone she would begin yet another argument with him but this time it would be the fact that he clearly wasn’t worried about her and where she was…

Damn women, he thought to himself. She had said that she was going to her mothers and so he assumed she would go there. ‘Never assume anything…’ he whispered to himself/

Water! Jim suddenly realized that his tongue felt like sandpaper scraping off the roof of his mouth. He heaved himself from the couch. It was a much greater effort than he had anticipated. Every muscle seemed to ache with each slight movement. It was like tiny razor blades scraping off his fibers more so than the dull ache of too much exercise.

He tried to ignore the pain and went to make his way to the sink. The smell hit him. At first, he thought it must be the kebab but then as he got closer and closer to the sink, the more rancid the odour became. He looked down and heaved.

Jim realized that he must have been even worse than usual last night and he was never more grateful that Lisa hadn’t been at home. The fight that would have followed this instance would be too much. The kebab had definitely been too much for his system to handle and he had emptied his gut on top of two day old dishes.

With a sigh, Jim reached out to turn the tap and that was when he noticed the gash along his arm. Blank. He couldn’t recall anything about it. He stared at the dried blood that decorated his arm and the flecks of deep scratches that ran from his wrist to his elbow.

‘Ah shit!’

He was going to have a tough time explaining this one. He had clearly gotten in a row. Jim knew he had let himself down. It had been years since he had let his twitch get out of hand and manifest itself into an all out rage. The last time he had ended up in hospital with a broken nose, two broken ribs and a fractured collar-bone and he’d swore until he was blue in the face to Lisa that it would never happen again. Just like he swore that he was off the smoke.

He let the hot water cascade over the plates and turned to walk towards the bathroom. If his arm was this bad, he had to see what happened to the rest of him. He shuffled down the dark hall, past his bedroom on the left, past the spare room on his right, past the hot press on his left, finally stopping at the bathroom. He took a deep breath and stepped into the light.

Jim placed both of his hands on the sink for support and looked up into the mirror and gasped.

His face was fine. Not one hint of a bruise or any kind of evidence that he had been in a fight. His brain was starting to hurt from trying to piece everything together. He looked from his arm to the mirror. None of this made sense.

********

John’s hangover was fading as quickly as the elevator went down. The miraculous white powder was doing its job well. He didn’t want to gain more of a dependency on the drug but in order to stop he would have to quit drinking and that was not a road he was willing to go down yet.

The elevator opened. John checked the floor number. Third. He was feeling twitchy. He wanted to go home and delve further into his memories of last night and try to piece together how it was he ended up in that girls apartment.

He winced slightly at the memory of what he had just done. He had been sure that he was gone past the fucking around days. He didn’t quite want to settle down but he was tiring of the scene. The awkward next mornings. The times when he had forgotten to give them a fake number and the texts flooded in for a week afterwards.

He used to find the female mentality fascinating in the way the messages would start on the first day (or the very rare day they’d wait until the second day so as not to seem too eager) as grateful for whatever ever it was he had done for them the night in question and as each message was ignored and each phone call was cancelled without being answered, they’d grow more and more venomous. It used to make him laugh. He’d share them with his friends. Pathetic little girls trying to bag ‘The One’. But right now laughing was the furthest thing from what he wanted to do.

He needed to get home, dissect the night, open a cool bottle straight from the fridge and bury his face in a mountain of coke.

‘Thank fuck for Saturdays’, John murmured to himself.

‘Excuse me?’

It was only then that John realised he had company in the elevator.

An elderly man had stepped in while John had been lost in thought. John smiled at the man and said ‘Don’t mind me, rough night last night’. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets so he wouldn’t be as obvious fiddling with his fingers and made a conscious effort not to be licking his gums.

The man simply returned John’s smile without saying a word.

The elevator seemed to grow suddenly hot. John could feel the beads of sweat gathering on the back of his neck. He refused to remove his hands from his pockets for fear he would tremble. He could feel the man’s eyes on him, examining him. Each wave of paranoia swept over him, drowning him in its tension. John bent his head to the left and then to the right. The crack resounded through the elevator. He was sure he could see the man jump from the corner of eye. He didn’t look directly at him for fear of scaring the man. He was pretty sure he looked dodgy. Finally the lift came to a grinding halt on the ground floor.

The elder of the two flew from the lift as fast as his cane would take him. John stalled to allow the man to make his exit. He didn’t want to speak to the man again either. He needed to get home but for not, he had to figure out where he was.