Hey...
So in the last post I talked about how I started at jitsu with some friends. How I loved it despite a couple embarrassing situations....How it gave me a bit of confidence and new friends.
......
Fast forward a few months...
.....
I've graded to yellow, the first belt after novice, or white belt. I've attempted a grading for orange, but failed. I think I may actually have tried more than once at that point. I tended to fail not so much on technique, but because I "didn't look scary enough". I was informed by the grading senseis that I looked "too calm" while performing throws. They joked that they couldn't tell whether or not they should be scared by that, but said that I had to show intent and a bit of aggressive spirit (it was suggested I "think 'KILL, MAIM, DESTROY!'") or I couldn't progress. I had to look like I meant what I was doing. This frustrated me as I obviously didn't want to actually hurt anyone. Plus, if the techniques were fine, wasn't that enough?
A few of the high school guys had stopped going; one because he simply couldn't relax enough to get the techniques down and was starting to be annoyed with it. He just could not be anything but tense it seemed.
Most of the others went gradually for varying reasons.
Then I did too.
I was taking a gap year between High School/Sixth Form and going to uni.
I had started working on the bar at a night club in the town centre. A pretty seedy, smelly, 'alternative/rock' basement bar that was famous for it's cheap Wednesday drink offers (at that time, 99 pence for a double measure of a low-quality spirit and mixer) and leaky ceiling. They would try and tell you the leak was from outside, but no one believed this as it was directly underneath the toilets upstairs. Further down into the club, the ceiling would drip with sweat from the crowded, unventilated dance-floor. The music was the same every week, and people (generally students, although there were a few older, regular patrons) went there to get absolutely smashed, pull, and wake up with no memory of how their clothes got to smelling so bad and why their pockets were full of 1p pieces.
It was fairly stupid as jobs go. I got it by asking drunkenly one night in there, and giving them my number to call me about it. About an hour or so later one of the managers came up with another bit of paper and a crayon or something and asked for it again as he'd already lost it. I was quite far into gin country by then and I wrote it with all the skill of a blind child holding the crayon in their mouth. I think I even got it wrong in bits and had to cross out and re-write numbers or put little arrows to show where they should actually go.
Somehow they still managed to call me a couple days later and told me I could start that week. I worked there for around 6 months, before being fired (caught in burger king when I should have been flyering). Another 6 months later, I was re-hired as promotional staff...before being fired again later that year (continual lateness).
The club only opened about three nights a week, and I wouldn't always have all three shifts. I would be working from about 8pm until 3 or 4am on the nights I did work, and staying to drink afterwards for an hour or so as well. This resulted in me becoming somewhat nocturnal, a sleeping pattern I would find hard to shift for years to come.
The wage was around £4-something an hour, the absolute minimum they could legally pay me. I heard it said they tended to fire people who got old enough to qualify for higher wages.
You would get paid after midnight on a Saturday, so if you weren't working or finished earlier than that you had to wait in the club til then to get paid. You would probably have a drink or two whilst waiting and so by the time they handed you a brown envelope with your cash in (generally around £30-60 for most people there) you'd be in the mood to just spend it on more drinks. So I made very little to no money there.
I also started drinking a lot at this point.
When I wasn't working, I was going out to the club anyway. I'd gotten to know a lot of the regulars and other staff - although I was always a little unsure, due to my social awkwardness and background levels of paranoia, that they actually liked me - and I enjoyed the night life, as seedy and cheesy as it all was.
When I was working, I was enduring the horrors of watching people getting that drunk and misbehaving by getting myself drunk, sneakily.
When the club wasn't open at all, the other staff and I would generally get together somewhere else and drink or smoke weed. Or both. Both was good.
I started to lose focus on jitsu, and generally everything else. I think the 'official reason' I had for stopping going was that I'd had a new lip piercing and wanted it to heal properly before I could take it out for training. But a few missed sessions turned into many, with priority increasingly being given to nights out drinking, and before I knew it I was no longer bothered about going back at all save for a nagging feeling now and then that I missed it.
I also had started a weird chain of getting boyfriends, losing them, and gaining new ones in quick succession. About half the time, they 'overlapped' slightly. I was getting a lot of male attention suddenly, and wanted to enjoy it without hurting people, but my sketchy self-esteem and need for people to like me led me to some pretty poor choices...
I managed to stay in one relationship for around 9 months, which was at that time about the longest I'd ever been with anyone.
It was nice really, although I spent about 6 of those 9 months virtually living at his house, smoking weed most of the day, nearly every single day, and watching a lot of daytime TV. I particularly enjoyed Countdown, Crystal Maze and Takeshi's Castle.
It was a good time, and the guy was incredibly sweet, if a bit prone to inertia; doing little but smoking and gaming. It much later came to my attention this was probably due to his own depressive tendencies.
I don't know exactly how, but the sexual energy kind of fizzled out of the relationship. Maybe it was all the weed we smoked and the fact we generally went to bed pretty late at night / early in the morning after sitting up all night watching stuff on TV. I remember feeling quite awkward some nights as I'd be really stoned, tired and not quite know if I ought, or wanted to instigate something, or not, so I'd just be laying there...kinda waiting and over-thinking it...with him possibly doing the same. I could have just made a move, but I didn't. I just froze there, frustrated. The more times that happened the harder it became to overcome it.
I didn't really know how to communicate about these things then, so for the most part I just didn't. Occasionally I would blurt something out during the next day and then feel weird about it.
The relationship ended when I cheated on him.
I was still going and hanging out with the guys from the club occasionally and we'd still get pretty drunk and messy together. There was a guy there who was very into me, and had made it abundantly clear before, and often. He was a bit sleazy, cheesy and sarcastic, really. I found it humorous enough, though I usually rejected his advances.
He persisted though, and began actually breaking through my defence at a party where we were all particularly pissed up, and I had been pierced by the club's DJ, through the septum (centre of the nose). Both he [the DJ] and I were drunk and so the piercing came out a little wonky (Note: He *did* use clean, new piercing needles). Said DJ also molested most of the contents of the hosts fridge, by putting it down his pants and then back in the fridge, breaking or eating the eggs raw etc...
Anyway...
I had decided in all my wisdom to inform my boyfriend of my new facial bling by ringing him right then, somewhat still bleeding, and definitely still drunk. His reaction was pretty bad. More because of where the piercing was than that I had got it drunk and at a party. He apparently hated the way those particular piercings looked. I tried pointing out that I could get a 'retainer' for it so it wouldn't be outwardly visible, but apparently there were all kinds of other negatives I wouldn't be able to counter, like it making noises when I slept (?) and it ''just being there'' being enough to make me less attractive.
It made me pretty sad. I didn't get why I couldn't do what I wanted with my own face, or why it would have so harsh an impact on how someone, particularly one who was supposed to love me, saw me.
When this guy at the party came onto me again, later on, I was in a weird, vulnerable mood. I needed validation for what I'd done. I needed to know I was still attractive and hadn't 'ruined my face'. He told me he thought it was awesome and if anything, made me look better. He probably would have said anything I suppose.
I told him I didn't want to cheat on my boyfriend, but that he seemed nice and maybe I'd have liked to do something if I was single...I felt weird and guilty for even just this, immediately after, but it planted thoughts in my mind that started to grow...
I can't remember when it eventually started up or how (so I imagine it was one of many drunk nights in the club)...but we ended up seeing each other. It was exciting I guess..something new and energetic after months of fairly motionless relations. But it was tinged with this deep sadness and a kind of panicky fear; knowing I was doing something wrong and potentially hurting someone. I couldn't stop though. Right up until everything had come out and exploded, when I decided I couldn't cope with the mess and the guilt and hadn't really wanted it in the first place.
The whole thing left me feeling horrible, unsurprisingly; I'd hurt people I cared for and I'd gotten myself a rep as some kind of easy, flaky wench. Which, to be fair, at that time, I apparently was. I didn't really know how to go about getting through the situation, or setting anything right. Even though my now ex-boyfriend proclaimed he would be willing to try if I was truly repentant and wanted to, I couldn't bring myself to.
I'd also not be able to go around to the house I'd been camped in for the last 6 months for some time. I had lost my smoking buddies, and my drinking buddies weren't that impressed either since I'd decided not to make anything substantial of the affair with their friend either.
I was more or less alone again suddenly, and it was all my fault. My head, and my life, were a mess.
....
Time passes...
...Wounds heal...though they scar slightly...
...
...things calmed a little, people got over the hurt enough to try and be friends again.
I moved in with a girl I had met at the stoners house, who was colourful, a little crazy and a massive stoner to boot but was very kind and fun to know and live with.
This girl suffered depressive issues too, brought on by tumultuous relationships of her own, and the stress of doing a dissertation. She seemed pretty highly strung at times. I ended up staying at the house rather than head to uni on the train (I was going to one outside of Cardiff) to either smoke with her or generally keep her company so she didn't freak out. Also, by this point, I was as much a stoner as anyone else and was pretty lazy with it. I didn't end up passing my first year (except for one module on Shakespeare which I got 74% in). I didn't pass my second attempt at first year either, and it was politely suggested I not return again for a third try. I took the suggestion.
Years passed in a haze of weed smoke, booze...and other chemicals. Going out to raves gradually became a thing I did not just occasionally but as often as I could, sometimes without actually being in the mood to even go, or in places I didn't feel safe or welcome.
There were more crappy bar jobs (working for Wetherspoons was quite literally soul-destroying) and up and down relationships with people. I screwed up most of them in similar patterns to the earlier ones. One of these break-ups hit me particularly hard and affected me for years after, in fact even recently it has still had damaging affects for both of us. That is another long story, for another time, though.
I lived in several different houses, moving each year into seemingly damper and shittier conditions. Nearly always with at least a couple crazy/depressed/manic people. And nearly always with mental neighbours. I'll have to write a post sometime about all the weird folk I've lived with... Some of them were helpful, some of them made my conditions worse.
From time to time I would talk about jitsu, how I used to do it and that I would have liked to start again. Now and then I would even bump into one of my friends who used to go, who it turned out still did - the only surviving member of our high school gang of ninjas.
One time I actually got it together to pack some stuff into a bag (either joggers or my actual gi, which I had kept the whole time) and go to the bus stop, ready as if to go to jitsu and check it out again. But something held me back and in the end I turned around and walked home again... It was like I needed to be taken by the hand and led there. I was sort of scared I wouldn't know anyone any more (even though, as I said, I kept occasionally finding out one of my friends still went). I wouldn't know the teachers, who were all different to the ones I had before. I would be really rusty at it, which I felt would embarrass me (if they asked me to do something someone of my belt should be able to, and I couldn't remember how). Also I was aware of how out of shape I had become; although my frame remained small and slim, I had virtually no stamina and smokers lungs. I hated running, stairs, and any kind of sport.
I also managed to physically injure myself quite badly some-when during this time. I was trying to do a jump and jitsu-roll over a bunch of people on the grass outside city hall. Obviously, I was very, very drunk.
I had insisted they all crouch down so I could do it. I think I may have managed one roll, or fluffed it a little perhaps, but I'm pretty sure it was the second attempt on which I sailed over and instead of rolling along my arm as you're supposed to, going straight down onto my collarbone.
There was an audible crack and a pure metric fuck-tonne of pain. I suddenly couldn't move my arm much at all. It hung useless, flopping around like someone had just stapled it onto me. I remember my equally drunk stoner friends bundling me into a taxi or something and taking me back to theirs, where I smoked a huge spliff, puked, and then slept badly on their sofa.
Despite the advice of pretty much All My Friends, and the fact that I still could not raise my arm properly, I refused to go to the hospital. I didn't even go to my doctors for around a month. I was determined it would 'get better on its own' and had some weird idea about not having to be in a cast before we went on our planned trip to Amsterdam (there are photos of me from that trip where you can still see some of the Huge multi-tonal bruise that came up slowly over my entire shoulder, some of my back and all the way down to my elbow).
I can't remember but I assume I did not have a job at this point, as I would have been bloody useless at it. I was getting dressed in the mornings by using my right hand to pick up my left arm and put it on a higher surface so I could pull clothes over it, since I couldn't lift it on its own.
Eventually, as it became increasingly evident I really had done something bad to myself, I went and saw my GP. I told them I didn't need an emergency appointment, thanks, because after all, what was another week now?
The doctor was fairly shocked to say the least when he worked out what I'd done and that I'd just ignored it for a month. He sent me for x-rays and they confirmed that yes, I'd broken my collarbone and yes, because I had left it so long, it was healing on its own. In slightly the wrong place. Not wrong enough to re-break and set though...
So...that's something I would just have to deal with.
I asked how long they thought I would be out of action for, in terms of work or contact sport. I still entertained the thought, occasionally, that I would go back to jitsu, soon.
They told me it would be a good few months before I could consider that, and that I should come back and get more x-rays later to check it was doing OK.
I didn't go to the second set of x-rays. I think I'd basically decided they'd already told me all I needed to know....
...
All in all...there was about a five year gap between me going to jitsu the first time, and coming back...
In that time my depression ebbed and flowed around circumstantial issues; some I've mentioned, some I may write about later. Occasionally it was bad enough that I felt suicidal. Sometimes it went away for long enough I thought I was getting better. There were times when I felt I'd actually gone crazy, times that I was terrified by the sheer depth a human being can sink into the darkness inside themselves and lose the outside world. Sometimes it was the outside world that terrified me.
My social handicaps were equally strong. I was intensely paranoid that people didn't actually like me, or that at any moment I might be rendered friendless by some stupid action or word out of place on my part.
I worried about money, and my jobs and how I was going to get out of them and into something better when I had no real qualifications after some fairly poor A level results, and no experience in anything but bar work. It upset me that I'd given up on uni, after failing.
Any decision I actually made, I would start going back on almost straight away.
My friends, some of whom were also experiencing issues of their own, worried me. I wanted to help but wasn't much use in terms of advice, since I wasn't much of a good role model. In some cases, helping out got me burned when people took advantage, or were beyond my help and I seemed to make things worse.
I worried about my lack of any 'real' skills, but couldn't stick at any activity I tried. I would either lose interest or feel too inadequate at it to continue. Sometimes I would literally just forget I was supposed to be doing things, because I was so very stoned much of the time. I worried about this too, about my drug use and drinking, but couldn't seem to stop it even after a few scary nights where I ran off or tried to put myself into danger (drink-fuelled cries for help via half-hearted suicidal activity) or flipped out at friends.
I worried about huge things too. Things like the fact that humans live inside cities instead of in fields. The government being shit. People being poor. The ice caps melting. The apparent impending apocalypse...I started following conspiracy theories and being intensely paranoid about those things too. I still am convinced, in some cases, but have learnt to keep that as a background-level concern, not an overwhelming, panic-attack inducing phobia that affects me any time I have a couple of pints and my brain eases off the brakes a little...
People tried to snap me out of it, when it came on badly, but nothing seemed to work for very long...
Sunday, 3 November 2013
Tuesday, 29 October 2013
Jitsu v.s Depression (or A Really Long Story) - Part 1
Hey...
This week I have been...
...Knee'd in the face...
...dropped on my back...
...put into arm-locks...
....thrown around...
But I feel fine about it...
Why?
Because it's Jitsu!
I started at Jiu-Jitsu when I was in the final years of High School. I was 17 at the time, and some friends had just started, or planned to start there. These were friends who were far geekier than me, and seemingly about as fit (read: un-fit). They played Dungeons and Dragons and were not prone to sudden bouts of concentrated exercise as far as I knew. I felt if they wanted to do it, then I probably could and it would be fun hanging out with them outside of school anyway. It sounded cool anyway (what martial art doesn't to a teenager?) and given that I was (and still am) of a pretty small build, it seemed like something that I might find useful as well.
If I remember right, there were about 5 or 6 of us starting at the same time. If the guys hadn't started with me, I probably wouldn't have had the nerve to go down there (plus I would never have heard of it). I was pretty painfully shy of new things and people in those days.
It was strange, at first. They wanted us to roll around a lot and practice falling over a certain way. The first moves we learnt seemed awkward and peculiar and there was a strong sense that we looked silly doing it. It was odd getting that up-and-close with new people and physically moving them around. It was kind of like a weird dance class where people occasionally ended up on the floor.
By the end of the first session though, we were all pumped up and excited for next time. We had learnt at least one, if not two basic throws and an arm/wrist lock as well as the rolling and falling. We were sure we could master the art in no time.
We would be ninjas. Mighty black-belt ninjas! And we would roll around sorting out crime and living out a crazy teenage-fantasy-life.
(Later I learnt that jitsu was actually practised by samurai, not ninjas, but you know what we meant).
More sessions followed...about twice a week, when we could make it (which was most of the time, to be fair; I didn't do much else after school).
I could never remember the more technical arm and wrist locks, I would get confused and just stand there, frozen, or keep doing the one I could remember no matter which they were asking me to demonstrate.
The throws I really enjoyed though, both performing them on others and being thrown myself. There was something quite fun about flying through the air for a few seconds before hitting the floor and bouncing straight back up to go again (the falling techniques or 'break-falling', take the impact out of hitting the floor mats, so you don't get hurt).
It was still hard for me, for a long while, to try and punch people so they could perform the throw on me. I didn't want to actually hurt anyone, so I would punch weakly or aim away from their face. Eventually though, you learn that a good attack is more realistic, and that the person defending ('tori') can get a much better technique out of it if the attacker ('uki') gives it their all, as there's more momentum.
Eventually we were introduced to something called 'ground-fighting' as well. This is when the fight has wound up on the ground, and you're trying to pin each other down with certain moves. At later levels (higher 'grades', or belts), you are allowed to do things like arm-locks and choke-holds as well, but they try not to let novices break each other too early on...
The ground-fighting was immensely fun. The kind of wrestling shenanigans I would sometimes get up to with friends when we were drinking or just being rowdy. Only they were training me to be good at it.
My 18th birthday rolled around at the same time as a national event, in Birmingham, which meant I was able to go. I was still only a white belt (beginner) but I was excited to go and so were the guys. By then we were pretty well into the group at jitsu, who were all really genuine, fun-loving and open people. The senseis (teachers - brown and black belts) were friendly too; they didn't distance themselves from us at all (apart from it being perfectly obvious they could have folded us up like 'human origami' - a term my current sensei has actually used - if they'd wanted to).
It was a huge event, with people coming from all over the U.K to train and compete. Even though the numbers there would have normally over-whelmed me, I felt confident and secure in my new found group and hobby. I felt powerful even though I was surrounded by people better at it than me.
The competition I was able to enter, as a novice, was ground-fighting. I would fight against other girls, of the same belt and weight category as me, starting sat back to back then wheeling round and trying to pin them down or make them give up and tap out before they can do it to me.
One of my friends guessed my weight for me when I was being entered...I ended up in the catagory above the one I should have been in. I would be fighting girls heavier than me.
Luckily, none of them were that heavy and I only had to fight 3 people in the end.
The first fight I had, I used a sneaky technique I had been shown by one of my senseis...as you turn round to face them, bring your elbow up in front of you. You have a 50/50 chance they'll turn the same way as you and bang into it...
The girl did.
I didn't notice until the end of the fight, when she smiled at me, that her mouth was full of blood where I'd banged it with my fairly bony elbow.
The next fight was against her mate.
She was less willing to let it go than the smiley girl.
It was more of a struggle than the first fight, but I beat her too.
That night, out drinking, I felt invincible. It was my birthday and I had beaten two people in combat. The finals were the next day, when I would compete for gold. Even if I lost, I would have a silver medal, though I was confident of my abilities.
We got very drunk.
One of my mates was sick after falling asleep on the sofas in the club.
I remember eating The Best Burrito from some dodgy van parked on the street, which seemed to be staffed entirely by attractive yet chavy women.
I drank lots of cocktails, and eventually went to sleep at the hotel...probably sometime in the early morning.
Sadly for me, I had not yet gotten good at drinking like that and functioning the next day.
I woke up incredibly hungover.
I'm fairly sure I missed or didn't feel like eating much breakfast.
What's more...I had PMS. Not a good combo for a fighting champion.
I had to train for what was probably about 3 or 4 hours (though it felt like forever) before the actual competition. The rules are generally that if you don't turn up to the training, you shouldn't compete.
There were only about half as many people on the mats that day. Anyone not competing, who had been out drinking, had obviously decided to sleep it off a bit before coming in.
Once we started training, I didn't think I could leave the mat. Not only because of the etiquette, I literally didn't know which way I would have to run to get off. The room was spinning so much I couldn't tell. I decided I would just have to hang on as best as I could, being thrown and throwing 'til I was pretty much ready to fall down and die. If I actually threw up, I was sure someone would help me off at least.
(Note: Apparently the accepted thing to do if you can not get off the mat in time, is actually to throw up inside your gi top, to prevent it getting on the mats/stopping training. I am thankful this has never actually had to happen).
Then the fight.
I tried.
Honest.
A bit, anyway.
But she got me into a hold and I couldn't muster the energy or vigour to escape it. I remember saying quietly "you got me" and just going limp and waiting for the count.
Silver is still a good medal.
My group still rallied round me and were impressed enough I felt I hadn't really lost out on much.
When I got out and went and got changed, I realised I had a small, but noticeable enough, bright red stain on my white gi trousers. Obviously, despite their adverts to the contrary, sanitary towels do not actually stand up to the test of strenuous exercise. I was fucking mortified. Everyone had been watching me fight, and had probably noticed it. No one had mentioned though, so I couldn't really be sure. Perhaps the long gi top had been enough to cover it. I said nothing and just felt incredibly embarrassed as well as worn out and queasy.
I was still pleased with my medal though, and sure that if I hadn't been dying of a milestone-birthday hangover, I would have won...
This week I have been...
...Knee'd in the face...
...dropped on my back...
...put into arm-locks...
....thrown around...
But I feel fine about it...
Why?
Because it's Jitsu!
I started at Jiu-Jitsu when I was in the final years of High School. I was 17 at the time, and some friends had just started, or planned to start there. These were friends who were far geekier than me, and seemingly about as fit (read: un-fit). They played Dungeons and Dragons and were not prone to sudden bouts of concentrated exercise as far as I knew. I felt if they wanted to do it, then I probably could and it would be fun hanging out with them outside of school anyway. It sounded cool anyway (what martial art doesn't to a teenager?) and given that I was (and still am) of a pretty small build, it seemed like something that I might find useful as well.
If I remember right, there were about 5 or 6 of us starting at the same time. If the guys hadn't started with me, I probably wouldn't have had the nerve to go down there (plus I would never have heard of it). I was pretty painfully shy of new things and people in those days.
It was strange, at first. They wanted us to roll around a lot and practice falling over a certain way. The first moves we learnt seemed awkward and peculiar and there was a strong sense that we looked silly doing it. It was odd getting that up-and-close with new people and physically moving them around. It was kind of like a weird dance class where people occasionally ended up on the floor.
By the end of the first session though, we were all pumped up and excited for next time. We had learnt at least one, if not two basic throws and an arm/wrist lock as well as the rolling and falling. We were sure we could master the art in no time.
We would be ninjas. Mighty black-belt ninjas! And we would roll around sorting out crime and living out a crazy teenage-fantasy-life.
(Later I learnt that jitsu was actually practised by samurai, not ninjas, but you know what we meant).
More sessions followed...about twice a week, when we could make it (which was most of the time, to be fair; I didn't do much else after school).
I could never remember the more technical arm and wrist locks, I would get confused and just stand there, frozen, or keep doing the one I could remember no matter which they were asking me to demonstrate.
The throws I really enjoyed though, both performing them on others and being thrown myself. There was something quite fun about flying through the air for a few seconds before hitting the floor and bouncing straight back up to go again (the falling techniques or 'break-falling', take the impact out of hitting the floor mats, so you don't get hurt).
It was still hard for me, for a long while, to try and punch people so they could perform the throw on me. I didn't want to actually hurt anyone, so I would punch weakly or aim away from their face. Eventually though, you learn that a good attack is more realistic, and that the person defending ('tori') can get a much better technique out of it if the attacker ('uki') gives it their all, as there's more momentum.
Eventually we were introduced to something called 'ground-fighting' as well. This is when the fight has wound up on the ground, and you're trying to pin each other down with certain moves. At later levels (higher 'grades', or belts), you are allowed to do things like arm-locks and choke-holds as well, but they try not to let novices break each other too early on...
The ground-fighting was immensely fun. The kind of wrestling shenanigans I would sometimes get up to with friends when we were drinking or just being rowdy. Only they were training me to be good at it.
My 18th birthday rolled around at the same time as a national event, in Birmingham, which meant I was able to go. I was still only a white belt (beginner) but I was excited to go and so were the guys. By then we were pretty well into the group at jitsu, who were all really genuine, fun-loving and open people. The senseis (teachers - brown and black belts) were friendly too; they didn't distance themselves from us at all (apart from it being perfectly obvious they could have folded us up like 'human origami' - a term my current sensei has actually used - if they'd wanted to).
It was a huge event, with people coming from all over the U.K to train and compete. Even though the numbers there would have normally over-whelmed me, I felt confident and secure in my new found group and hobby. I felt powerful even though I was surrounded by people better at it than me.
The competition I was able to enter, as a novice, was ground-fighting. I would fight against other girls, of the same belt and weight category as me, starting sat back to back then wheeling round and trying to pin them down or make them give up and tap out before they can do it to me.
One of my friends guessed my weight for me when I was being entered...I ended up in the catagory above the one I should have been in. I would be fighting girls heavier than me.
Luckily, none of them were that heavy and I only had to fight 3 people in the end.
The first fight I had, I used a sneaky technique I had been shown by one of my senseis...as you turn round to face them, bring your elbow up in front of you. You have a 50/50 chance they'll turn the same way as you and bang into it...
The girl did.
I didn't notice until the end of the fight, when she smiled at me, that her mouth was full of blood where I'd banged it with my fairly bony elbow.
The next fight was against her mate.
She was less willing to let it go than the smiley girl.
It was more of a struggle than the first fight, but I beat her too.
That night, out drinking, I felt invincible. It was my birthday and I had beaten two people in combat. The finals were the next day, when I would compete for gold. Even if I lost, I would have a silver medal, though I was confident of my abilities.
We got very drunk.
One of my mates was sick after falling asleep on the sofas in the club.
I remember eating The Best Burrito from some dodgy van parked on the street, which seemed to be staffed entirely by attractive yet chavy women.
I drank lots of cocktails, and eventually went to sleep at the hotel...probably sometime in the early morning.
Sadly for me, I had not yet gotten good at drinking like that and functioning the next day.
I woke up incredibly hungover.
I'm fairly sure I missed or didn't feel like eating much breakfast.
What's more...I had PMS. Not a good combo for a fighting champion.
I had to train for what was probably about 3 or 4 hours (though it felt like forever) before the actual competition. The rules are generally that if you don't turn up to the training, you shouldn't compete.
There were only about half as many people on the mats that day. Anyone not competing, who had been out drinking, had obviously decided to sleep it off a bit before coming in.
Once we started training, I didn't think I could leave the mat. Not only because of the etiquette, I literally didn't know which way I would have to run to get off. The room was spinning so much I couldn't tell. I decided I would just have to hang on as best as I could, being thrown and throwing 'til I was pretty much ready to fall down and die. If I actually threw up, I was sure someone would help me off at least.
(Note: Apparently the accepted thing to do if you can not get off the mat in time, is actually to throw up inside your gi top, to prevent it getting on the mats/stopping training. I am thankful this has never actually had to happen).
Then the fight.
I tried.
Honest.
A bit, anyway.
But she got me into a hold and I couldn't muster the energy or vigour to escape it. I remember saying quietly "you got me" and just going limp and waiting for the count.
Silver is still a good medal.
My group still rallied round me and were impressed enough I felt I hadn't really lost out on much.
When I got out and went and got changed, I realised I had a small, but noticeable enough, bright red stain on my white gi trousers. Obviously, despite their adverts to the contrary, sanitary towels do not actually stand up to the test of strenuous exercise. I was fucking mortified. Everyone had been watching me fight, and had probably noticed it. No one had mentioned though, so I couldn't really be sure. Perhaps the long gi top had been enough to cover it. I said nothing and just felt incredibly embarrassed as well as worn out and queasy.
I was still pleased with my medal though, and sure that if I hadn't been dying of a milestone-birthday hangover, I would have won...
Monday, 28 October 2013
The Cynic Reviews 1
...What's that?
Time for something a bit lighter...
How about my review/interpretation of this music video, which a friend found recently...
Warning: Song is cheesey and contains tractor references.
That woman is so very 90's!
Also, she blatantly isn't carrying a 'basket fulla chicken' and 'a jug of ice tea'...she's carrying her sunglasses and her shoes. Because she wore her 6-inch stilettos into a field. I'm guessing she's just woken up there after being out all night. She doesn't know how it happened. She doesn't care; she's coming up again and she's just met a fuckin' cowboy.
She probably does think his tractor's sexy. She's loving everything right now, so it's hard to pin down what exactly...exactly...what were we talking about?
Yeah, she probably is always staring at him as he's 'chugging along'. Or the fractals leaking out of his Stetson. She's definitely staring at something.
Apparently unsure what to do with her, he drives her around for a while before taking her back to his barn for the night. I'm guessing they couldn't work out between them where she came from. They sit up talking with the radio on...no doubt by now she's stumbled onto a mystery baggy from last night in her pockets, and the two of them are onto a night of poor quality tunes and chatting bollocks.
And, apparently, one "teeny-weeny ride" before she goes home.
Time for something a bit lighter...
How about my review/interpretation of this music video, which a friend found recently...
Warning: Song is cheesey and contains tractor references.
That woman is so very 90's!
Also, she blatantly isn't carrying a 'basket fulla chicken' and 'a jug of ice tea'...she's carrying her sunglasses and her shoes. Because she wore her 6-inch stilettos into a field. I'm guessing she's just woken up there after being out all night. She doesn't know how it happened. She doesn't care; she's coming up again and she's just met a fuckin' cowboy.
She probably does think his tractor's sexy. She's loving everything right now, so it's hard to pin down what exactly...exactly...what were we talking about?
Yeah, she probably is always staring at him as he's 'chugging along'. Or the fractals leaking out of his Stetson. She's definitely staring at something.
Apparently unsure what to do with her, he drives her around for a while before taking her back to his barn for the night. I'm guessing they couldn't work out between them where she came from. They sit up talking with the radio on...no doubt by now she's stumbled onto a mystery baggy from last night in her pockets, and the two of them are onto a night of poor quality tunes and chatting bollocks.
And, apparently, one "teeny-weeny ride" before she goes home.
Deeper into dream...
Hey...
...so...
...back again?
I will try and feed you another post then.
Firstly, I would like to say thanks to everyone who read my first post, and for all the positive comments I've received. It is always strange for me, to accept praise for something like this. I used to have faith in my creative abilities and really I still do, but my self-doubt often clouds that and makes me think I can't really do anything good or worthwhile. Even after I've actually done something - even if I like it - I still tend to pick it apart and find all the reasons it's no good and eventually dismiss it altogether.
Writing in particular, is an odd one for me. I haven't written anything for so long. Writing about this kind of subject, putting these feelings out there in my own handwriting so to speak, is pretty nerve-wracking!
So thank you.
I want to delve into dreams again now...
A friend (Spike of http://diaryofageekyguy.blogspot.co.uk/) suggested some interpretations for my reoccurring dream and I'd like to share some of them here, with my own comments where I've thought through what he said...
"To see fish swimming in your dream signifies insights from your subconscious mind. Thus to catch a fish represents insights which have been brought to the surface."
(In most of my dreams, I don't actually move the fish physically or catch them. I feel I am supposed to, but I don't dream myself doing it. I just go back and fore between the tanks looking into them and trying to work out where they should all go.
In one of the only ones where I can remember trying to move some of them, I was putting my hand into a particularly dark-watered tank, and was bitten by a scary, eel-like creature with nasty teeth!
I could take from this then, that for me the insights are there, just out of reach. The things I need to work out, to keep my life from being 'messy' are right there. But reaching out for them is something I'm not doing. Is this why I keep having the dream?
When I have reached out, I have experienced pain. Maybe some of the insights are painful truths that I need to learn to accept.)
"Perhaps your dream could be telling you that 'there are plenty of other fish in the sea' with regards to some relationship issue."
(I have the dream when I perceive life getting 'messy' around me. By 'mess', I often do mean relationship issues. More than once, I have put myself into situations where I am trying to choose between people. Trying to work out logically (read: over-thinking) which is 'right'. Like trying to put the fish into the right tanks, I am usually incredibly anxious that if I choose wrong it will work out worse for everyone involved. Often this leads to me not doing any real choosing, putting it off as much as I can, which is far worse than just making one wrong decision and learning from it.
This doesn't only apply to relationship issues, I inwardly panic about most choices I have to make, for anything from what job I should go for, down to what I should do that evening!)
"To dream that you are cleaning fish suggests that you are altering your emotional expression in a way that will be presentable to others. You are censoring yourself and not expressing how you completely feel."
(Definitely. I also feel like I need to be strong - that my problems don't merit attention or fuss, and that it would be selfish to divert attention away from worthier causes to focus on mine. I like to present a strong front for other people, so I can be there for them....and so they'll like me. This strong image doesn't fit with being depressed or panicky, so I hide those feelings.)
"To dream that a small fish is attacking a big fish implies that you should not underestimate someone's ability because of their size. Consider whether you sympathize with the small fish or the big fish..."
(This one made me realise... for all my worries and stress in the dreams, I don't actually see any of the fish die or get eaten. Even though I don't end up moving them usually. The problems I perceive may not even exist.)
"To dream that an unusually large fish is attacking you suggests that you are avoiding some emotional issue that is growing into a huge problem. You are suppressing so much of your feelings that it is affecting your well-being"
"...applying it to your [more recent] dream, it sounds like you see everyone else expressing themselves openly, however, your fish tank needs to be cleaned and therefore you are censoring yourself and not expressing how you completely feel.
Maybe it's your subconscious telling you that you struggle to express yourself or open up fully."
"To see animals in your dream represent your own physical characteristic, primitive desires, and sexual nature, depending on the qualities of the particular animal. Animals symbolize the untamed and uncivilized aspects of yourself. Thus, to dream that you are fighting with an animal signifies a hidden part of yourself that you are trying to reject and push back into your subconscious. Refer to the specific animal in your dream.
So it sounds like your dreams are an attempt made by your brain to organise itself, maybe you just have too much on your plate and your mind is struggling to balance. It does mention the animals also represent a hidden part of yourself that you are trying to reject and push back so it's another form of not expressing yourself fully."
(Rabbits and rats and hamsters...I can guess rabbits may represent a sexual tension. I don't know so much about rats, maybe suppressed intelligence? Like when I'm worried about speaking my mind.
Hamsters?
...I still don't know...)
Quite a lot to think about...
...so...
...back again?
I will try and feed you another post then.
Firstly, I would like to say thanks to everyone who read my first post, and for all the positive comments I've received. It is always strange for me, to accept praise for something like this. I used to have faith in my creative abilities and really I still do, but my self-doubt often clouds that and makes me think I can't really do anything good or worthwhile. Even after I've actually done something - even if I like it - I still tend to pick it apart and find all the reasons it's no good and eventually dismiss it altogether.
Writing in particular, is an odd one for me. I haven't written anything for so long. Writing about this kind of subject, putting these feelings out there in my own handwriting so to speak, is pretty nerve-wracking!
So thank you.
I want to delve into dreams again now...
A friend (Spike of http://diaryofageekyguy.blogspot.co.uk/) suggested some interpretations for my reoccurring dream and I'd like to share some of them here, with my own comments where I've thought through what he said...
"To see fish swimming in your dream signifies insights from your subconscious mind. Thus to catch a fish represents insights which have been brought to the surface."
(In most of my dreams, I don't actually move the fish physically or catch them. I feel I am supposed to, but I don't dream myself doing it. I just go back and fore between the tanks looking into them and trying to work out where they should all go.
In one of the only ones where I can remember trying to move some of them, I was putting my hand into a particularly dark-watered tank, and was bitten by a scary, eel-like creature with nasty teeth!
I could take from this then, that for me the insights are there, just out of reach. The things I need to work out, to keep my life from being 'messy' are right there. But reaching out for them is something I'm not doing. Is this why I keep having the dream?
When I have reached out, I have experienced pain. Maybe some of the insights are painful truths that I need to learn to accept.)
"Perhaps your dream could be telling you that 'there are plenty of other fish in the sea' with regards to some relationship issue."
(I have the dream when I perceive life getting 'messy' around me. By 'mess', I often do mean relationship issues. More than once, I have put myself into situations where I am trying to choose between people. Trying to work out logically (read: over-thinking) which is 'right'. Like trying to put the fish into the right tanks, I am usually incredibly anxious that if I choose wrong it will work out worse for everyone involved. Often this leads to me not doing any real choosing, putting it off as much as I can, which is far worse than just making one wrong decision and learning from it.
This doesn't only apply to relationship issues, I inwardly panic about most choices I have to make, for anything from what job I should go for, down to what I should do that evening!)
"To dream that you are cleaning fish suggests that you are altering your emotional expression in a way that will be presentable to others. You are censoring yourself and not expressing how you completely feel."
(Definitely. I also feel like I need to be strong - that my problems don't merit attention or fuss, and that it would be selfish to divert attention away from worthier causes to focus on mine. I like to present a strong front for other people, so I can be there for them....and so they'll like me. This strong image doesn't fit with being depressed or panicky, so I hide those feelings.)
"To dream that a small fish is attacking a big fish implies that you should not underestimate someone's ability because of their size. Consider whether you sympathize with the small fish or the big fish..."
(This one made me realise... for all my worries and stress in the dreams, I don't actually see any of the fish die or get eaten. Even though I don't end up moving them usually. The problems I perceive may not even exist.)
"To dream that an unusually large fish is attacking you suggests that you are avoiding some emotional issue that is growing into a huge problem. You are suppressing so much of your feelings that it is affecting your well-being"
"...applying it to your [more recent] dream, it sounds like you see everyone else expressing themselves openly, however, your fish tank needs to be cleaned and therefore you are censoring yourself and not expressing how you completely feel.
Maybe it's your subconscious telling you that you struggle to express yourself or open up fully."
"To see animals in your dream represent your own physical characteristic, primitive desires, and sexual nature, depending on the qualities of the particular animal. Animals symbolize the untamed and uncivilized aspects of yourself. Thus, to dream that you are fighting with an animal signifies a hidden part of yourself that you are trying to reject and push back into your subconscious. Refer to the specific animal in your dream.
So it sounds like your dreams are an attempt made by your brain to organise itself, maybe you just have too much on your plate and your mind is struggling to balance. It does mention the animals also represent a hidden part of yourself that you are trying to reject and push back so it's another form of not expressing yourself fully."
(Rabbits and rats and hamsters...I can guess rabbits may represent a sexual tension. I don't know so much about rats, maybe suppressed intelligence? Like when I'm worried about speaking my mind.
Hamsters?
...I still don't know...)
Quite a lot to think about...
Saturday, 26 October 2013
...Welcome...
Hey...
Welcome...
This is the space...where my adventures will be chronicled. My past examined. My future questioned?
This is the place...where I will tell all my ups and downs and ups again. Hopefully.
I should describe myself a little first. I may be staying anonymous for a time, until I feel it's safe (Note: some of my stories Will contain drug use, May contain sexual encounters, and Will Almost Certainly contain scenes of emotional/mental confusion).
I will say that I am female, 25, and living in Cardiff, Wales. That possibly narrows it down enough, with the potential content of the blog, for people who know me to identify me (potential employers hopefully will find it somewhat more difficult to put name to face..)
And...
I suffer from depression. Occasionally partnered with paranoia. Sometimes manifesting as mania followed by intense lows (although I don't consider myself 'bi-polar').
Anyways,
I want to get on and write something interesting for my first post.
I want to start with a dream...
It's a dream I keep having. I can't quite think when the first time I had it was...some time back though I'm sure. I feel like I've been having it a long time now.
It's not every night. Mostly I get it when I'm stressed in real life, or things have started to fall apart around me.
It started as fish tanks.
In the dream, there are several, and I'm trying to organise the fish in them into the 'right' tanks, otherwise they'll die; from being eaten by fish they shouldn't be with, or some other reason.
Eventually rats, and occasionally rabbits as well are involved, but always the same thing: I have to sort them into the right hutches/cages/tanks, or they'll suffer.
In most versions of the dream, the animals are fairly neutral about it. In one or two they're trying to escape or bite me while I'm trying to move them.
The fish tanks are usually quite large and full of exotic, and occasionally scary looking fish.
There are usually people in the dream, with me. People who I recognise as friends (although usually, they are no one specific I can recognise from real life). They never help me though. No matter how close they come to me in the dream, and what they say, they do not help me with the fish tanks.
It's been suggested to me, and I do believe that the dream means needing to sort things in my life out, or worrying too much about needing to anyway. I tend to have it when things have gotten messy.
In one more recently, there was a tank in each room of a huge, weirdly laid out house I and some 'friends' had moved to. As I explored the house and went into each room I discovered the tank in each, apparently left by previous tenants, and I'm thinking I'll have to sort them out but then I look and each is actually OK.
Except the one in 'my room', which is cloudy and needs cleaning.
I took this one to mean I should worry less about other people's problems and focus on my own, as other people will probably be fine.
....
Even more recently, I had another version. One without animals at all, but it felt the same.
I was in an acquaintances bedroom, and somehow there were a load of ovens up in there. I'm trying to cook a load of meals for an increasing number of people. Running between the ovens like I usually see myself run between fish tanks.
Again, no one really helps. In fact they kind of mess with stuff or move it around so I don't know what I'm doing.
The people in this one were more vivid and definitely all people I know in real life, which is odd as well, as normally they're people I just identify as 'friends' in the dream, but can't pin down who they represent in real life.
I think again, that this dream is about worrying too much about what other people think.
Anyways, there's a reason I wanted to share this with you first, apart from it being potentially interesting.
The other night I had the dream again. Only different.
In this version, we are back to rabbits. My (real-life) rabbit, Colin, is hopping around in front of me. Suddenly, he's 3 and I have two in my lap while one runs around on the floor...
....
Then I'm wandering through a courtyard, and there are people here whispering at me about being careful, because there's these people who're some kind of dangerous radicals and they're scared of them.
...
I'm in a big, windy, weird house with lots of rooms. I'm not supposed to be here. People aren't angry that I'm here but I have the increasing sense of having outstayed my welcome. I'm supposed to leave now.
But I'm looking for my rabbits. These people have them and I want to see them before I go.
...
I find my rabbits, on the laps of a woman and several young female children in a living room type place in the house. The kids are hitting the rabbits. The woman seems like this is normal.
I feel angry but I don't take the rabbits off them then and there. I instead go about the house looking for something else (more rabbits? Their hutch to take them back with?).
...
I realise it's not just rabbits. There are hamsters I have to get too. (Note: usually the dreams only contain animals of types I actually keep as pets in real life, fish or rabbits or rats...hamsters are a new one and I haven't ever kept them). I search and search and am increasingly aware I shouldn't be here.
...
I am sneaking around, trying not to be seen still in the house, when I come to a room near the top of the house. Inside are the rabbit houses and as well, a pyramid of hamsters, not in a cage but all struggling to get down to a food bowl underneath the bottom hamsters. There's only one small bowl and Loads of hamsters trying to get to it.
Next to this is a fish tank. No fish though. Just more hamsters.
Inside the tank is the top part (the wire bit) of a hamster cage. Sitting like a shark-cage in the water. This makes it so there's only the little door on the cage that they can use to get in and out of the tank. They seem to be using it to get water for themselves, by diving into the tank and then trying to get back out. But they can't get back out because so many of them are in there, pushing around trying to get back out the little door.
They're drowning.
I woke up confused and saying
"They're hitting the rabbits and drowning the hamsters!"
It took me a while, and a friend's help to realise that this one, despite the advice of previous dreams, meant I was worried about someone else. The rabbits were mine, but the hamsters, and the house weren't mine. I was in someone else's place, looking out for their animals. I wasn't as stressed as in other dreams, only a little angry and determined to put a stop to the animals' torment. I'm worried about this person's hurt.
The rabbits that were mine though, were being hurt as well. Perhaps I'm worried I will suffer in the process of trying to help this person.
It took a little longer to work out who this person might be. It's someone I've only recently met. They're coincidentally the person who inspired me to start this blog, as part of an ongoing project to explore our experiences of depression, drug abuse, and other mental illnesses.
You can find his stories here: http://bbagsattic.blogspot.co.uk/
Welcome...
This is the space...where my adventures will be chronicled. My past examined. My future questioned?
This is the place...where I will tell all my ups and downs and ups again. Hopefully.
I should describe myself a little first. I may be staying anonymous for a time, until I feel it's safe (Note: some of my stories Will contain drug use, May contain sexual encounters, and Will Almost Certainly contain scenes of emotional/mental confusion).
I will say that I am female, 25, and living in Cardiff, Wales. That possibly narrows it down enough, with the potential content of the blog, for people who know me to identify me (potential employers hopefully will find it somewhat more difficult to put name to face..)
And...
I suffer from depression. Occasionally partnered with paranoia. Sometimes manifesting as mania followed by intense lows (although I don't consider myself 'bi-polar').
Anyways,
I want to get on and write something interesting for my first post.
I want to start with a dream...
It's a dream I keep having. I can't quite think when the first time I had it was...some time back though I'm sure. I feel like I've been having it a long time now.
It's not every night. Mostly I get it when I'm stressed in real life, or things have started to fall apart around me.
It started as fish tanks.
In the dream, there are several, and I'm trying to organise the fish in them into the 'right' tanks, otherwise they'll die; from being eaten by fish they shouldn't be with, or some other reason.
Eventually rats, and occasionally rabbits as well are involved, but always the same thing: I have to sort them into the right hutches/cages/tanks, or they'll suffer.
In most versions of the dream, the animals are fairly neutral about it. In one or two they're trying to escape or bite me while I'm trying to move them.
The fish tanks are usually quite large and full of exotic, and occasionally scary looking fish.
There are usually people in the dream, with me. People who I recognise as friends (although usually, they are no one specific I can recognise from real life). They never help me though. No matter how close they come to me in the dream, and what they say, they do not help me with the fish tanks.
It's been suggested to me, and I do believe that the dream means needing to sort things in my life out, or worrying too much about needing to anyway. I tend to have it when things have gotten messy.
In one more recently, there was a tank in each room of a huge, weirdly laid out house I and some 'friends' had moved to. As I explored the house and went into each room I discovered the tank in each, apparently left by previous tenants, and I'm thinking I'll have to sort them out but then I look and each is actually OK.
Except the one in 'my room', which is cloudy and needs cleaning.
I took this one to mean I should worry less about other people's problems and focus on my own, as other people will probably be fine.
....
Even more recently, I had another version. One without animals at all, but it felt the same.
I was in an acquaintances bedroom, and somehow there were a load of ovens up in there. I'm trying to cook a load of meals for an increasing number of people. Running between the ovens like I usually see myself run between fish tanks.
Again, no one really helps. In fact they kind of mess with stuff or move it around so I don't know what I'm doing.
The people in this one were more vivid and definitely all people I know in real life, which is odd as well, as normally they're people I just identify as 'friends' in the dream, but can't pin down who they represent in real life.
I think again, that this dream is about worrying too much about what other people think.
Anyways, there's a reason I wanted to share this with you first, apart from it being potentially interesting.
The other night I had the dream again. Only different.
In this version, we are back to rabbits. My (real-life) rabbit, Colin, is hopping around in front of me. Suddenly, he's 3 and I have two in my lap while one runs around on the floor...
....
Then I'm wandering through a courtyard, and there are people here whispering at me about being careful, because there's these people who're some kind of dangerous radicals and they're scared of them.
...
I'm in a big, windy, weird house with lots of rooms. I'm not supposed to be here. People aren't angry that I'm here but I have the increasing sense of having outstayed my welcome. I'm supposed to leave now.
But I'm looking for my rabbits. These people have them and I want to see them before I go.
...
I find my rabbits, on the laps of a woman and several young female children in a living room type place in the house. The kids are hitting the rabbits. The woman seems like this is normal.
I feel angry but I don't take the rabbits off them then and there. I instead go about the house looking for something else (more rabbits? Their hutch to take them back with?).
...
I realise it's not just rabbits. There are hamsters I have to get too. (Note: usually the dreams only contain animals of types I actually keep as pets in real life, fish or rabbits or rats...hamsters are a new one and I haven't ever kept them). I search and search and am increasingly aware I shouldn't be here.
...
I am sneaking around, trying not to be seen still in the house, when I come to a room near the top of the house. Inside are the rabbit houses and as well, a pyramid of hamsters, not in a cage but all struggling to get down to a food bowl underneath the bottom hamsters. There's only one small bowl and Loads of hamsters trying to get to it.
Next to this is a fish tank. No fish though. Just more hamsters.
Inside the tank is the top part (the wire bit) of a hamster cage. Sitting like a shark-cage in the water. This makes it so there's only the little door on the cage that they can use to get in and out of the tank. They seem to be using it to get water for themselves, by diving into the tank and then trying to get back out. But they can't get back out because so many of them are in there, pushing around trying to get back out the little door.
They're drowning.
I woke up confused and saying
"They're hitting the rabbits and drowning the hamsters!"
It took me a while, and a friend's help to realise that this one, despite the advice of previous dreams, meant I was worried about someone else. The rabbits were mine, but the hamsters, and the house weren't mine. I was in someone else's place, looking out for their animals. I wasn't as stressed as in other dreams, only a little angry and determined to put a stop to the animals' torment. I'm worried about this person's hurt.
The rabbits that were mine though, were being hurt as well. Perhaps I'm worried I will suffer in the process of trying to help this person.
It took a little longer to work out who this person might be. It's someone I've only recently met. They're coincidentally the person who inspired me to start this blog, as part of an ongoing project to explore our experiences of depression, drug abuse, and other mental illnesses.
You can find his stories here: http://bbagsattic.blogspot.co.uk/
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