"You have memories to look back on today."

The ongoing debate; which matters more?

The past that shaped you? The present that now defines you? Or the future that will continue to change you?

That aside, it’s an interesting time to be me. I realise that means nothing when you’re not me, but take my word for it.

As if to signify a healthy step forward in my general well-being, I find myself learning again; both actively and passively. More and more, I’m learning the difference between knowing something and understanding something.

I’m casually learning a new language (Italian), and less-casually learning an old one (English).  I’m planning again. I’m looking ahead more than I’m looking behind.

Perhaps most importantly, when I do look to the past, it doesn’t hurt quite like it used to. It doesn’t really hurt at all, now that I actually sit and think about it. It’s more akin to looking at an old photograph and being reminded of somebody I’d long forgotten about. They’re nice snapshots of life to be reminded of now and then, and once I let go of the negativity that surrounded a lot of them, they just started to become little foot-notes in the history of being me.

One of the many pleasant memories Facebook has reminded me of.

I’m guess I’m noticing this mostly because Facebook has a habit of reminding me of “memories” from years past. It raises the question though; can something be considered a memory if the only reason I remember it at all is because Facebook tells me about it?

Regardless of the answer, things are pretty good lately. I’m generally quite happy in my own company, and barring the occasional stumble I find that I’ve begun to move on from many of the things that have been gnawing away at me over the past few months and years.

I think it’s because the future is looking brighter and more defined than it has done in a very long time. I’m building something for myself that I wouldn’t have thought even remotely possible six months ago.

To put it simply: life has potential again.

More than anything, I’ve noticed that my priorities have shifted in a big way over the past year. Being alone is what I need right now. It’s allowing me both the time and the space to focus on myself without the added pressure of trying to live up to somebody else’s idea of who I should be.

With that said, the prospect of eventually finding somebody special is actually appealing again. It also scares the shit out of me, but I think that’s because I finally feel ready to have the next great love of my life be the last. Once I’ve put all the puzzle-pieces in the right places, I’m excited to look at this big picture with somebody I love.

Since the past is on my mind though, there are a lot of conversations that I wish I could have. Some are with younger versions of myself; I’d like to able to prepare him for the multitude of difficult times that will inevitably head his way.

Many more of these conversations are with my old man; the older I get, the more I find I have in common with who he was, for better or worse. I’d like the chance to talk to him one last time and ask him “why” and “how” a lot of things are the way they are. I’d love to know his thoughts on the man I’ve turned into.

The remainder of these hypothetical conversations take place with people who used to be important to me. Old friends to whom I don’t speak any more. Old loves. People that were once both, and now are neither.

I often think about what it would be like to sit down with people that had a large part in shaping the person I am, just to find out how much they’ve changed in the years we’ve spent growing up and apart.

In my limited experience, these conversations are best left to the imagination rather than having them actually take place. If watching The Lion King over a thousand times has taught me anything, it’s that the past is best left where it is.

With the best will in the world, there is a good reason you drifted away from each other. You’re no longer compatible.

You each belong to a new puzzle. Your own personal “big picture”.

So, as I look to the future and make peace with the past, I suppose it’s time to embrace the present and keep on keeping on.

Have a nice day, folks.

Love, Relationships & Mental Health

Today marks 9 years to the day since I first told a girl I loved her. Why do I remember this date? Primarily it's because I'm good with dates, but I'm also quite sentimental.

In the intervening years I've told three more women the same thing, and I can honestly say that I've meant it each time, without hesitation. I'm always rather cagey during the early stages of a relationship; primarily because of how much they mean to me. I love being in a relationship; I love everything that comes with it. The companionship, the private jokes, the pet names etc. So, as I say, during the early stages I'm always a little nervous about things; making promises, talking about the future and so forth.

This rarely, if ever, has anything to do with the woman herself, but rather how much it means to me to be able to say something and truly mean it. The idea of making plans for the future before I'm certain that there's a future to plan scares the shit out of me; I can't stand the thought of letting somebody down anymore than I can stand the thought of being let down myself.

An old memory; it's called "Daft Subway Photo Shit"

As you've no doubt gathered, these four relationships have each now come to an end, and for the most part I treasure the memories I made during my time with each of my previous girlfriends. Hannah C showed me what it was to be in love for the first time. Lucy taught me what it was to have a family outside of my own; her family were deeply welcoming and loving, and embraced me immediately, for which I was immeasurably grateful. Charlotte showed me what it was to be carefree and adventurous, but also what it was to have somebody deal with my mental health issues for the first time as Dad passed away midway through our relationship and I began a downward spiral that I've struggled with ever since.

Lastly, Hannah L provided a drive to see the world and step beyond my comfort zone. Moreover, her family also became my family. Her parents were loving and caring, her siblings were welcoming and familiar. Even her family friends welcomed me with open arms.

For as wonderful as each of these relationships were for the most part, they were often met with complications brought about by my predisposition to depression and anxiety. I've fortunately never been a jealous or suspicious person, so that never factored into it, but having to explain to somebody why you're not always beaming when you see them or why sometimes the idea of going into town or doing the usual "date night" stuff scared me was always a difficulty. When you're getting about 12 hours sleep per week and dealing with a deep-seated anxiety and insecurity, it's often the case that the last thing you want is a Nando's or a cinema date.

These people begin to truly believe that what's wrong with you is a direct reflection on them, and the feelings you have for them. This, as you might expect, becomes something of an issue.

What's worse is that I personally consider myself somewhat of a romantic. I love big gestures and I love small gestures. I love surprising my girlfriend with flowers, hand-making cards for certain anniversaries, dates or birthdays, or just showing up with their favourite pizza or bar of chocolate. All this may sound insignificant and small, but these things were always my way of proving that "I do sincerely love you", despite all the arguments and the seclusion.

Four months into 2017, my most recent relationship came to an end rather abruptly. Things had been difficult for a while; my head was going, and generally the state of the relationship wasn't what you'd call ideal. She had often worried that I would leave her for somebody else. Ironically, she met a man at a new job and decided that was where life should take her next. It's a tough thing to reconcile when you're already that low, and when you follow it up with a drugging and an assault, you find yourself with little to no self-worth whatsoever.

So today being any other day, I find myself still in two minds about relationships. On the one hand, there's nothing I love more than pizza nights and Netflix with a partner. I love falling asleep with the woman I love in my arms, and I love waking up before they do and seeing them sleeping safely and soundly only to wake up, bright eyed and look at me with unconditional adoration.

To revisit my initial point, since this relationship ended I made a conscious decision to remain single for the foreseeable future. In large part, this was due to the prospect of having contracted HIV or Hepatitis hanging over me, but more so it was because I realised how much healthier I tend to be when I'm single.

It's an odd paradox. I love being in love, but it brings so many complications that become near impossible to deal with when you can barely bring yourself to wake up in the morning. With that said, I've been single for nearly nine months now. In terms of my mental health I'm leaps and bounds ahead of where I was a year or two ago.

Partly it's due to the time I've taken off work to heal after the events of last year, but I also feel it's because I'm not currently beholden to the duties inherent in relationships.

To clarify, I loved Hannah. We travelled Europe together, made plans, celebrated various occasions and had all the things you'd expect of a relationship (good and bad). Now, however, I'm able to focus entirely on myself. I can ensure I'm recovering properly and I don't have to worry about letting anybody down or visiting people when I simply don't feel up to it.

So where does that leave me? Do I believe relationships mix well with mental health issues?

Ultimately, I think it boils down to the individual. If you're the sort of couple that is each able to accept the nature of one another's problems, then yes, you can likely make it work, but for the time being I'm reasonably sure I'm happy being alone. That is to say, until such a time as I meet somebody that takes my breath away again.

I bear both a great deal of fondness and resentment regarding the past, especially the recent past. I'm still working through it, and I fully believe that for the time being I'm far safer keeping to myself and continuing to recover. I still lament the lack of somebody to fall asleep with and wake up to, but honestly I couldn't in truth say that I'd be willing to have that again if it meant a regression into old schools of thought. I don't have the energy or inclination for pointless arguments or jealousy. I suppose it's much simpler to say the following, and hope that it comes to pass:

I'm nearly 28. I've had some of the worst experiences I'll ever have since I turned 20, and I'm determined to make 2018 and beyond a time filled with as much positivity and happiness as I can manage. I want the next woman I say "I love you" to, to be the last person I say it to.

Though maybe you hope for that with every relationship; who knows?

Point is, a lot of my friends have recently married, had children and begun a life together. I honestly could not be happier for them. Not only because they deserve it, but also because they keep having beautiful children that I get to visit with and coo over because I love kids.

So I'll finish with this. I'm happy. I'm healthy. I'm content for that to remain the case. Should the circumstances surrounding that contentment change without affecting the happiness itself then I'll be the first to celebrate it.

Until then, I'll remain happily alone, but not lonely; excited to tell the next amazing person to enter my life - "I love you."

The Spider & The Fly

I knew the title for this post before I even knew the content. Primarily because I only write tonight as an attempt to commit to and honour one of the many goals I've set for myself this year - write one piece a week, on a Sunday.

So why the title, and what train of thought left the station upon deciding on it?

Well. I'm 27, and for the vast majority of these 27 years I've been scared of spiders. I used to have my Ma kill them for me, but for one reason or another I've become almost fond of them over the course of the last six months. This fondness has resulted in me handling a house-spider to put it outside, and generally going out of my way around the house to ensure that the spiders are evacuated without injury.

Prior to this, however, there was a spider on the ceiling in my room. Thinking quickly, and with pinpoint precision, I squashed it with the edge of a mirror. I'm not proud of myself, but it happened and we must press on.

When I moved in to this house I was told that spiders would be a big problem, but in truth, this has been the only spider I've seen in my room since May 2017. In fact, aside from myself, my flatmate or other friends, it's been the only creature to enter my room since I moved in.

Cut to tonight. Something catches my eye. I glance around and I see a fly. Whilst I am in no way scared of flies, I am usually deeply irritated by them and often do my best to shoo them out of the room or annihilate them entirely. Again, it seems my baser instincts are failing me because I chose to allow this fly to glide around my room uninterrupted. It landed on the giant map of the world I have hanging in my room (in Russia, specifically. Not sure why; never been.) and I developed a fondness for this fly.

I had sat there for hours prior to his/her unexpected arrival; restless and impatient. There's not much to do on a Sunday evening, and even what there is lacks a certain appeal. One of the other goals I've set for the year is to see some more of the world and get back into what I love without having anything from last year hanging over me. So the fact that the fly landed on the map held a certain significance for me regardless of it being completely without agenda on its part.

It reminded me why I'm impatient and why I'm restless. Because I'm a week into this year and I want to start accomplishing things. Me being me, I want everything to happen at once; I want the successes, the plans and the bumps to be past me so that I can just enjoy the fact that the experience was one I got to have.

My issue reminds me of an Eagles song I love - "Learn to be Still". That's what I need to do. Not still and unproductive. Not still and unaware. Just still, and content to wait.

With that in mind and following a brief conversation with my Ma about how we both want to do more this year to make up for last year, I bought myself a stupid amount of food I couldn't possibly eat, listened to some Disney music and relaxed, whilst the thought that I hadn't written anything slowly chewed away at me.

At that moment, I glanced down, and I saw the fly on the floor. He/she was motionless. For the first time in my life I mourned the loss of a fly. Not because I suddenly love flies or because I'd developed some deep relationship with her/him, but because I had chosen to let him/her fly around my room and the fly died anyway.

Art by BlackBoxBerlin

It ties into something I was looking into last night as I pondered getting a tattoo, and if so, which I should get. Existentialist that I am, I was attracted to the idea of "Memento Mori".

For those who don't know, "Memento Mori" is Latin for "Remember death" or something along those lines; "Remember that you will die."

Seems bleak, yeah? Perhaps. For me, it's a reminder that I've only got so much time. So where possible I should spend the time I have being happy, content and patient.

The fly reminded me of my thoughts on this. The fly came in, flew around, lived and died. I picked the fly up on some paper, dropped him/her on the windowsill outside, and closed the window. Admittedly, this fly had in actuality taught me nothing. It just reminded me of things I already know, and need to bear in mind.

With that, I say to you all: Memento Mori.

Remember that, and use it to fuel the best year you've ever had.

Happy 2018 and I'll see you next Sunday.