Most of the lessons I’ve had to learn over the past few years were quite simple: I should have talked more about my parents’ divorce instead of drinking alcopops til 6 in the morning, and I should have not listened to scary library people when wandering around the silent wooden aisles and simply grabbed Shakespeare’s unannotated works and sat down and let him tell me what Hamlet was really about. I should have met OldTutor in first year and he might have given me some guidance rather than me having to pick up the pieces of a 2.1 in my final year.
But last year threw up some lessons that I am still not sure I have learnt the lessons from.
March saw the seemingly insignificant break up: me clutching a hankerchief, Mike’s eyes on the clock, me wondering what to have for dinner. The next day we walked into University in the Spring rain and the only difference was that we did not hold hands. In some ways we did not know how to break up. I did not know where he ended and I began.
April was the beginning – or the continuance – of MindReader. Of messenger chats into the small hours, and later, phone calls at dusk in my fields, sitting comfortably on a rock and wrapping a jumper around my cool shoulders. It was also the time when Mike – correctly suspicious, although I was single – invaded my privacy in ways I didn’t know he would ever need to, phoned my in the middle of the night, my heart racing as I vomited after we hung up.
I felt in that month, that I no longer deserved happiness. April 14th was the first day of my life where I never, ever wanted to get out of bed, and only MadFather’s blue eyes and wrinkly old arms could convince me to.
In the summer, everything warmed and bloomed. Happiness could be mine, and it was waiting in the form of MindReader. We escaped for a while to Italy, Gloucester, Norfolk, and his continuing support lapped at my feet like the warm green canals of Venice.
In July I moved in with my housemates; a new situation, a new mistake I would later have to rectify. We weren’t suited. I roamed the house during the cool nights, wondering why I couldn’t relax my hands, or leave my door unlocked. By October, all thoughts were consumed by this situation. I moved home again, and when I broke the news to the housemates their prickly reactions – three 20-something males reduced to door slamming, shouting – reminded me so sharply of Mike that I sucked my breath in. After the confrontation, MindReader let me wipe my nose on his jumper, and we went and sat by the canal and ate cinder toffee whilst I cried.
In November and December the “illness” struck, strange nigglings, out of breath from stairs, needing to nap in Starbucks that later turned into this thing I’m still shaking now. I may look back fondly on these days of getting up at noon, watching TV whilst my hair sticks up, eating more vitamins than I thought possible and turning my poops black with iron tablets, but not at the moment – it is too soon, too real.
I do not know what I have learnt from these experiences.
Maybe, if you love another, leave, if there is even half a chance that 9 months later you are kissing under the Arc de Triomphe. Do not be too hard on yourself if you end up caught in a relationship so dead it is easier to stay than to leave it. And do not beat yourself up if it takes another person – however subconsciously – to make you realise.
Do not move in with people if you think it won’t work. Try not to blame them when they are hurt and angry and ultimately, good people. Try not to blame yourself if your stomach is in constant knots and you simply have to leave a situation.
Do not push yourself, and always have to be the best. If you need to nap, nap immediately. If your glands are so big that it hurts to turn your head, maybe don’t go into college.
I’m not sure what I would have done differently. I think I may have written about it sooner.
I know I should update my journal, but I haven’t known what to write. I think I will take to heart your advice of talking about my parents divorce more (they separated three weeks ago) and drinking less. And maybe a little about love too…
I’m glad you can write about it now. It seems like a year for lessons — I, too, should be writing about things, but I am trying for the first time in my life to be patient with myself. Alas, that means slowing down and knowing I need to think about things before I can put pen to paper at this point. We really should meet when I come out to see CB this fall. Hugs to you.
[...] depression and I love your double chin” – sigh) 4. Maximo Park – Acrobat “(”This can’t be what you wanted, but there was no need to demolish me” is actually taken from this song and perfectly well encompasses how I feel about Mike) 5. [...]
I was rather moved by this blog,just came across it by chance online.
You write well,billygean.
thank you
BG
Writing is a wonderful gift.Do you read Paul Smith’s Diary entries on Maximo Park’s website?
He’s just published a new one today.I’m a big fan of his and of Maximo Park,btw.
No I haven’t – i’ll look them up! i shall link to you
BG x
your username will be legendary now.:)