Hi all,
I am a fan of categorisation and lists, as any regular followers of
this blog may have gathered. In thinking of how to categorise these Five Blogs
of Thanks, I wanted to dedicate a blog to those people who I class as ‘other
than conventional friends’ (by ‘conventional friends’ I mean friends of a
similar age who I’ve met through more typical means, such as school, work or
university) and also recognise the impact my family has had on me. I couldn’t separate them, so this blog
attempts to thank both ‘categories’ of people; although in a way, I guess you
could also count my family as ‘non-conventional friends’ as well!
I think it’s reasonable to say, even in a day and age of political
correctness and my above-average awareness of how important it is not to
stigmatise mental health problems, that I am not normal. What this has meant is
that I have had the fortune of meeting people who I probably wouldn’t have met
had I been immersed in what a ‘normal’ person’s life of someone with my
background would look like.
A good example is that over the years I have made many friends with
people who either caught or drove local buses (before the government cut all the
routes). I don’t know anyone else
who doesn’t class themselves as a bus fanatic or spotter who has developed such
relationships. Most of my conventional
friends drive, for a start, and those that have caught buses used them for
their intended purpose – to go somewhere.
But the relationship and banter I chalked up over the years through a
combination of frequent bus usage, seeing the same people all the time and
finding myself more comfortable talking to people aged 80 rather than my own
age due to a lack
of confidence allowed me to get on really well with some of the bus-related
people.
I mentioned in yesterday’s blog how I have known several people who
have helped me with my anxiety condition without them realising it – bus folk
are another example. I never talked about things as personal as my mental
health condition to them and yet their presence and chats made travelling
easier, especially important during periods when travelling was
extremely difficult. Another example are people I’ve met through swimming,
which by the way I would advocate for anyone who has a mental health problem.
They are hilarious and make the experience a lot more pleasurable as a result.
And they don’t judge me.
I also mentioned yesterday the impact that a university lecturer had on
my career. But it wasn’t just him – my
university and course specialised in nurturing and caring for their
students, as much as research and general lecturing and as such it was easier
to gain a strong relationship with them. Then there was my greater comfort of
conversing with people older than me again. So despite university being rather
difficult at times, the lecturers made it much better than it would have
otherwise been – again, without them knowing about my anxiety problems.
And then there is my family. A
group of people that you would think would know all about my anxiety problems.
Think again. My parents know what I’ve had to tell them; after the 2011
meltdown that I keep going on about, I had no choice but to explain how bad
things were. But even then I sugared things slightly and to this day they have
no idea of how much pain I was in, how long for and most critically how much
anxiety has hampered my life. My dad is
a typical 1950s born ‘I never talk about emotions’ type person and my mum would
simply get too upset if I told her how bad things really were, pressure which
would only have made things worse for me and, cyclically, for her. So I spent large parts of my hellish
experience going through it alone, with occasional support from friends when I
was at my wits end. It’s how I felt it had to be and I stand by that.
I have never been too close to my wider family either; for a start they
are not located just up the road. My
dad’s side I hardly ever see (which I can confirm is for the best…) and of the
four people remaining on my mum’s side, two of them are disabled and the other
two care for said disabled people, so burdening them with my own problems was
never an option in my eyes.
However, despite all of this, my family have helped me get through
anxiety. It wasn’t my parents’ fault that I kept a lot from them and when I did
tell them things, they were as supportive as they knew how to be. An example was when, after the 2011 debacle,
my dad offered me lifts to the CBT sessions; this wasn’t relevant in the end as
I opted for webcam therapy, but the offer was there. I must have worried them
and as such I thank them for keeping
strong (externally) and, of course, for being good parents in several other
ways.
On my mum’s side of the family, my aunt, who cares for my cousin,
hasn’t spoken to my mum for at least ten years for reasons largely unknown. I
never see her and on the surface of it she is, as that side of the family would
say, a ‘funny bugger.’ (The whole set up in that half of the family is beyond
bizarre by the way, but that’s for another time). However, despite this, she
has provided me with some inspiration. Regardless of her cold personality, she
has no doubt done an incredible job at bringing up a child who was deprived of
oxygen at birth and who has severe autism, who cannot speak, who is prone to
violent tantrums and who cannot control urinal or bowel movements. I have drawn
inspiration from her; ‘if she can deal with that situation day to day, I really
ought to get a grip and sort my anxiety out.’
I am not privileged to have a large, functional family but I can still
admire them for dealing with difficult times and thank them for standing by me
and doing their best to bring me up well. I now intend on returning the favour
as we embark on new
challenges.
- To the ‘other than conventional friends’ for not casting me aside for being different, thank you.
- To my family who have inspired and supported me (when I’ve let them), thank you.
- To my parents who will always support me despite going through their own challenges, thank you.
Best wishes,
Al
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