A Basic Need

I had a conversation with a couple of people a few weeks ago.  We were discussing what we wanted out of life.  I think my point of view threw them totally.  So often these days people want a new car, a nice house, a foreign holiday, a new gadget (phone, TV, music player, etc.)  All of the material stuff means very little to me.  I am not interested in owning stuff or being massively successful.  Yes I want a roof over my head, clothes on my back, food in my belly and to be good at the job I have.  Despite having lived with very little for so long, I don't crave possessions.

What I want now is the same thing I have always wanted.  I want someone to love me.  I want to be with someone who wants to be around me.  Someone who will show me affection.  Someone who will take care of my basic needs as I want to do for him.  In a world where everything seems based on wealth and success, my meagre aspiration seems very sad, but in all honesty that feeling of being held in someone's arms is all I need.

Feeling...mental.

The thing I really find hard to deal with in regard to my mental health issues is how it isn't specific.

If I went to the doctor and said my leg was hurting and there was a large piece of metal sticking out of it, I would be sent to hospital for the metal to be removed.  The wound would be treated and would eventually heal (hopefully).

How do you address mental health issues if there is nothing there to see.  "I feel dizzy".  "I feel anxious".  "My head feels like it is bending in three directions".  "I worry about going outside in case there is a zombie apocalypse".  "I am overwhelmed by groups of people."  "My sleep pattern is disrupted."

"Here are some pills - take them often until YOU eventually go away and cease to be an annoyance to me.  You will become a blur to everyone including yourself."

The problems don't go away, but the ability care about them does.

Relationship?

So it is my anniversary this month - I will have been with my 'partner' for seventeen years.  Not totally sure that 'been with' is the correct term.  We don't live together.  There is very little commitment.  The relationship has not been consummated - yes I know that is probably hard to believe, but there we go.  He has met my nieces, my parents, my friends.  I have met his mother - once...and she didn't get out of the car at my house.  It was their three bedroom house that I decorated from top to bottom last year - they were not there at the time, I have not been invited back since.

We have an open relationship.  He told me years ago that because of circumstances (his parents), he could only see me for a couple of hours a couple of times a week and did not expect me "to sit at home with my knitting".  I did find out that he was going 'cruising'...so he was not averse to sex - just not with me.  My attempts to initiate anything with him would always end with me being brushed off.

We go on holiday for a weekend every year - separate beds, of course.  We exchange small gifts at birthdays and Christmas - but I am not materialistic and would rather have a display of affection.

Do I love him?  Yes, but it is more as a friend than in a romantic way.  He has been kind to me through my difficult times and I am afraid of hurting him.  Does he love me?  Who knows.

So why are we together?  Because I was always afraid that I would end up alone.  Because I couldn't believe anyone would love me.  Because something is better than nothing.  As it turns out, I feel more alone now...I still can't believe anyone would love me...it depends on the something as to whether it is better than nothing.

Happy anniversary to me.

Escape

It's a grey and dreary day as I walk through town.  The sky is grey.  The large flakes floating down from the clouds are grey.  The fallen flakes on the ground are grey.  It isn't snow; it's ash.  I can smell it - a dry, acrid smell heavy in the still air.  The sounds around me seem muffled somehow, as if sound itself has become grey and dull.

There are a couple of people scuttling along by the buildings on the other side of the road.  From one of the doorways, a man emerges and hurries towards me.  Before I have time to react to him, he has gripped my right arm and spun me back to face the direction I have just come from.  A sense of panic mixed with relief courses through me as he drags me along.

A noise pierces through the cloak of dead air.  It's like an incredible crackle of electricity that fades almost instantly to a throbbing hum.  Turning my head, I can see a brilliant purple shaft of light extending from the ground up in to the greyness of the sky somewhere out of town.  My companion increases his speed and I am pulled along in awe of this beam that punctures a hole through the cloud.  As abruptly as the sound and light began, it ends.  The humming is replaced within a few seconds by the sound of a great force of rushing air.  From inside the wound in the sky appears a circle of fire.  It spreads out, setting light to the whole of the sky in rolling waves of gold and scarlet.  When the flames cease, the greyness returns to the sky and the world around me.  The ash falls even thicker.

I am lead in to a side street and then immediately in to an alleyway.  The man who has been pulling me along clamps a hand over my mouth and pushes me backwards in to a doorway.  My head and back slam in to the wooden door, but little sound beyond a whimper issues from me as his hand is so tight.  I notice a mechanical whirring sound drawing closer.  The man removes his hand from my mouth and replaces it with his own mouth.  His kiss is rough and insistent, but my hands cling to him rather than pushing him away.  Something is in the side street.  It's shadow darkens the doorway.  I can't see it, but I know what it looks like as I have seen them before.  A large metallic craft, about the size of a bus hovering twenty feet or so above the ground.  After a few seconds, it withdraws back on to the main street.  The man I am with pulls back from me slightly.  He smiles and uses a thumb to wipe ash from my face.

Once the sound of the craft has gone, my companion and I break from the cover of the doorway and run along the side street.  He still holds my arm tightly as we run.  We emerge back on to the main street which is devoid of people and cars.  After running for a few minutes, we come to a helicopter with a group of other people waiting around it.  As we reach it, I am bundled inside and then there is a flurry of activity as everyone climbs aboard and the engine starts.  I feel like my breathing has stopped as I am gripped by the fear that the noise of the helicopter will attract unwanted attention.  We take off and head for the outskirts of town.  Suddenly there is shouting and then the helicopter lurches forward violently as something slams in to it's rear.  The pilot manages to land in the field below us, but the jolt of the forceful landing leaves everyone shaken.  Running from the downed craft, I end up scrambling face down on the ground as a blast of hot air propels everyone when the helicopter explodes.

A short distance across the field, there is a farmhouse.  Once inside I am forced down on to the floor against the wall.  Everyone is silent as we listen to the sound of mechanical whirring outside.  The large metallic craft moves away presumably satisfied that those inside the helicopter have perished.  After a time, I fall asleep, completely exhausted - physically, mentally and emotionally.

A sudden burst of light wakes me from my fitful slumber.  Startled, I hear a voice telling me it is okay.  From a doorway opposite where I was sleeping there is a curtain pulled back to reveal light from a kitchen beyond.  I eat some kind of thick stew crouching in the darkness once the curtain has been returned to it's position.

The man who rescued me from the centre of town earlier appears through a doorway to my right.  He takes my hand and leads me upstairs.  In a long corridor lit by a couple of candles, he presses me against the wall and kisses me again.  His kiss is not as rough as the first time but is even more insistent.

Somewhere outside in the darkness is a large bang...and that is where I woke up.

Yes, I'm strange.

I have always known I was different and have often describe myself as weird.  My last therapist preferred me to use the world 'eccentric' (as in the title of my blog), but let's be honest the word eccentric is just a polite way of saying odd.

So here is yet another example of my 'eccentricity'.  I was skimming through profiles on some 'dating' websites this morning and I noticed that men were looking for very specific things...twinks, muscled guys, bears. Asians, blonds, slim guys, older guys, and so on.  It occurred to me how different I am.  I would like a man who loves me and who I love, a man who has respect for himself, for others and the world around him, a man who can spell and punctuate.

Yes, I'm strange.

Nidge's Story

I have been reading articles online from different people revealing their stories of bullying and have been inspired to tell mine.

When I went to school I became aware that there was something different about me.  I wasn't like the other boys.  I was, in fact, more like the girls.  I enjoyed playing with the girls in their games of dressing up and playing house.  I enjoyed their games.  Kicking a football and riding a bike was okay for a short time, but I always wanted to do something with more imagination and more creativity.  Consequently, I was bullied.  Bullied by other kids, bullied by teachers, bullied by adults in my life.

Children can be immensely cruel when they perceive something different in others, so can their parents (which is probably where the children get it from).  I was often taunted, something that no matter how much I heard, I never got used to the sting of those words.  I was called names, shunned, laughed at.  I had clothing ripped and stolen.  I was written on in biro.  I was kicked.  I was punched.  I had other kids spit in my face. I was often forced from my seat on the school bus and made to stand.  In some classes, I dreaded the teacher leaving the room even for a few minutes.  Lunchtimes were often terrible, especially as I grew older, and I would hide in empty classrooms and hope the dinnerladies would take pity on me and let me stay.  My circle of friends became smaller the older I became - the girls who were once my friends started to go out with boys and making fun of the 'puff' helped to increase their social standing in the groups they were forming.

From a very young age, teachers discouraged my play activities with the girls and insisted I join in with what the boys were doing.  This meant that I ended up on the sidelines an awful lot - a silent observer in a world that was alien to my nature.  As I grew up, there were jibes from the teachers about my voice and my mannerisms.  Despite being reasonably good at things like woodwork and metalwork, the male only environment was uncomfortable for me.  Of course, in those days, boys didn't do cookery.  P.E. was a living nightmare and I became adept at forging my father's handwriting so I could fake notes excusing me from taking part.  I am not sure if there is a written rule somewhere that P.E. teachers (male and female) have to be small minded bigots who devise torture for children so they can have a smoke and a coffee in peace.  Looking back now I wonder why anyone would take advice on exercise and fitness from someone who had an arse the size of two of the pupils they were instructing.

The adults around in my life were also discouraging or bullying.  I was constantly told I couldn't or wouldn't be able to do things - something that in later life made me determined that I could do everything I wanted to do and resulted in a breakdown in my late twenties after years of attempted over-achieving.  I was rarely invited to anyone's house as a kid - the disapproving looks from parents serving to further deflate my confidence and self-esteem.

I survived.  I left school and college.  I found a job.  The job was so easy that I could have done it in my sleep and, on occasion, I probably did.  There was no physical abuse any longer, but the verbal abuse was still there.  It was in a diluted form and mostly consisted of jokes or snide comments rather than overt attacks.  I was obviously seen as being an easy target though as there were a couple of managers who made my life miserable whenever they could.

The strangest situation I found myself in was having to 'come out' as gay.  I had never really thought of myself as being 'in'.  My mannerisms and voice - and my resurrected penchant for dressing up - hardly made me stand out as straight.  I know that some straight men are camp, but I am beyond that.  I was forced in to a situation where I had to come out.  I was told it was for my own good.  It is quite bizarre when you lose friends because you publicly acknowledge your sexuality even though it was hardly a secret.  Equally bizarre when some people want to be your friend for the same reason.  I remember being at a party and being manoeuvred around by a woman so we were facing her friends.  She then chatted to me while occasionally giving her friends a knowing 'look at me I am talking to the homosexual' smile and wink.  Of course all the usual stuff happens after you come out.  I wasn't prepared for some of the unusual though, like having a married male colleague suddenly decide I would be open to the idea of an affair..."I am gay...that doesn't mean I don't have standards".  The worst comment made to me came from an alleged friend who delivered with a smile the phrase, "I have obviously heard that you are gay...and just want you to know that I hope you burn in hell".  That isn't the way a phrase starting like that usually ends and I was massively taken aback.

I changed jobs and went to work in education.  Being in a college was like having to live through my teenage years all over again.  Teenagers can be horrible.  Thankfully I only had to teach students who were 19+.  Some of them are hard work too.  I found a few of the younger ones were all giggly when I tried to talk to them.  I found a few of the older ones looked at me with disdain as the only gay men they had ever come across were their hairdressers.  And yes, I have been asked that corking question, "My hairdresser is gay...do you know him?"  My answer was, of course, "Yes, I have met him at the monthly meetings our people have".  I discovered that great places for homophobia are in IT support and Personnel.  A woman from IT support almost fell out of a window trying to get a look at me, "Is that the gay from the art department?"  "Actually no, I am the gay from the craft department.  The gay from the art department is thinner and younger".  I found out from one of the most indiscrete members of staff that the man in charge of payroll in the PersonHell department had taken great delight in commenting to people about my appearance and voice.

My favourite part of working in education was working for the IT department.  They found some lovely jobs for me...like teaching IT to men who had worked in factories and heavy industry from leaving school and had evidently never met anyone quite like me.  It wasn't exactly a huge boost to my confidence when men transferred to other classes because they did not wish to be taught by me.

In my next job, everything was fine.  Although the job did not end well, it was like working with grown ups for the first time.  My individuality found a place and my creativity was encouraged.  I only had one suspect moment when the son of one of the director's noticed the posture cushion on my chair and asked, "Who are you saving your arse for?"

Now I work as a volunteer in a shop raising money for charity.  I have discovered a new form of bullying - the tyranny of old ladies who feel threatened.  "Charity shops are work for old women" was one pearl of wisdom I was offered.  My voice has been made fun of regularly by one of the customers.  I have been told that cutting my hair so short makes me look old.  I am used to being organised and efficient.  This does not go down well.  There are a couple of us who are seen as interlopers.  "I have been here for 12 years", "Yeah, well you haven't sold yet" was an exchange I had with one woman as I was told for the umpteenth time how long she had been there.  All of the women seem to hate each other and bitch constantly about everyone else, but if you try to change anything, they all band together.  A couple of them are insidious in their destruction of everything the newer members of staff try to achieve.  They have no concept of retail and endlessly spout "It's just a charity shop" when challenged.

Bullying seems to be never-ending.  Over the years I have had a tough time, but I have grown stronger through it.  At times I feel like giving up.  Giving up means the bullies win and I am far too stubborn to allow anyone to beat me!

The Bad Day

So today is Northern Pride.  I have never been to a Pride thing before.  I really wanted to go.  When I mentioned it to my (n)ever loving partner, his only comment was "What's stopping you?"  I did have an offer from someone to go with me but I didn't like to make any commitment in case I chickened out at the last minute.

This morning I woke up and thought, "I am going to do it".  Despite my slow puncture, I drove to Durham and then caught the train in to Newcastle.  How very brave of me.  How very like the old me before the breakdown.  And then that is where it all ended.  I wandered round the city centre for a couple of hours.  I can't even say which shops I went in to.  I know I didn't look at anything in any of them.  I had lunch.  I caught the train back to Durham and drove home.

I wanted to do it to prove to myself I could.  I wanted to do it alone to prove I still had that strength in me.  I couldn't do it.  I don't have that strength.  Instead of boosting my confidence, I now feel utterly useless.  What's the point of me?  I am too afraid to even attend an event that is meant to be fun and accepting of me.

I feel isolated...unpopular...unwanted.  Maybe it is time I gave up.  Maybe I should resign myself to a life without love, without companionship.

Harden your heart, Nidge, and close the shutters on the world outside.

What is this life, if full of fear,

We only wish to disappear?