Even Grim Can Be Funny 2009
There are many taboo and stigma topics in our society today that don’t need to be, they can be talked about, and yet ‘society’ doesn’t like to discuss these things through fear, ignorance, the ostrich syndrome, under the rug, behind closed doors or even elephant in the room – they’ll make humour about some things, but to talk earnestly can be somewhat discomforting for people.
Serious topics such as politics, sexuality, abortion, vulgarity, addiction, cannibalism, masturbation, emotions, necrophilia, murder, slavery, menopause, self-harm, suicide, racism, depression, pornography and drugs amongst just a few are considered such subjects that people can become uncomfortable around, but even to the likes of a person’s religion can be seen as no go areas to others and on the sillier side burping, farting, toiletry habits and even blowing ones nose can be seen as taboo to others again.
I will discuss on my blog issues that l have experience with directly or even slightly indirectly in so far as a topic affecting my life and this tale will NOT be to everyone’s tastebuds, but it is something which l sadly do have a lot of experience in and so wish to write about an episode that happened to me in 2009 that has some dark humour attached to it. However if you are esily offended and do not like to see posts on suicide, don’t read on.
This tale is like everything else … factual, l don’t change any of the details in my stories and if l do actually change anything in any of my stories it is always another person’s name. The only real names l use are my own, Suze’s and Scrappy’s – no other names are real – well apart from Liam Ratcatcher of course!
This tale is not a poke at those who suffer from depression and who have walked hand in hand with the ideation of suicide at any point in their life, it is my take on my story, and if anyone can with absoluteness take the piss out of me … it is me!
I run a pretty honest blog, sometimes perhaps too much so, but that is my way. Most of the time you will read about 95% of my life and the remaining 5% is seriously deep stuff. I do have posts and poems that touch on that 5%, this is one of those tales that touch on it slightly.
My first serious attempt at suicide was by drowning when l was 26 in Ramsgate in Kent in 1989, and my last attempt was by an overdose or prescription medication when l was 48 in 2011. I am ex self-harmer that brought myself off that addiction because l suddenly woke up one day and said enough was enough with regards attemting to end my life as well as cutting myself to the bone in some cases with sharp blades. I have not with any seriousness attempted either since 2012 and l am a better man for doing so. I had the mother load of darkness depressions from 1995 – 2004, and l have battled with demons and depression since then. Only last year l managed to purge out of my system, a 30 year grief demon and it is not an easy walk, but hey l am still here about as sound as a quirky nutter can ever truly be.
If you were to look at the Stories and Tales tab you would see a distinct lack of stories and tales from between the years of 2008 – 2012, as well and 1986 – 1989. You do however see more poetry written from between 2009 – 2012. These are two very distinctive periods in my life. l entered a very dark period in 1987 which l finally emerged from by around 75% in 1993, but only in 2017 did l manage to finally let go of the demons from there. Have you ever carried a guilt and grief demon for thirty years, when you were not to blame it can destroy you.
Today as l sit here and type l can reflect upon my life in more ways than a series of posts l have planned for next week. I look back at 12 years of aggressive self-harm and 26 failed suicide attempts and do think at times how in fucks name am l still actually alive?
Well one of the things that got me through was my ability to laugh at myself even in the grimmest of times and towards the end the ageing process stepped on board and said a couple of things that were quite profane to me – “You have responsibilities to not just yourself!” I was a dog owner and my companions had been with me during my toughest times, the simpler truth was that l would be failing them and my duty of care to them. It is actually that that got me through the whole the whole ending my life fiasco, l told myself to stop being so bloody selfish and think of them.
It wasn’t friends, it wasn’t loved ones and it wasn’t family that saw me through self-harm and suicide attempts, it was my love for my dogs, and the dreadful fear of NOT being there for them when they needed me the most. When l took that on board properly and responsibly l stopped acting selfish and started to grow up which is what l needed to do to face my demons.
2009 was an incredibly hard year for me, so much was happening all at once, when l wasn’t burning out, l was overwhelmed and when neither of those things, l was stressed beyond measure on a frequent and daily basis. I had exceedingly poor physical health through an undiagnosed stomach disease, l was losing blood on alarming scale and becoming anemic. My mental health was terribly poor, and l truly believed that l was going nuts.
A relationship l was in was so far south to where l was l swore blind that one day l would wake up in Australia single, l was being cheated on and cheated at the same time. I had recently received my formal diagnosis for Asperger’s syndrome, l was under the Crisis team for my mental health, a medical entourage was trying to find the reason for my horrendous blood loss with my stomach disorder, l wasn’t eating, l was smoking like a trooper, l wasn’t sleeping unless you count two hours a night, l could hardly walk upright, l was receding into myself and only talked to my dogs. My partner at the time was referring to me as retarded and trying to get me sectioned under my Asperger’s, she was lying to me on a regular basis and my life was an absolute mess. There is NO polite way of saying this, it was just that.
Our relationship had indeed ended in January of that year and here we were in May a few days after my 45th birthday and l was trying to find somewhere else to live. My business that l had built up from nothing was in tatters, my reputation smashed, my partner was an animal hoarder and l had just reported her for cruelty and was trying to kick her out of the house. The previous year she had lied about being pregnant and lied about a miscarriage on the grounds that my then undiagnosed behaviour and aggressive self harming were causing her to become stressed and so this resulted in the loss of a baby that was never there in the first place.
I had always wanted children, and my hopes for that had previously been dashed in 1987 with a serious car crash that resulted in only myself coming out alive and my fiance and my Son being killed. So to be lied about this was beyond heartbreaking and caused me to unfold on myself. I had reached my limit and with my own grief and guilt never being counselled all those years back and building into demonic levels of stress l found l couldn’t cope anymore that day – May 27th 2009.
I was on a high dosage of medication for my stress and my mental health and l simply lost the plot that day, and took an overdose on 19 tablets and walked out the door without saying anything to anyone, not even my dogs. I had emptied my pockets of everything, had no phone, no identification and the only thing l did have was a strip of ten more tablets.
I turned left and walked three miles down the road, and back then l was living in a farming village just outside of Bourne in Lincolnshire, and three miles took me into Fen territory. Barren roads where the grass grew and no houses, no people, no livestock … nothing.
There was a bridge passing over a stretch of water, known as dykes in Lincolnshire that allowed the cars to travel the roads’ full 6 mile length for at the bottom was a notoriously good fishing spot on the weekends, but during the middle of the week, it was dead. I saw the space l wanted to be away from any possible prying eyes and walked down under the bridge and sat down with a stretch of filthy water trickling past in the dyke in front of me down a small slop. I saw a baby pike aabout ten inches long idling the time away in the early afternoon sun, and sat for a few moments.
I had felt the tablets kicking in during my walk, l was becoming groggy and disorientated, my eyesight was hazing and l had stomach cramps kicking in, it was safe to say that this overdose had done me a little bit of damage, so by the time l eased my back against the concrete foundations l was fast seeing the inside of my eyelids.
A strange thing happened before my eyes closed for the final time of that day, or so l thought. But l had a vision of two people sitting beside me – one on either side of me, l knew it was my fiance and my Son. A voice entered my brain, “It isn’t your time Rory, l told you to not give up on living before, it’s not your time now!” That took me back to that fateful day in November 1987, sitting there in carnage cradling my fiance before she died in my arms, when she said “Don’t give up on living.” I don’t remember anything after that ………….
The first thing l remember upon waking was hearing a strange thud thud, thud thud, thud thud in the distance and voices, the latter getting closer, l was still groggy, but apart from that felt ok. at a guess l had sat under the bridge at around 3pm, and judging by the light of the day l had to estimate that it was around 7pm. I wasn’t far out in truth. i had fallen into a drug induced slumber that according to the paramedics should have knocked out a bull elephant and yet somehow, l had mirraculously survived such a high overdose?
It was the police who had found me. My Mother had called my ‘ex’ and demanded to know where l was, and upon a swift search of the house and grounds found that l was missing. the police were notified and a full scale search was suddenly launched at around 3.15pm. why mention the times? Because whilst l am not specifically a religious man, something happened to me not long after l sat under that bridge, in debate for anyone’s interpretation, but something surreal happened, that left an indelible mark on my brain.
The thudding had in fact been a helicopter sweeping over the fens. It was by chance that a young copper saw my shoed foot under the bridge. When l was dragged out and ‘questioned’ the police said they found me in good humour? Another baffle, and whilst l wasn’t treating it as a joke, l was somewhat bemused to find five police cars and a dozen policeman on the bridge!
The tablets were taken out of my back pocket and the copper who found me was stunned and asked me “If you were trying to kill yourself why did you not take this last strip of tablets?”
“I had nothing to drink to take them down with!” I answered matter of factly.
He looked at me with a strange smile and a look of absolute incredulousness, “But you were sitting next to a dyke filled with water??”
“Are you completely insane??” I answered shocked. “I was trying to kill myself! Not poison myself, that would and could have been a very horrible death!”
We all laughed, and l was placed into an ambulance, l even got arrested because l said l was NOT going into an ambulance … but that’s another story for another time.
You see folks, even grim can be funny.