Saturday, 3 August 2013

Saturday Night

How are you all? I hope you're feeling good. Saturday night! Are you feeling in a bit of a party mood tonight? I hope you are. Going out and having a drink and a dance. I think that's what they invented these weekends for. Out tonight girls? Yeah I know, I can see you've got the legs out. Now, don't be blaming them lads when they are chasing you later. It's all good tonight. You say you are all feeling good? Feeling like tonight's the night and all that. Good I'm glad. I hope you're all in a party mood tonight!

I'm not in a party mood. No I am not. Not going anywhere tonight. That's just how I want it tonight because I just don't have it in me to do the saturday night out thing this time. Oh if you had seen me one week ago you might think there would never be a day I wouldn't want to be out. I was pretending to be happy then. But that was then and this is now and I'm not really pretending anymore.

I am tired. No, tired doesn't quite do it. I'm exhausted. Totally drained of energy like I've been on a crash diet for a month. I can't get out of bed in the morning, can't sleep at night. In between making a cup of tea is about as productive as I've been this week. At the moment I'm still dreaming big but I can't follow through. I want to, I really do but I feel weak like a cancer patient. If they gave out prizes for all the things I'm going to do...

It's entirely my own fault. There is no self pity here this time. I did this. What this is, is the physical symptoms of depression leading from the front and dragging all the other stuff willingly along for the ride. No sympathy this time because I new it would return. Perhaps I even encouraged a backlash as I taunted myself with more and more booze. I'm not going to lie and say the last month or so drinking on the weekends hasn't been fun. It has, sometimes even too much fun. But it was fun I knew I would have to pay the price for somewhere down the line.

I don't regret it, even if I probably should have rested a week or too early. Not regretting it means it will happen again. Continually. And with that comes this feeling of wanting to put my head through a mincing machine. So, I can't feel sorry for myself and neither should anyone else. I was in control of this thing and I relinquished it in the name of drinking and fun. And when I'm back in charge of myself I'll do it all again.

There is more to putting and end to the self-pity though. My life is not really that bad and my problems aren't shit. Nothing that bad has ever happened to me so I can't sit hear feeling sorry for myself. Not when I can see the sadness in other peoples eyes 100 million times worse than in my own. Something happened last week that makes me very sad. But it give me a little perspective on myself. I'll tell you a bit...

You don't ever want to see a coffin being carried by one man. Chances are he is carrying his own child. His own little baby.

She was stillborn on Tuesday. Blessed and buried on Wednesday. Loved everyday before and since. There she was in her mummy's arms, a little bundle of human perfection that doesn't get the chance to be anything but perfect. I've never had a child, not sure that I ever will. I can only imagine the heady euphoria of it all. Couldn't even begin to explore the crushing devastation of losing a child.

I catch myself glancing at photographs of Aine and Grace lying together in their hospital bed. I take glances because I can't properly focus on the scene. It's too much reality for me. It makes me feel a little ill.

In the church two scenes compete to attract my eyes. One is the tiny white coffin with a baby inside. The other is her tearful parents consoling each other. I'm a little teary eyed but I'm holding. I don't want to cry here. Watching Neil and my Dad lowering the coffin into the ground I feel a little detached from it all. Like I'm watching television with the sound off. When the prayers are finished I line up to hug my sister like everyone else. I guess I done my duty but it felt completely inadequate. If being there was all I could do was I really doing anything at all.

That was a humbling experience. My problems aren't nothing. They are very real and maybe even potentially fatal. But how can I ever feel sorry for myself again when that little baby didn't get the chances I have?

Even more humbling than any of that though, was this one text message I received from a woman who had just buried her little baby girl barely an hour before. If the other stuff couldn't force the tears from my eyes this would. Aine wrote:

" Hey lil bro, r u ok? Sorry didn't get chance to talk to you at the grave.. but if you find things hard to deal with and need some1 to talk to im always here for u..ok, don't be getting too down, I know it's easier said than done! xx "
 That one doesn't get deleted. 

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