Don’t Damn Me!Life Experience (How The Hell Did That Happen?)
Written by Paulie on October 23rd, 2008As i’ve started to write again, and think about things that are going on around me, as well as looking for subjects and personal experiences to write about, i’ve realised something that was quite unexpected.
The one big motto of most writers seems to be, universally, “Write about the things you know.” Obviously the more interesting, unique and/or experience filled lives that people lead, the more they have to write about.
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The assumption
I never really see myself as grown up, or experienced or having led a fulfilling life. Part of the reason for that is because of my ex, who certainly liked to portray an image of me that was immature, wasn’t experienced enough in life to understand some of how it worked (A nice little psychological trick to justify wrongs and make it sound like the normal way of life).
Don’t get me wrong, i can be quite mature, and i’ve always known that, but i put that down to my time as a Christian, more than anything else. It taught me about responsibility, among other things. And in my opinion, responsibility is one of the greatest lessons in life we can ever learn. I may not be a Christian anymore, and depending on my mood, i may not be a very nice person anymore. But when i’m an arse, it’s because i’m an arse, not because of other people or because my Mum didn’t buy me a bike when i was 9. I am who i am, and that includes the bad stuff, i know i’m not perfect and when i’ve done wrong i hopefully don’t try and put the blame on others. I try and limit the bad stuff in certain ways, and certainly wouldn’t inflict it on those that don’t deserve it (I hope), but i’m responsible for my actions, and it seems to work. I treat people with respect, and people who know me tend to see me as “decent.” Well, those that matter anyway. 
I know that probably conflicts with some of my posts on here, about my ex. But in all honesty, although i do think my ex screwed my life over, and the resulting mental breakdown did hold me back and make a mess of my emotional state, etc, i try not to use that as an excuse for my actions of today. Yes i do have some difficulties in life with trust, etc, but I try not to let those difficulties become bastardizations of right and wrong. I won’t lead someone astray, pretend to be something i’m not, use them, then blame my ex for making me that way. I’ll just be myself, however standoffish that might be, and explain why I’m like that, should someone ever try to get that close (And it has happened on a few occasions). I’d much rather be honest up front, and push people away, than become that which i hate, and have to make excuses for it.
So, in that sense i do think i’m reasonably mature, even though i’m more than capable of returning to the mind of a schoolboy while i watch South Park, or make penis jokes.
I digress…
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Bag of meaty life experiences
Recently i’ve been thinking again, on a regular basis, and i realised that actually as life experience goes, my bag of tricks is quite meaty in its content.
I know there are people out there who have gone through much more, and certainly more harrowing experiences, but it’s not a competition and as experience goes, i’ve led a reasonably interesting existence with quite a few things i could one day write about.
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Childhood
I grew up quite poor. I may not have gone days without food, or found myself sleeping in shop doorways, but i certainly know what it feels like to be hungry, waiting for my Father to come home with his wages so we can go to the chippy for dinner, because there’s no food left in the cupboards and the shops are closed.
I also know what it’s like to not have branded clothes, and have to wear trousers with holes in, because there’s no money to buy new ones.
I know what it feels like for a child, knowing their Mother is worried about where the next meal is coming from, or how she will repay a loan she felt it necessary to take, to give us a good Christmas.
I also know the positive aspect of that. The togetherness in a community of people going through the same things. The times of stealing apples from surrounding orchards, as part of a large group, then bringing back the spoils and having our Mothers bake pies, crumbles and jams, for most of the street.
The experiences of seeing someone with nothing offering anything they could, to help someone worse off than themselves, within the group. It’s a pretty humbling experience to see one person give away the money they were going to use to buy cigarettes (Opium for the poor, which for anyone inflicted by the habit, was often the only thing that got them through), so that another family could afford a bag of potatoes or a loaf of bread, to put a meal on the table.
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Teenage years
My teenage years were a lot more comfortable, because my Mother had gone back to work, and with two wages coming into the house we found ourselves living the life of luxury, certainly by working class standards. Suddenly there were Nike and Adidas trainers in the house, instead of Gola and Dunlop. There were changes in diet, with Chinese takeaways once a week, and the cupboards and freezer were never empty.
At the same time though, as other Mothers took on jobs, and people in general were better off, thanks to better benefits and better paid jobs, as well as falling prices of groceries, etc, there was a big chance in the community and the people that made it.
Suddenly commercialism had snuck under the radar. Rather than the old togetherness and helping your neighbour, people were more interested in accumulating and bragging. Kids wanted the best names in shoes, clothes and toys, and rather than everyone being equal and having very little, there was much more diversity, with those who still had nothing becoming the ridiculed and even bullied.
It was also a time when i personally matured some, specifically regarding the stupidity of tribalism in our society. “Ulster Says No” and “Fuck The Pope” became embarassing memories, things i’d once said without actually really understanding what it was all about. Following the leader and mimicking phrases for the reward of acceptance and belonging.
At 16 i joined a Youth Training Programme (For no other reason than to get some money before starting college) and mixed with real life Catholics for the first time since i was very young, when it wasn’t an issue.
Mixing with these people stuck with me, i never went to another parade or uttered or scribbled another sectarian or nationalistic phrase again.
As part of my pre-teen years and early teens i lived through some harrowing times in the troubles. I was too young to know what was going on in the late 70s and early 80s. I’ve had personal experience of being caught in the middle of riots, as beer-bellied, drunken men with sectarian tattoos launched attacks on the police at an otherwise peaceful march, or when two conflicting sides met in the middle, thanks to bad planning or sheer bad luck. Not always sectarian either, thanks to the age-old Mods vs. The Skins battles in Bangor and a mis-timed day trip to the sea-side resort.
I’ve also experienced the somewhat innocent and nonchalant indifference that only a child could have, when a bomb goes off a few streets away, and then experienced the stark contrast of a teenager, with a bit more understanding and because of that, fear, when placed in the same position only those few years later.
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18 and a surprise turn!
At 18, on my 18th birthday to be exact, i experienced my first truly long term terrifying experience. I’ve already wrote about it on this site. Through that one experience of having a mate spike my drink with LSD for a birthday present, my life changed for the worse and the better. Now there’s duality! I experienced the terror and worry of panic attacks, the constant fear of when the next one would come, to the point where the difference between feeling shit because of worry and the peak of terror during the panic attacks wasn’t that great. That’s when you know life isn’t good.
Then there’s the experience of becoming a born again Christian at the age of 18 and a half, or so. The joyful upheaval of leaving behind that which i’d considered to be my life, and pick up all-new tricks. Not to mention the upheaval of losing friends because of my change of faith, either because they didn’t know how to deal with it, or because i didn’t know how to deal with them.
I can still remember gathering up my collection of cassettes, which i’d spent a small fortune on, and taking them into Belfast to sell. Then tearing down all of my posters, which covered every wall in my room. Scraping and ripping off wallpaper which contained pentagrams, Anarchy signs and teen-angst ridden sentiments like “Fuck the suits” and “Fuck the pigs.”
I remember gathering up my somewhat expansive collection of heavy metal magazines and guitar tab magazines, then binning them. It was all very liberating at the time, i was shaking off the shackles of the past and replacing them with what i thought was the brave new world.
I remember the change within me as a person, gaining empathy, understanding and love. Being reduced to tears as i prayed for people I didn’t even know. Feeling so whole and complete i couldn’t help but beam from ear to ear, regardless of where i was and who i was with.
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23 and another turn!
Much like the upheaval of becoming a Christian, the walking away from it was just as big. The walking away from not only the beliefs, faith and contentment, but also the people who I now classed as close friends. The uncomfortable feeling of not knowing how to tell them or what to do.
The most difficult aspect of that was with the guy i considered to be my best mate at the time. Someone i really respected and looked up to as a person. If anyone had asked me who i wanted to be like, it would have been him. But i was faced with a very difficult situation.
Our contact had dwindled a bit, because i knew i was losing my faith, he was still all systems go in the church, and i felt like i needed time to think and try and sort myself out (still with the thought that i could turn it around). But it seemed to get worse, and i couldn’t fix it. I didn’t really know how to tell him, probably because i knew he’d be a bit upset, or feel the need to try and help me, which i didn’t really want.
But at that time, his Sister died. I should have phoned him, or got in contact some way, but i didn’t. I just didn’t know what to say, and it turns out he understood. He phoned me a while after, saying he knew people were finding it difficult. She wasn’t much older than me, and she’d recovered from the illness about a year or two before (A brain tumour), so it was a shock when it came back and killed her so quickly.
My real problem though, was this guy found his comfort in God, in his faith, and in the church. I really struggled with myself over it, and in the end i decided it was best i broke off contact. I just couldn’t run the risk of my lack of faith, or awakening to Agnosticism, affecting his resolve. I know that if i’d been in that same position as him, and i had something to hold me together and someone took it away, i’d be pretty distraught.
We did have contact a few times after it, but nothing more than a little catch up here and there. He kept his faith and i found a new life. I think it worked out pretty well. It’s a shame though, he’s one of the very few friends i’ve had in my life, that I wish i still had.
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Alcoholism
Probably quite a surprise to various people who have only known me in certain phases of my life, this one.
As part of my agnosticism and broadening horizons on life, i started to go to internet meets. Mostly in England and Scotland. And to combat my shyness i would have a few beers, although in fairness i liked having the few beers even aside from the dutch courage they afforded me.
The fact that i was going to internet meets, which i then learned are an excuse to get drunk and make new friends, led me to drink more and more. Within the space of about 8 months, or thereabouts, i went from drinking two bottles of budweiser to loosen the cogs, to drinking two bottles of vodka in a day for the buzz.
I’m not sure if what i had was a drinking problem, most other people would say i was an alcoholic, as i did drink pretty much from when i got up, until when i went to bed, probably six days a week. But i never felt out of control, and i sure as hell didn’t suffer as part of it. I never had hangovers, or did anything i regretted (Apart from on one occasion when i tried Vodka and Red Bull, where i got a little argumentative with a friend - She said it was a nothing incident, but i really didn’t like the idea and never drank the mixture again). I was always a happy drunk. I could afford it and it never got in the way of my life. Looking back though, it can’t have been healthy and i certainly wouldn’t ever do it again.
In the end, i met my ex, and her Father had been an alcoholic, so she’d seen the damage it could do and asked me to cut down, for her sake. I gave up completely that night, then later allowed myself a pint with a pub lunch, or maybe a few bottles of beer at Christmas, etc. I did drink a bit when i broke up with her, but it was short lived, as i realised it wasn’t helping and instead put me at risk of doing something stupid like phoning her against her wishes, or something. So, again i gave up. Since then i’ve gone back to a few bottles of beer at Christmas, although the last two Christmases i’ve not had any.
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Love
I’ve experienced love. Both the mystical and magical love of a deity who loves me, and the love and being loved by another human being. I’ve experienced love so strong that i would have died for that person, and as part of that i’ve experienced the destruction and life-swallowing emptiness it brings when the relationship ends.
I’ve experienced the love you read about in books and see in blockbuster movies. The feelings that enable writers to metaphor their asses off, using butterflies, radiating sunshine and the free-flying of beautiful birds in even more beautiful skies above.
I’ve experienced the joyful, explosive turmoil of falling head-over-heels in love, and the destructive, explosive turmoil of falling out of love, or should i say being fallen-out-of-love with, as I’m sure if i allowed myself to, i could find out i’m probably still in love with her, in a part of me which i’ve co-ordined off and labelled: “No. Just don’t. Walk on by.”
well, i’ve just realised this is up over 2,600 words, so i think that’s enough of a taster (Which is what this post was supposed to be!). Needless to say, there’s so many other things i could have added, and i could so easily say much more about the subjects i’ve covered.
I guess i’m a grown-up after all. I’m a man. Some of the boy still lives in here, some of him is missing because he got frightened and ran off, and some of him is disillusioned by the harsh realities of life, like finding out Santa isn’t real, and that love isn’t really like Jon Bon Jovi or Jim Steinbeck would have us believe.
Some of him has changed, evolved and adapated to better cope in the environment he’s been forced into. But nothing lasts forever, not even cold November rain. Change is inevitable, the secret is to make that change work. If this life is all we have, with nothing to look forward to when it’s over, then it’s a good idea to make today work and get something out of it, however little and insignificant it might seem to others. Tomorrow may never come.
