Forgiveness

Forgiveness is not something we are taught. 

No one sits you down and guides you through the process. It just exists. 

Raised as a Christian, attending catholic primary and grammar school, it was just a ~value we are all apparently meant to have. Whether it's a product of good parenting, teaching or something we figure out ourselves, the ability to forgive isn't one I'd really questioned until recently. 

There's no doubt that being able to forgive is an extremely hard act. I'm in awe of people who can find the strength to genuinely overcome feelings of resentment, even hatred towards someone or something that has wronged them. 

I've been thinking a lot about it recently. Did I ever really move on from the people who made me dread waking up every morning? Did I want to? Is my lack of forgiveness now actually hampering my ability to move on? 

I think I know the answer to that last question. But it's just passed 12 years since I took an overdose and I still don't think I'm ready to. Deep down, I'm not sure if I even want to.

Along the way I thought maybe I had somehow managed to 'forgive and forget'. I was doing things I loved, getting on with life - and dealing with the hurdles and pitfalls along the way. It's now, after ~celebrating my 27th birthday, and really thinking on something I read recently, that I wonder if I do need to "get over" the past - for my own sake.

Even having typed that though, I find myself resenting it. I do know that I am responsible for my own life; I enjoy the good moments, I suffer the bad moments. Maybe as I get older I'm slowly realising that this forgiveness business is as much for me as it is for them. The people of the past aren't losing sleep over me, they're not plagued by my sense of failure, of regret, of self-hatred for having been defeated by own mental health so often. They're probably not still afraid to once again live in the town they were born in for fear of seeing faces that remind you of downing pills at 1am on a Monday morning.

I don't think I'll ever be the kind of person who could receive a message from one of those people and offer my genuine forgiveness. I'm well aware that that might not be a good thing, but I can't imagine what one of them could say that could make up for the situations I've found and continue to find myself in. I have no qualms in saying outright that I absolutely hate them for how they derailed me. I hate that they made me weak. I hate that they still make me weak. They probably don't even remember my name, but be it weight jibes, comments on sexuality or a simple surname joke, I know exactly how every word of theirs added to the trauma. 

I take responsibility too of course. I know plenty of people have overcome their bad experiences, and can share inspiring stories of sticking two fingers up at the bullies with their later successes. I've still managed to achieve things which I am incredibly proud of. There are plenty of other factors at play which have led me to where I am right now - things out of my control, not influenced or otherwise by apologies. Looking back, Autistic tendencies made me an easy target when I and they didn't know exactly who 'Ryan' was. I'm just glad that I understand me a bit more now.

Thankfully I've never been on the receiving end of one of these ~apologies where the once-victim is expected to hear how their bully was a product of circumstances at the time, how he didn't know any better, how he might have been in the closet himself and lashed out. Sure, maybe I'll feel different if I was to find myself in that situation, but right now, I just cannot imagine allowing any of them to explain away their behaviour. Some victims don't survive their desperate attempt to escape. Will the apology and excuses cut it for their families? If it does, fair enough, they have my utmost respect.

Would an apology from a teacher, who for no apparent reason despised everything about me, help me fix whatever it might be that causes me to stumble when things are going well? I doubt it. Don't get me wrong, I'm not plagued by a need to hear 'sorry' from these people. I very rarely think about them on a day-to-day basis. Through the process of CBT and counselling last year, I wondered if I needed to forgive them or myself. Perhaps both? I'm not sure if I could (or want to) do either. Am I hurting myself because of that? Possibly. I don't know how to change it though. The sessions reached an end. Once a week for three months, you've had your shot kid, there's a long waiting list.

Victim blaming, victim shaming. The culture of forgiveness. Along with Stephen Fry's indefensible comments on self-pity recently, I thought more about how the two sit alongside each other. Is forgiveness really necessary to stop his bemoaned culture self-pity and allow people to move on? I'm not a victim of sexual abuse either as a child or an adult, so I hesitate to even begin trying to imagine how someone who is felt reading his comments. I was angered even by the suggestion that this is some kind of self-indulgence that I or any others take pleasure from.

Perhaps it's because of my own experiences that I feel we are so surrounded by this attitude these days. The victim must be strong. He or she must forgive and forget. "Be the bigger person," we are told. Sure thing, let me just put the last 12 years of medication, counselling, fear, anxiety, depression and struggling to survive aside and make sure that those poor bullies can sleep well tonight.  And then maybe we can all live happily ever after... just because I was the bigger person and did what society expects of it's victims. 

I'm feeling a little proud of myself.

It's now 10 years and nine months since I had a turning point in my life.
An overdose just before midnight on a Sunday night was the moment I couldn't hide my problems anymore. Suddenly I was that kid, another statistic.

My memories of that time are blurry. I could probably dig deeper and really go back there, but I've avoided it this long and don't think I would like to really revisit in depth.

The aftermath of such events was being sent to counselling and the local child and adolescent mental healthservice. It was short-lived.

I used to sit there mute. I'd refuse to go unless Mum was in the room with me. Not because I needed my hand holding, but because I knew she could talk and fill those silences. I wasn't opening up. 

I've always been more comfortable discussing my problems with females. The school's care was not worth talking about, but I was able to connect with one teacher who helped me as much as she could. Suddenly I was sat with a man from the Child and Adolescent Mental Health Service and I didn't know what to do.

We got through bits obviously, but I was quickly boxed as depressed and needing some medication to get me back to school. And that's when I began taking anti-depressants. 

Long story short (I think I've been over the inbetween years a few times!) it's been a rocky road. A very rocky road.

I never really coped with London life. Only for having a job I absolutely loved, I'd never have lasted the two and a half years I did. I'd stay in the office as late as I could, hoping the tube would be as empty as possible and that I could quickly make my way home to the safety of my four walls. Once I was in the door, that was me safe. I could stay in my bedroom and keep doing some work or catch up on some TV. I was safe until the next morning and the next panic attack. 

That reached a peak earlier this year and next thing I knew I was back in Ireland.

Sorry, I'm really trying to do this 'long story short' business I promise. So early May I came back for my youngest brother's confirmation. I didn't even make it to the chapel. I freaked out and had to watch as my family head off without me. Again. There I was letting them down. Letting my little brother down. The next day I realised I wasn't going back to London. 

Over a 10 year period I've never seen anyone apart from my GP on occasions when I was dragged by my poor Mother. That happened again in May when my tablet dosage was increased for the first time.

I've established myself a home life routine again - even if it just throwing myself into writing and doing what I can for the people who have amazingly allowed me to remain part of what they do. I can't even begin to describe the emotions in knowing someone is willing to allow you to do what you love, even when you've been extremely hard work and abandoned them. That kind of support is what keeps me going.

But, truth be told, I exist in my own little 'Ryan bubble'. My parents are amazing people. Supporting, understanding, loving, but always pushing me. Always trying to help me. But I'm hard work. Extremely hard work. I like my space, I like my own routine. I've been used to being at home since I was 15 and began home-schooling. But I'm frighteningly alone, and I know that worried them both so much for the future.

One day my anxiety levels reached a peak which saw me sit on the sofa and pull a relatively large circle of the thick hair from my face. That's a frightening sentence to type for sharing, but the day after I did that I was so alarmed I took a picture of the mess (below), because I knew one day I would need to remind myself never to let that happen again. 

Since coming home I've been on one family day out, a promise I made to Mum that I would be part of and with enough notice and brain-planning I found myself able to be there with them all. Other than that, I've not really done much. I went to the cinema once, which, for someone who absolutely loves films, sucks. I'm in my bubble where I can work and enjoy the safety of being at home, but outside of that... Anyway, I'm glad I can write this now. 

My brother was recently diagnosed as ASD, after a long, long battle between my Mum and both his primary and secondary schools. As part of the assessment, she went through everyone in the family, detailing every bit of our lives. I think I caught their attention. Sadly, at 25, it's going to be a very long path to being diagnosed and officially placed on the spectrum. However, that's not the important part for me. Just hearing it and being able to research what Autism is and means was a huge moment for me. I suddenly felt like I had an understanding of who I am. Things made sense to me for the first time. I realised why I've struggled with so many things, why my personality is what it is. An official diagnosis might even disagree, but for me, that was the moment I was able to get a grasp of the last decade. Instead of just being the boy on anti-depressants because he was bullied at school, I could begin to understand my own brain. 

So I made a decision to finally speak to my GP and ask for the help I needed. Six weeks ago I got an appointment to see a psychiatrist. Yesterday, I had that appointment. Up until the night before I wasn't sure if I would go. I was trying to convince myself that I would, but as always with me, until I was in the door I wouldn't know for sure. Thankfully I did. And it felt amazing. 

The lady I saw said all the right things. When I first sat down she simply opened by saying she knew nothing about me. For the first time in ten years I was able to speak about everything. I finally found the voice I needed to help myself. 

The result? I'm coming off the tablets I've been on since I was 15. OK, I'm going onto new ones, but it feels like someone who understand where I'm at has actually made the first medically informed decision and knows what they have prescribed. And that feels exciting. I'll see a psychologist and then we'll progress with the ASD side of things. 

All in all, I wanted to write this as today I feel good. I feel positive. I'm proud that I finally did what I needed to do. Sure, it's late in many ways, but I can't focus on that. I have to see a future. I need to believe that this is the beginning of becoming the person I'm meant to be and building the life I deserve to have. 

Step one of that was organising a quick visit to London. I'm nervous / terrified but excited and hopeful. Small steps. Even if it takes a year, I want to believe I can get there again. That I can do the job I love with the people I love and actually find a life for myself for the first time. 

Now I just want to keep enjoying the time with the family I'm so lucky to have :)

I'm always fearful of over-sharing, but that subsides when I remember the blogs I've read that have helped me, and if I can do that for one other person, it makes it so worthwhile.

Mind - http://www.mind.org.uk
Mental Health Foundation - http://www.mentalhealth.org.uk/
Rethink - http://www.rethink.org/
Young Minds - http://www.youngminds.org.uk/