The power of anger

Let me tell you a story from way back in 2001 when I was 18. It was a difficult period in my life. I’d quit college due to depression months earlier despite being predicted good grades. Psychology, English Language and Philosophy (swapped from Media studies) were not a good combination for a compulsive overthinker with low self esteem.

I moved out of the family home and was living in my own flat in the middle of a red light district (although I didn’t know that at the time). I didn’t really know what to do with myself but I had two things going for me, a temporary job filing and stuffing envelopes at the tax office. It wasn’t great but it got my curiosity going and something else to think about. Plus my first real girlfriend Charl.

I connected with Charl through a precursor to modern social media called Leisure District, through cable TV. She lived in Stoke with her mum and I’d go see her each weekend and every other week I’d go by coach to pick her up then take her on the next coach back with me. During the week we’d talk for hours every evening on the phone, taking turn on alternating days to phone each other.

Eggs in one basket

Perhaps I was a little too over-invested in Charl emotionally. I worshiped the ground she walked on and she occupied my every thought so when she didn’t call one night, at first I thought ok, she’ll ring the next and just gave her space but she didn’t call and after this carried on for a little while, me desperately waiting by the phone each night hoping for it to ring, my anxiety levels just started hitting the roof.

Mix in a bit of self medication with vodka, I got to the point where I just couldn’t cope and I took an overdose of aspirin, 38 tablets in total whilst in work. I didn’t know whether it was likely to kill me or not but eventually I just collapsed in the toilets and someone found me.

At hospital I was forced to drink this disgusting charcoal drink to block the drugs from being absorbed. It felt surreal, like it wasn’t me at all. Time seemed to stop and I was in shock. I was discharged late that night on the proviso I would come back to hospital the next day to speak to the mental health team.

A sense of relief

When I got home, I actually felt a sense of relief, the pressure that had been building up had been purged. I had no intention of self harming again, I just wanted to get back to normal. My parents took me to the hospital the next afternoon.

I was sat in the relatives room with my parents and a psychiatric nurse and I was engaging with them, answering their questions about what happened and why. Then they asked for my parents to leave the room. To be honest, I don’t know why they were there anyway other than for moral support as I was an adult but there you go.

In private they asked some more questions about whether I’d ever done this before. The truth was I used to take small overdoses, 6 tablets at a time, maybe sometimes 12, every now and again.

They weren’t suicide attempts, it was a coping mechanism. I could never quite get it right with cutting, I did try but the best I could do was leave a very faint mark on my skin. I felt a release from doing this and felt better afterwards. This information was given in confidence. I was an adult. It was bad enough my mum knowing I’d taken this overdose, especially given her younger brother Leo had committed suicide a few years earlier. Unfortunately the depression is very much a familial trait, along with addictions and weight issues.

Betrayal of confidence

The nurse invited my parents back in and with out any right to do so he proceeded to repeat the information I had just given him in confidence. That moment changed everything. I felt this intense rage building in every sinew of my body. I just couldn’t believe what he just said. I wanted to jump up and toss the table upside down but I don’t have it in me to be physically violent.

From that second on, my eyes glazed over and I refused to speak another word. They took this as being a sign I was going to do something again to harm myself. I think we were in that room for hours with me refusing to even recognise that he was in that room with me.

I remember nurses whispering about needing the relatives room for another patient’s family as someone passed away. I was sectioned and moved to the psychiatric unit, Meadowbrook. They forced me to take a sedative. It took quite a few staff to do that. There was no way I was going to let them.

No place for an 18 year old

The place was awful, there were people walking around laughing and shrieking manically. I was depressed but I was fully with it, not like the other patients there. They put me on a 1 to 1 suicide watch which means the door of your room is kept wide open and a nurse is sat there on a chair looking straight back at you at all times. It’s impossible to sleep like that. If you weren’t distressed to begin with, that will do it for you.

I decided if they were going to make me feel so uncomfortable then I’d get a bit of revenge and let them know how it felt so I put my chair right up close to the door and sat on it staring directly back at them. They backed off and let me sleep with the door a little less ajar and the monitoring a little less obvious.

It was very difficult to tell the difference between the staff and the patients in there. The staff looked worse that the patients a lot of the time and they were so negative. I was talking about going back to work when I got out and they made out that my employer wouldn’t take me back for a while. It made me cross. I was only in there for a couple of weeks I think but it felt a lot longer. I worked out how to play the game, say the right things to earn my freedom.

An angry blond

I was still seething with rage on the inside. The anger that used to be entirely directed at myself suddenly had a new target and I was determined to prove them wrong. I was back at work within a couple of days of being released. After my temporary contract finished I got a permanent role in a new call centre that was being opened at the same place. It was a bit ironic for me as I hated answering the phone beforehand but I was the first member of my training cohort to answer calls independently.

I used all that rage as rocket fuel. I found out that Charl had Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, a form of skin cancer. She did ring me a couple of times and she came to see a concert with me (it was either Westlife or a top of the pops tour concert) but after that ghosted me. Years later I worked out that she must have been cheating on me looking at the dates of her last relationship. I was heartbroken but I started a new relationship with another girl who was my agony aunt through the Charl situation.

The underdog overcomes

I learned to drive, I lost 10 stone on a weight management programme and I juggled being a carer, a boyfriend, working and studying at college and uni and completely changed my life. None of it were easy and there were lots of times I thought I’d never make it but somehow I did and I used the anger from that spell in hospital as motivation.

Now, 22 years later and I feel the same pure white hot rage coursing through my veins again. It’s in every cell of my body. I’d been struggling for some time and there’s nothing like being kicked when you’re down to spark of a nuclear bomb. I’m not young any more. It will be harder but the anger is also stronger than ever and I can feel my atoms rearranging back to full on attack mode. I might not be able to get down to my weight at 21 (12 stone 8lbs) but if I can get down to 18 stone I’ll be happy. It’s not going to happen over night, it will take time, perhaps even five years but if I keep locked onto this anger and remind myself why I’m doing it, I can do anything. I’m starting to remember who I actually am.

I am a fighter pilot

I am a fighter pilot. My F14 took a direct hit to the control system during covid and I was spiralling to the ground at great speed. I ejected at the very last second when my jet hit the ground but I survived.

Now there’s a new typhoon waiting for me. It’s been refuels. It’s been rearmed. The cannon is ready, the brimstones are loaded, along with the AMRAAMs. You’re about to see me at 10g heading for the sun. You’ll feel my afterburners wrath before you know I’m behind you, locked on, ready to press that trigger and complete my mission. I’m going to lose that weight and I’m going to be ready. The angry blond is back