Today Fiction Romantic found himself in a mental hospital, not for the first time, but this was different. You could tell by the posters on the wall and all the telephone numbers (I even have some more of those now!).
This is the ballad of Fiction Romantic and how it came to this sorry state. Fast rewind to the early eighties when your correspondent was 17 years old. This was Thatcher’s Britain for any youngsters reading this. After leaving college, having spent more time drinking than studying, and gained a single ‘O’ level to add to the three I left school with (sociology if you were wondering) I joined the ever growing dole queue. After a few months largely spent drinking and having a good time (I’m sure money went further in those days) I was offered a place on a YTS scheme, Work Experience on Employers Premises. I duly started in an admin office within a large factory. After a few months (this was a six month placement) and much to our and our “employers” surprise we were told that we would be getting day release for 10 weeks to learn “life skills”, or how to make us look slightly more employable as it turned out.
So me and another lad on a placement in the same factory me ended up in an old converted house used by Essex County Council Social Service Department. We were joined up with other young folk in similar “jobs” for £23 a week (it was about a fiver more than the dole money at the time, we were easy to bribe then). We are in this room and my eyes are drawn to a beautiful young woman on the other side, and I fell in love. Anyway to cut a long story short this beautiful young woman became my best friend. In the pre internet era we used to send each other letters and meet up in town and go shopping. I sent her flowers on her birthday. Eventually we decided to share a home as we had no hope of affording anywhere on our own. (As it turned out we couldn’t even get close to buying a home with both our salaries.) We ended up renting a cottage in the country. We are still best friends at this stage but family and friends are beginning to ask if we are going to get married. We discussed the possibility but even at this point we can’t say those three little words to each other. Both of us were insecure. Eventually though we start to become a proper couple, but I couldn’t believe this lovely woman could love me and, in fear of being rejected, I rejected her. I now realise that alcohol and depression are not a good combination when making life changing decisions. As it turned out she did love me and I hurt her badly.
Fast forward nearly 30 years, Fiction Romantic returns to his home town (I live 600 miles away now) for a few days, mainly to see Bob Dylan at the Albert Hall. This was my first trip home since my heart attack and only the second time I had spent a few nights at home since my Dad passed away in 1998. Several times I found myself unintentionally in places that hold memories of our brief time together. On my last night something told me I would never see her again. That trip unsettled me and over the next few months she was in my thoughts more and more. She showed me the end of her life. My depression grew worse and I had to fight the urge to walk into the sea to find the peace of mind I was desperately seeking. Eventually I decided I would do the modern thing and send her a PM via Facebook. I agonised over the words, I didn’t want to re-open old wounds. I finally plucked up the courage to post those words to her. I couldn’t find her account (I wasn’t stalking her but I knew she was on Facebook a few months earlier). My blood froze, I searched on google and within seconds I was reading her obituary. What was sad was what it didn’t say, no “loving wife and mother”, or “after a long illness bravely borne”. All it said was her name, date of death, her age and the name and address of the funeral directors. This was half past midnight on what was now a Saturday. I was due to fly for the first time in years, on a business trip to Liverpool on the Sunday. For several days all I had was what I had seen in my head and what was in the notice (as a civil servant I know the minimum you can get away with in a statement and this was the minimum!). A couple of days after I got back from Liverpool I found the courage to phone the Co-op, who did the arrangements, and they wouldn’t tell me anything, they said they’d ask a member of the family to phone me. At this point the agony of not knowing what had happened to her was overwhelming and I fell apart, but I pulled myself together in time to take a phone call from her sister, who confirmed what I already knew. What I had seen was, indeed, true except that I wasn’t there through her journey, in reality I was 600 miles away. On one desperate day at the beach, before I knew the truth, I asked her to send me a sign, which she has.
Now, over the last few weeks I have tried to make sense of all this and have had to try and explain to several doctors, which is how I ended up in hospital today. Now I know the truth the dreams/visions or whatever else you want to call them have stopped.
Today, I am depressed, broken hearted and stricken with grief for all the wasted years. When I left her, I left my best friend, my soul mate and the love of my life.
The urge to go and join her has been very strong but somehow I am clinging on. The immediate risk is receding, but the darkness that has enveloped me for months is never far away. Death no longer bothers me (I think she also showed me my fate!), but I can’t say I’m looking forward to the process.
I wasn’t sure whether to post this here but I have found it cathartic writing this, and I am intrigued as to whether anyone in Afterword land has any rational ideas to explain any of this, because I know I can’t.
Right now I could do with cheering up, so can you recommend any tunes to sooth a troubled soul?
A friend recommended this song to me, I have heard it over the years but never really listened to it before but it’s pretty close to my reality!
Bette Midler – The Rose (feel free to skip the advert)
Wow. I feel a bit shattered just reading that, never mind living through it. I don’t have any explanations. But it’s clear that you’ve had/are having a tough time of it and I’m glad that writing it down has helped. I hope it’s the start of a road back for you.
I don’t know how helpful the hospital has been but I would suggest thinking about bereavement counselling (as a civil servant you probably have access to this via the employee support package).
And keep talking here. I wish I could think of songs that might cheer you up but my mind seems to have gone numb…
Another vote for counselling. This year, I’ve been talking to a counsellor about my childhood, teenage years, school, parents, self esteem and loads of other stuff and I feel a lot better for it. I’m calmer and just feel better about myself and my life and it’s helped me to understand certain events in my past. I don’t usually contribute much to the personal threads and I don’t want to elaborate any further but what I would have dismissed previously as psychobabble has been a very good thing for me.
I drove past the site of the Hammersmith Palais today having seen my 94 year old mother in law earlier. She never fails to remind us that she used to go dancing there when she was a girl and I always think of The Kinks song, Come Dancing which I have happy memories of, so here it is with apologies for the terrible video. Wishing you well.
https://youtu.be/z8V26QkVuew
Thirded. I was referred a couple of months ago because diet and meds do not control my Crohn’s on their own or in combination, and stress can trigger digestive ulcers.
So far, nothing life-shattering but I find it reassuring to hear a professional remind me of things like
(a) do more of what you like and less of what you don’t
(b) everybody thinks their dad is an arse when they’re 13
(c) everybody occasionally thinks their 13-y-o kid is an arse (see also point b)
(d) don’t let the bastards grind you down
And so on.
But the act of talking about this stuff, without consequence, is really helping me, like Dave, to be calmer and feel healthier.
And now I’m off to the hospital for an afternoon’s routine tests to see if it is having any beneficial physical affects…
Everything that dies shall rise.
Everything doesn’t have to have a rational explanation. I know several intelligent people (none of them makes any money from claiming to be a medium etc) who has experienced similar things, I’ve even had a couple of inexplicable and “impossible” things happen to me when I was younger.
I have no need to know and understand everything in life, nor do I feel any need to explore such things any further. Weird stuff just happens, sometimes, and then life goes on in a very normal, rational way again all of the other days.
I’m sorry for your loss. I’ve never been in love so I feel disqualified to say anything useful and comforting about how you should feel about it. But I find this song very useful when I’m sad about people I’ve lost in my life.
And do stick around; life can be good again if you decide to grab hold of it and live it the way you want to.
I’ve got no helpful words but can only say that we are built to come through such pain, and I am sure you will.
Have some Schubert. It isn’t necessarily cheerful, but it is beautiful and always works for me
As I think you recognise from reading your last paragraphs you have taken the first steps toward recovery, FR: never underestimate the power of telling someone what is hurting you. I’m sure you’ll know every one of us wishes you well.
I’ve had 2 great loves in my life (aside from LFC and the Undertones). I’ve been married to the second for 20 years. The first killed herself earlier this year. She’d been with her partner for longer that we were together. I can’t imagine what he felt. Well, I sort of can. But for him it must be immeasurably worse.
I found out about it when friends saw odd messages on Facebook.
The world is worse for not having K in it. And for knowing that I will never again be able to delight her with news of the finding of new verses of Sappho, or any thing else. It makes me feel like my own time is running out quickly.
But I take solace in her having all those years of her own life. That is what we all do. We live our lives. Good bits and bad bits. There are missed opportunities, and sometimes that leads onto better opportunities. I don’t know if we would have lasted 20 years – both our subsequent relationships did, and are possibly better for us. We don’t know and we can’t know. All we can do is go on. We can change nothing past.
I miss her. To misquote Leonard Cohen “I think of her, very often”.
But I’ve also got poorly wife and kids to nurse through a cold, expenses to sort out, packing for a trip, and some reports to write. The stuff of life. It’s what we have.
There is no reason in loss. It just happens.
Whatever we do or don’t do. However much we love or feel indifference. It just happens.
The pain of it doesn’t diminish. Time does not heal the hurt of it. We just have to accept it and find some way of bearing the weight of it.
To feel regret for opportunities missed is human. Something we all indulge in from time to time when those moments of clarity force there way to the forefront of our thoughts but it’s a pointless torment with no solution. By regretting what we didn’t do negates those joys and pains that resulted from the path we did choose to take and it’s the joy and pain we experience in life that make us who we are. To regret that is to deny ourselves.
Thinking of you and hoping you find your way once more.
Fiction – sorry to hear you’re going through this, but please do keep your chin up as best you can.
I think pencilsqueezer (among others) has given some really excellent advice above.
Wise words Mr Squeezer. Sometimes it is easy to lose sight of the positive things in life, the small achievements, the love of others. I have two great daughters and I’ve tried to hold on to that through the darkness. Not easy at times but today was the best day since I had to admit I couldn’t cope alone.
Thanks FR. I struggle everyday to come to terms with loss. It alters one profoundly of that there can be no doubt. Talking about it, writing it down certainly helps. Ultimately though we have to quietly find it in ourselves to assimilate it and accept it as part of our lives and understand that the changes it makes in us cannot be undone and to accept those changes also. These events that happen to others become part of who we are.
Take all the time you need and accept the help of loved ones and friends. They will see you through because they love you and care for you.
No man is an island.
Admitting you can’t cope and asking for help are the two biggest (and hardest) steps. A problem shared is a problem halved, and all that. And you’ve already taken them, so the hard part is over. Do take advantage of whatever help you are offered.
It will get better, a little every day, and after a while you’ll find things are more bearable. Stick at it.
Putting it down here is a start, now try to tell the same to other than your computer, even the stuff you can’t explain and that sounds unreal. I don’t necessarily mean just to the docs and CPNs, who may not have the capacity to accept the inexplicable, but to anyone willing to take the unknown at face value. I long ago, thank the being, decided never to disbelieve what is told me in good faith. Especially if it conflicts with received wisdom.
Shit, you needed a song!
Don’t take it too literally, but it is that sort of dirge that counter-intuitively uplifts. And it may meet you O.P.??
Not sure about the song Retro but you have no idea how poignant the video was!
I think this may be the sort of thing you’re looking for…Jackie Leven, Exit Wound.
Life is weird. We cannot go back in time to choose a different path. Whenever I go ‘home’ where I grew up, my mind is filled with faces and events that happened decades ago. In my head, I’m seventeen again. Some of those people are no longer alive but my memories are fond.
I have no explanation that will make sense of what’s happening to you, Fiction. You seem to have improved over the days and counselling could help. If not, just blast out those Buzzcocks!
This song is both fond and wistful.
https://youtu.be/-eCh3y5VROM