When I was 27 years old I was offered my dream job in London, which I accepted and went on to have the time of my life and make some friends that will be with me till we’re old and wrinkly. When I was 27 years old I was so depressed I used to cut my arms because I couldn’t process what was happening inside my head. It was the worst point of my life.
I still have a few tell-tale scars. Two stories, woven into one. So let’s take it from the top.
When I was 27 years old I was offered my dream job in London. Just like that. Presenting the Drivetime show on the coolest radio station that has ever existed, Xfm. Now called RadioX, this station was where so many of the people I admired in the industry had started out. Ricky Gervais and Steven Merchant famously met Karl Pilkington there when they had a weekend show. Russell Brand cut his teeth there. Dermot O Leary, Jimmy Carr, Zane Lowe and so many more.
Up until that point I had been presenting a music show on TG4 called Pop4 and hosting a weekend radio show on the Dublin radio station Spin1038. To be plucked from this situation and plonked directly into the heart of London, broadcasting out of Leicester Square 5 days a week, living in Camden was a dream. Big names dropping in became commonplace. Coldplay, Muse, Lana Del Rey in for the chats. Snow Patrol and Kasabian playing some live tunes in studio because why not. Magic. I had a wonderful group of friends over there. Bressie amongst them. An incredible time.
As well as packing up all my worldly possessions when I moved, I was also carrying some heavy emotional baggage. *DING DING* Thank you indeed. Quality metaphor. I had endured a pretty tough emotional mauling after a relationship break-up (not the fault of the other person in the relationship. We still talk to this day and I wish only wonderful things for her) … but it was tough. I thought we were getting married, simple as. I had built a new version of myself that was based on part of me being interwoven with a part of her. Then, unexpectedly, she herself moved to a different country to continue her studies and that was that.
No huge fight, no falling out. No malice or anger. Distance did what distance does. I was still in Dublin at this stage and my world went topsy-turvey in a way I can’t really describe. I felt for quite literally a few months like I was going to puke at any moment. That deep unease in the bottom of your tummy. Like the moment when you’re in a car and the brakes are slammed unexpectedly. That sinking whoosh sensation in your belly is what I felt like for week after week after week. It was pretty all consuming. I wasn’t eating. I wasn’t sleeping properly. I withdrew from seeing friends all too regularly and blamed it on work, which was easy to do. I was living in a house with relative strangers so it was easy to slink up to my room and be on my own too.
I can’t really explain why, how or what happened in my brain that drove me to pick up a scissors one evening. The best I can offer is I had all this desperate frustrated negative emotion bottled up. I couldn’t talk to anyone because in my head it sounded so trivial. Being this upset over a girl? Ridiculous! People have real problems right?
People have sick loved ones or can’t pay their mortgages and here I am reduced to a bumbling self-absorbed idiot because of a girl?! I can’t talk to anyone about this, they’ll think I’m a drama queen and tell me to get over myself! And so there it was, all this bad energy. Ready to burst out. Energy, good or bad needs a release valve. It has to go somewhere. For some people it’s boxing, others it’s dancing, running, swimming. Whatever…. For me, this energy was destructive and manifested itself as such.
Stop being so weak. Scrape. Why are you acting like a wimp? Slash. Why the hell were you crying earlier, you absolute clown. Stab. Oh shit, that f@$king hurt. That one could leave a scar. Hmmm. F@$k it, at least my mind is distracted a bit. Is this a release? I don’t know. But I’m definitely distracted. A few more for good measure because you’re a dickhead. Take that, stupid arm. I remember one night hopping into bed after going at myself and waking up during the night needing to pee. Hopped out of bed and the sheet had stuck to my arm a little because of the dried blood. That was not a good moment.
This happened a few times over a couple of months. The next morning you would always hate yourself for being so foolish. I’ve heard that some people cut themselves and want people to notice, that it’s a cry for help. I was just embarrassed and made sure to hide it. Once my housemate half noticed a tell-tale cut or two and asked what was up, but I fobbed it off in a whirlwind of nonsense. I think they probably suspected but didn’t know how to take it further perhaps.
And then I moved to London. That all happened very fast. Big lights, exciting job, new friends, sights, smells, sounds, stories. Distractions. Adventures. Re-invention. Positivity. LAUGHS. YES!!! FREE! Wait… Hang on. NO. SHIT. No. Still there in the quiet moments. The down time. Night time. Shoulda woulda coulda. What if. Am I losing my mind? Who knows. Who cares. Does anybody care? Why should they. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be anywhere. Why am I squandering this adventure? Why am I such a f@$king idiot? F@$k you. Take that. Ouch. Shit. Not again. Is this normal? This can’t be normal. I need help. Don’t be stupid. I don’t need help. Maybe. I’ll deal with it tomorrow. God this is pathetic. Oh look, distraction! Fun things in a big city. PARTY!
And on it went for about 8 or 9 months. I only fully realised how bad I was after the clouds had lifted. But they did lift. Not quite as quickly as they had descended. But quickly enough. The miraculous cure? Talking to someone. An Irish dude in London as fate would have it. Not in the space I was in, but in a tricky long-distance relationship. A chance conversation in a bar. A mutual understanding. A connection on a common ground.
I don’t want to indulge too many clichés, but a problem shared is truly a problem halved. This guy was the first person I talked to properly about all the insane turmoil in my head. I still felt stupid about it. It was still embarrassing admitting that I couldn’t handle the demise of a relationship, but he didn’t judge. And as soon as I started talking about it, it started seeming like less of a tragedy, an emergency and just became something to rationalise and deal with. And it got better every single day from that first day and didn’t stop. That cloud slowly evaporated.
The experience changed me for sure. Some bad some good. I’m probably a little more emotionally independent than I naturally would’ve been. A little more guarded. Walls up mighty high. Not so high that someone couldn’t climb over, but a slow ascent for sure. I’m a lot more resilient definitely. I still have a few little scars. Nothing horrific, but a little reminder of the insanity that took over for a short period of time. Some people are prone to depression, whereas my natural disposition is happy and optimistic. I was just hit with the lightning bolt and didn’t know how to handle it. I know that will never happen me again as I’ve adapted and moved on. Life is wonderful!
But one day you might be hit with your own lightning bolt. For me it was a break-up. For you it might be a bully. It might be some nasty piece of work on Facebook calling you something cruel. It might be your parents breaking up or drinking too much. It might be you not thinking you’re good enough for something or someone. It might be when you lose your job or when you have minus 200 euro in your bank account and bills coming out your eyeballs. It could be anything that life decides to throw in your path. When you are at your lowest moment remember that it is darkest right before the dawn. Nobody ever made a problem worse by talking about how they feel. Talk about how you feel. The moment you share is the moment the search for your solution begins. I don’t know much, but I know this.
After my cloud lifted I lived in London for 3 years. I was nominated for Best Newcomer in the UK radio awards, The Guardian said I had the best drive show in the country, I left Xfm on an all time listener high and I bagged a little gig called The Voice Of Ireland. I had an amazing time and met amazing people. Life is a big old adventure. Go live it.
If you or someone you love is suffering with self harm, please get the support you deserve – Contact Pieta House.
Some very helpful information from SpunOut.ie on self harm here and on ReachOut.ie here.
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