I read today that Japan threatened the UK with a mass exodus of companies, should the negotiations of post-Brexit trade not be to their liking.
Not a single thread of worry prickled upon my mind, but rather, a strange responder, an inkling of glee raised itās brow.
See, this glee, is born of the fact that I donāt regard my country as my country anymore. Instead, they are antagonists, enemies, and there doesnāt seem to be room for a middle ground. No, Iām not from here. I was born here, but Iām not one of them, only by convenience and lack of money to move away (right now) do I still remain here. Thereās a loneliness, a disconnect, that comes from feeling as if you donāt belong, and I wonder frequently if that break, the severance and turmoil thereafter, is what pushed me to where I am now.
The Brexit, as it was, showed me that I indeed donāt belong anymore, showed me that Iām not British. I donāt have the same attitudes, the same beliefs. I believe in multiculturalism, globalisation, unity; we, as we were and they are, do not. The government is austere, the people are isolationist. The country is going down a road I donāt want to follow, canāt follow.
Where once there was pride, there is now dissonance. I am not one of them, and I doubt I ever shall be again.
Fuck the white man
Fuck the first world
Fuck the unbelievers
Fuck the believers too
Fuck the faithful
Fuck the faithless
Fuck the world
Fuck you all
Fuck me
Fuck this writing
Fuck my mind
Fuck everyone elseās mind
Fuck the police
Fuck the pointless rage
Fuck the zealous fury
Fuck the self assured
Fuck the meek too
Fuck the anger
Fuck the drive
Fuck the pointless shell of life
Fuck the world (again)
Fuck life
Fuck living as well
Fuck dying
Fuck, who has time for that
And, as I am an honest fuck
(Else the fuck a liar call)
Fuck enjoying things
Fuck wasting time in bed
Fuck hope
Fuck goals
Fuck giving up
Fuck fuck fuck
Fuck this Iām out
Fuck this Iām stuck
Fuck this Iām never gettinā out
fuck
If youāre living with a mental illness, I just want you to know, Iām super proud of you. Youāre still here. Youāre still alive. Look at you. Despite everything, youāre breathing. Thatās amazing, dude.
Thereās been so many votes in Scotland since September 2014 that it feels like ancient history at this point. Back then, I was 16 and very excited at the prospect of casting my first ballot. Like so many of my peers at the time, I rapidly became very politically engaged in the debate surrounding the Scottish independence referendum, and wasnāt hesitant at all to voice my opinions on the matter. It was so obvious that the best thing for our country was to vote no and remain a part of the United Kingdom - best for the economy, best for employment, best for guaranteeing our membership of the EUā¦
Ah, how things have changed. Had I known two years ago how the political climate of the UK would begin to shape, I wouldāve voted yes in a heartbeat. Better Together managed to convince me that leaving the UK would mean leaving the EU, and that was not something that I wanted to toy with. Honestly, apart from fearing a major impact on our economy, the EU was the reason I voted no. The EU provides us with a platform to tackle issues larger than any one nation, like climate change. The EU facilitates collaboration between all kinds of people, from students wanting to experience living and studying abroad to scientists working on the cutting edge of technology. Perhaps most importantly for me, though, is that the EU helps safeguard our human rights - we have the EU to thank for stopping David Cameron from scrapping the Human Rights Act, for goodness sake.
On the 23rd of June 2016, I turned 18: just old enough to vote, as 16 and 17 year olds were denied the right to a say in their future, even though their voice could have altered the result. I put a cross next to remain, and went back home hopeful of a remain win. I simply couldnāt accept otherwise - I fear living in a UK without the EUās great influence.
While the Better Together campaign admittedly could not have seen into the future and to this disastrous result, I am angry at them. I feared for the future of an independent Scotland because of their preachings, and now it is obvious that remaining in the UK these past couple of years could have been much more damaging instead. If Scotland had voted yes, if we managed to have hope and optimism, we could be in a much better place already. I donāt accept this damned Brexit result. After 62% of Scots voting remain - with not a single Scottish local authority area favouring leave - I wonāt accept it. I canāt. Nicola Sturgeon will inevitably get her second Scottish independence referendum, and you had better be damn sure that this time I will be voting to escape from this destructive union.
I am Scottish. I am European. I wish I couldāve been British. But I canāt. Iām so fucking done with bullshit Tory governments that donāt represent my country at all and referendum results that do not represent my countryās values. Sorry, England, Wales and Northern Ireland, but this really is our breakup now.
Go to school, pass your exams, go to university, get a job, get a car, get married, have 2.4 kids, save for your future, retire, die, do not pass go, do not collect $200.
I was into it for a while. I played the game. As a kid I wanted to be a baker, a photographer, a writer. As a teenager I wanted to be a scientist, a graphic designer, a programmer. I went from the things that brought me joy to the things that I was alright at, which I was sure I could make money from; I went fromĀ ālife is for living right nowā toĀ āIāve got to get ready for the futureā.
I was sure I knew what I wanted, right from an early age. My dad(s) had been awesome, and I was very lucky to grow up with in households with strong family ties (even if those ties arenāt so strong now). I wanted kids of my own - I wanted to experience the father/son relationship from the other side. I was fifteen going on fifty, planning my first kid by the time I was twenty, marriage by twenty-five (fuck-me-teen-self, I thought *I* was optimistic)Ā and, I supposed, the career to go along with it. I almost completely reneged on my plan to go to university so I could stick out a dead-end career path because I was hooked on the (certainly not to my younger self at the time) pittance of a wage I received. It was more money than Iād ever seen, and more than I dreamt I deserved.
Then came the dark times, the depression, the mistakes, and my dream of fatherhood... well, they all died together.
Life took on a new goal. Happiness. Simpler, cleaner. I was optimising everything about my life to reward me for the now, to keep me satisfied and content from moment to moment; I touted the philosophy that I hadĀ āabandoned the gameā, that I was content to live a meagre income life if it meant I could chase my passions in whatever way I wanted. I went without luxuries, sure, but the thing I wanted, the thing I craved, time itself, that was priceless.
Now once again I find myself at a crossroads, a shift. Life has been on the up for a while, my level of life satisfaction peaking with each passing month. Canāt confess to beĀ āfixedā orĀ āhappyā all of the time, but can you? Canāt complain (much) either. Where I lack now, is in my power, my control over my own life, my options. Iāve a dream or two that involve bigger things than I can fund, bigger goals than I can plan. Once again I find myself thinkingĀ ādo I dare dream of bigger things than existing day-to-day?ā
āItās like I wrote on the third passage, there,ā
I could feel the words immediately clawing at me. Needy, attention-seeking. Of course he could see the same too, how couldnāt he? It was blinding, deafening. It was too obvious. He smiled and grabbed the sheet from the table, sitting down to read through it; thatās what Iād wanted, as Iām sure he got from the several times in only ten minutes Iād messaged it.
Itās weird having homework again. Itās weird being back in therapy.
Distracted. Remembering yesterday, and how much time I put into writing down truths and the secret thoughts I rarely share, remembering how much time I put into the sheet in front of him now. The hundred or something words betray the effort and time actually spent, and read like a shopping list, though a shopping list of all the experiences Iāve hated the past fortnight. Still waiting, still distracted by what might come next.
The need to be approved of, to be told that Iām handling a titanās burden, and doing well with it, hangs over the office. Iām so very sure that the next sentence I hear is going to be,
āI donāt see why you make such a big deal out of these problemsā. Of course it is. Never actually spoken, I still hear it with every pause.
Instead comes the only other thing I was expecting.
āYouāve written that youāve had suicidal urges?ā
āOh well, context -ā Of course thereās context. Itās a reflex. The finish line of truth-telling is feet away but for every revelation comes a justification. Easier comes the truth when cushioned with an explanation why itās actually not such a big deal. Thereās nodding, and a slight silence as I explain itās all because of medication withdrawal and it doesnāt happen normally.
Liar.
āYouāve obviously learned a lot through self-reflectionā.
There it is. A different man but still the same focus for my need to be dealing with this better than I am, and the words, the words that comfort me more than I try to let on.
āTook me a long while to seek help,ā I reply. Three years. āTried to learn how to deal with it on my ownā. Failed.Ā He nods, and congratulates me in some other way that only hours later escapes me. Fix had, need sated; for now Iām validated. Iām good at therapy. Maybe if Iām good enough Iāll be fixed.
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