My last blog post
It was a few days before my mechanics A-level exam. Granted, I wasn’t particularly great at mechanics anyway. I couldn’t quite get my head around what they were trying to get me to picture, when they described the problem I needed to solve, so I struggled drawing a depiction that could facilitate any formulaic answer. It meant that I had to rely on grasping the philosophy, as opposed to the visualisation.
I was 17.
I had been battling with depression. I knew, even then, that something was wrong. I lived in a home where toxicity, hate, deceit and cruelty had replaced warmth, hope, laughter and love.
I didn’t enjoy being at home anyway, but it had gotten darker.
To be honest, it feels like a blur.
I just remember feeling desolate inside. I remember being disappointed. I remember feeling gaslit.
So that’s where my mind was.
On this particular day though, my dad punched me in my jaw. I spat a blood clot out and he broke my glasses, so I had to get new ones. I still had to go to the office with him to study. In the car, he told me his finger was sprained and that I should apologise to him for it. He hit me that hard lol. My fault though, obviously.
I remember feeling…In a state of shock.
I couldn’t study properly.
I walked into the exam room and i felt like my mind was hollow.
I just remember feeling like everything was in slow motion.
I remember being full of hate and bitterness.
I remember being angry. Angry with everybody.
I remember thinking, I’m going to work so hard that I will never have to depend on anybody else ever again.
That I was the only one I could ever depend on.
My exam grades came round and I just missed out on an A for further math. It meant that I didn’t go to Warwick for MORSE, but to City University Business School instead.
I was beside myself.
Nobody ever told me it wasn’t my fault.
People just pitied me, like they did anybody else.
I mean, after all, loads of people didn’t get into their first choice?
I just wasn’t as smart as I thought I was, right?
That’s how that narrative went. Masking the shame of my family. Holding it within. All the lack of understanding. Lack of support. Lack of care.
Two adults so indulged in their own shit, yet insisting it was all because of us.
I still carry that rage and hate in me. I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive it. I tried though, for a long time.
Then going through university and dealing with my sisters calling me to tell me how bad things were at home.
Going back to Luton from London, thinking it was my responsibility as the eldest child to help two very grown adults listen to one another.
Being told that that responsibility was mine by so many adults.
To think that now I’m older than some of them were…Makes my blood boil.
I’ll never forget the woman my dad was having an affair with calling me a “chip off the old block”.
Like I was a piece of shit. Like I’d never amount to anything.
Because who were we? Nobodies.
Watching a depressed single parent stay stuck in a psychological prison. To be honest, I despised watching it. It made me sick. I never ever wanted to be that vulnerable and unable to change my life around.
I vowed that I would never let being down have such wide ramifications.
I would never allow myself to be in a position where I was dependent on somebody else.
It’s another reason why not being able to move / talk sometimes is so visceral for me. I have deep shame and self-hate over it. My mind just keeps telling me, look how much you worked and tried, but in the end, you really are just that chip off the old block.
You really did fail.
Look at you, unable to move. Unable to speak. Unable to pull yourself back up again. You’re destined for failure.
But again, these things weren’t my fault.
That’s not a consolation though.
For some time, it’s been a sticking point though.
Why do these things keep happening? What can I do to prevent them from happening? How can I stop myself being impacted when they do? How do I move past all these things?
Well, today I’m deciding that it doesn’t matter.
It just doesn’t matter if it’s my fault / theirs.
I’m taking my power back.
That same child who had big dreams and just wanted to get my ideas out there. That’s me. That’s just me with tenure lol and the bruises that come with that.
I believe I’ll defeat this mutism.
I believe I’ll defeat this physical paralysis.
I believe I’ll overcome CPTSD, functional neurological disorder and the like.
I believe it, because I want to believe it.
I want to overcome it all.
Not to prove any of these people wrong, because to be quite frank; I do not care about anybody elses opinions of me anymore.
I’m prepared to navigate this world to the best of my capability and yes, that includes compromise, but only on the method. Not on the why. Not on the destination.
I’ve always had big dreams. I know that I am going to achieve them, because despite all the setbacks, I’ve still been able to make so many of my dreams come true.
The gworls call it manifestation — that’s cute.
I just think it’s where perseverance meets delusion.
It means discipline though.
So, after a good 4 years of this public reckoning with my identity and sense of self.
It’s time for me to say goodbye to this chapter of my life.
It’s served its purpose.
It’s taught me that no matter how long I’m down — I will always figure out a way to get right back up.
A friend told me recently, don’t feel any shame about it, it’s just your journey.
I thank her for that. It’s helping me propel me forward.
My journey is different from a lot of peoples.
It’s consisted of a lot of false starts.
A lot of embarrassing moments.
A lot of shame.
A lot of pain.
It’s also consisted of sheer, unadulterated, magic.
Of logic defying moments.
Of the power of possibility and determination.
It’s taken me to some of my lowest places, but it’s also LITERALLY taken me to some of the highest places in the world.
I’ve spent the past few years letting the universe decide a lot of things for me.
Working off sheer impulse.
I now know where my baseline is.
I know where my real sense of truth and purpose lies.
I know who I am, because I’ve lived it unfiltered. I know what being alive in truth feels like.
Now, it’s just about working hard enough to create spaces where I can live that way safely. Where my imagination can exist boundlessly.
I’m ready for the next few years.
I have no idea what route I’ll end up taking, but I know that i can prepare myself for it and that’s what I plan to do.
I’m sitting in LA now, and I’m just a “chip off the old block”
But this chip is going to be a cornerstone of my own creation.
And the building, with this chip, begins today.