It’s Raining Again



In the last few months I’ve had some of the best days of my adult life, I’ve seen the biggest band in the world play their career defining album, I’ve turned Twitter friends into real friends and it turns out they’re some of the funniest smartest kindest people you could ever hope to meet, I’ve even had an amount of sex. I try not to place too much emphasis on work, but my company did offer me a promotion. So, why then was the only reason I could think of not to step in front of a bus the other day the trauma I’d cause the driver? The answer is of course depression. The answer is depression more often than I’d really like it to be.


That’s the thing about depression, whilst it often has triggers there are occasions where it is just a big black cloud that envelops everything, you can see it coming and you can try and outrun it, you can try and seek shelter but the bottom line is it’s still pissing it down outside and if you venture out you’re going to get soaked. Now you people live in this world so I don’t have to tell you that most things you need are outside, things like places of work, food shops, that kinda shit. At this point I’m wavering about whether I should extend the rain metaphor, something about taking an umbrella with you or some pish like that (maybe the umbrella could represent antidepressants?!). Oh for fucks sake you know where I’m going with this, outside is shite fun sometimes.


Now I’m a planner, I fucking love planning, it’s almost as much fun as the actual fun. When I’m depressed I like to cancel those plans, it gives me back an element of control, and oh boy I like to have control. In the last few weeks I’ve handed in my notice at work, changed my RSVP to a friends wedding to ‘no’, given up my ticket to see The Pixies and a trip to Manchester, called off a first date and said thanks but no thanks to at least three nights out. If you are one of the people I reneged on then I am sorry but really it’s not you, it’s me. As an aside the first date was with a slightly older very career driven woman, she seemed like great fun and is absolutely gorgeous but it was something of a relief not to have to try to explain to someone I was meeting for the first time that I’d binned off my job and had fuck all idea what I was going to do next, really not sure how I’d have pitched that one. The whole free spirit thing doesn’t play so well when you’re closing in on 30.


I actually think this time the clouds are going to clear a bit quicker than usual (yeah I’m back on the weather metaphor, deal with it), that’s because for the first time in my life(?) I feel like I have people I can talk to about this kind of thing, I feel like there are people out there who genuinely give a fuck. Evidently that doesn’t mean things won’t ever get shit, but I’m pretty sure it means they’ll get less shit a bit quicker, and what more can you ask in this world than the shit times passing quickly and the good times hanging around. I’m not going to name you, you know who you are, I’m not sure you know how much you help though. You’d better be fucking reading by the way, otherwise that support means fuck all.


I think the reason I’m writing this other than to get some thoughts out of my brain is to illustrate that depression can pop along and fuck everything up even when objectively life is pretty good. I am not a rich or successful man, but even if I was there would still be times when all I would be capable of was staring at the wall wondering how much hassle it would really cause those around me if I ended it all. The idea that depression only affects the weak or those down on their luck is a nonsense and would be funny if it wasn’t so dangerous.


Despite hinting earlier that I wasn’t sure what had caused this attack I do know I’m bored and that’s why quitting my job might end up being a positive thing. I need a change and a new job is as good a way I can think of to spark that change, maybe I’ll even move to London, a lot of those friends I mentioned live there and there are a few of them I’d like to spend more time with. Also I’d probably get more sex in London, just based on sheer numbers.


Before I go, on the work thing. I currently (depends when you’re reading this) work in sales for a large mobile phone network. There are various ways the company measures our performance, one of those is ‘mystery shoppers’………. A couple of days ago I was at work and teetering on the brink of a massive fucking breakdown, like really really close to just sitting on the floor and crying. It was one of the worst days I’ve ever had, I know they weren’t doing it deliberately but my colleagues couldn’t have done a better job of torturing me if they’d been trained by the CIA (can I say that? Are they watching me?). On that day, of all fucking days I was mystery shopped. The results were not good. I’ve been mystery shopped on many occasions and my average score is around 90 out of 100 (under normal circumstances I’m very good at my job), this time I scored 4 (four)! I haven’t checked but I reckon that might be the lowest score ever recorded, I don’t know what you’d have to do to get less than 4. In ‘any other comments’ the mystery shopper wrote, ‘it seemed Ally would have rather been doing anything else in the world than talking to me about mobile phones’.


Rarely can any truer words have been spoken.


Follow me on Twitter where I’m normally much more fun than this



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