I worked far away from home. All the rest of my friends were at university. When I started I used to travel from home. It would be pitch black at 5am when I woke up and pitch black at 7 or 8 when I got home as the winter months set it. I moved down there for a couple of months but it was even worse than the commute so I moved back to this punishing routine.
I remember walking home in darkness, going straight to my room and putting some music on. I would sit in there only lit by candlelight. I would cry but for no reason. I'd shut myself away and cry then get out of my room and put on my mask of normality.
It used to feel bad in ways which are different to now. In those days that was just normal. I didn't even see it as misery let alone an illness. I went to posh schools and they teach resilience. The pain was something I accepted and continued to function. There were thankfully low expectations of an 18 year old but I exceeded them beyond their expectations.
I never felt suicidal. I never contemplated it. I just got through every day. I found my release back then was music. My only luxury was going on a Friday night to the record shop and buying the latest releases when they had just come out. Then i'd go home and listen to them on my own.
I didn't no any different. I'd lead a sheltered childhood till being thrown out of how briefly at the age of 15. I'd spent two subsequent years at boarding school. I'd done another job before helping a researcher sift through medical data. This was my first proper job though.
My dad had done a similar routine most of his working life. When I was growing up he worked his arse off to give me a good education. He used to rise at 5 or 5:30 and return at 7 in the evening or later. The poor guy had one luxury to get him through it all. He drank Johnnie Walker Black Label. he medicated through years of misery the likes of which I briefly tasted when I was 18.
He's a GP.
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