Ah thought o cryin this post "Ma Struggle", but ye ken whit folk are like, there's nae irony these days, so ah cried it Strugglin along, cos that's whit ah'm daein, like maist folk... jist daein away... ye see it aw... ah'm existin...
Whit ah am strugglin wi is aw the thoughts an ideas, millin aroond, swillin aroond, an generally messin up ma heid. This isnae jist tae dae wi coronavirus, ah've had some o these thoughts fer decades, weel intae last century, they're less like thoughts noo an mair like part o ma brain, part o ma wirin. As a fer instance ah'll tell ye aboot yin o ma thoughts, then ah'll hae a coffee...
A song came oan ma Spotify yesterday, it's yin o ma Earwax songs, it's oan ma permanent playlist if ye like. Ah've liked it fae when it came oot, it goes...
"In a little while from now, if I'm not feeling any less sour,
I promise myself to treat myself and visit a nearby tower,
and climbing to the top, I'll throw myself off,
in an effort to, make clear to whom-ever what it's like when you're shattered..."
It struck me recently that when that song came oot we were oan a caravan holiday in St Andrews. Ah used tae take masel away fer a wander up tae the Cathedral, an pay 2 an a half new pence tae climb St Rule's Tower, get a braw view o St Andrews, an contemplate throwin masel off. Ah checked the dates, ah wis nine year auld at the time. Ah wis becomin aware o ma sexuality at the time, the thrills ah wis gettin fae jist even seein men were startin tae ring alarm bells in ma wee heid. Mind, this wis 1972.
Since then, any tower, any brig, any clifftop, ah'm aye thinkin it, ah'm aye wonderin if ah could, if ah should. Ah've climbed towers an crossed brigs an scrambled up cliffs, jist tae hae that thought. Scott Monument, Dean Brig, the Cat's Nick, you name it ah've been up it wonderin if ah could...
There's a normal human experience in there, we aw ponder oor mortality at some point, we aw think aboot how close we've come tae the edge, how we risk things an how we protect oorsels, but some o us live wi that constantly, it becomes automatic. Ye hae tae consciously stop yerself fae haein thae automatic negative thoughts. An it's no jist the jumpin aff high places, there's railways, there's tablets, there's knifes, there's Portobello Beach... there's suicide opportunities an ideas aw roond us, we live wi them. Ah've lived wi thae ideas, aw ma days.
Whit ah don't always (an ah emphasise the *always* here) think helps is talkin aboot them. Ah think it helped me no talkin aboot them, it helped me fer long enough that ye jist didnae talk aboot them, ye kept them tae yersel. Ye got oan wi livin. Some folk hae aye lived wi suicidal ideas, occasionally, intermittently, or constantly. Ah huvnae jist held them masel, ah've worked a career in helpin folk wi them an aw, ah know a bit aboot ma subject, an ah get that it helps some folk tae talk aboot them, that that resolves them fer some people, and that it's a subject that's suffered fae no bein talked aboot honestly, that's been hidden under a dark veil, but like any subject it can be talked aboot too much tae the exclusion o other subjects, an worse, it can be weaponised tae push other viewpoints, an that helps naebody.
Ah know it's an auld-fashioned take, but ah jist want tae make the point if it's no obvious awready, we're currently wanderin aboot in a world that's fu o risk an fu o the risk o death, we're aw contemplatin the subject whether we're talkin aboot it or no, but some o us hae been quietly contemplatin it aw oor days...
The song -
Gilbert O'Sullivan - Alone Again (Naturally)
(It got tae Number 3 in the Hit Parade oan ma 9th birthday...)
Right, ah'm away tae pit the kettle oan...
