Work has been a little manic lately, the usual last minute project to jump on and throw you off kilter. Whilst I feel like an excited teenager, tugging at his first bra, when these projects drop in, I also realise that I don’t have the energy levels of that boy anymore. I’m tired. But, a great team effort to deliver a fab work event.
Unfortunately in the background, causing trouble like a heckler at a dinner party, is Brexit and it’s debate rumbles on. Frankly, I’m bored shitless of discussing it. It seems that we will be screwed for a period of time. How hard we are screwed, depends on the sexually aggressive appetite of Germany’s leader. Or Grankie as I affectionately call her.
I started my working day, on a long, serious call. Talking about big decisions and impacts on people. Just what I needed after a huge fruit bowl for breakfast. Unfortunately, that fruit bowl produced a movement deep inside, which couldn’t be avoided. Sweat broke out and I tried not to panic, as the rumble resembled a wounded bear. I ran full pelt to the toilet and back before anyone noticed. That was a first for me.
After the adventurous call, I was interviewed by the local paper. Another first. Having seen my blog posts, they kindly got in touch and asked if they could interview me. I was unprepared if I’m honest, as usual, offering an element of blag and a smattering if bullshit, after my hectic morning. Sid, the interviewer, asked me what this book, Comedic Depression, was all about and we shared a few views.
‘Males don’t talk about their mental health or their feelings, they hold them in and if we’re not careful, that anguish leads to decisions which could cut short their life’
I couldn’t have been more serious. I don’t know the actual statistics, but the rate of suicide in men is a massive killer. I’ve had those thoughts.
When I started writing this book, I wanted to write a comedy and I have. In my head, it’s funny, it’s a riot. Mental health, suicide, purgatory – come on, what’s not hilarious about that?
When I finished editing it for the last time, I realised that this had been cathartic, with the occasional autobiographical ingredient. Sid mentioned that the best comedians have had difficult life’s. Just like the protagonist in the book, my shadowy thoughts didn’t match my tongue.
‘Times of my life have been so pitch dark, that it was impossible to see any light. That darkness bled into me, eroding my soul, blackening any happiness that I might have absorbed’
‘Yeah – I’ve read that somewhere too’
Hopefully the piece will be published so I can cut it out and pin it up somewhere in the house. My 15mins.
When I got home, this evening, my son wanted to build a huge track in the lounge. I watched him chasing the cars around the track and I cried. Not because I was sad, but because of how good his life is right now. His happiness, is playing with cars and tracks, just wanting five minutes with Daddy, with no interruptions. Life is simple at 3. His laughter is so infectious, he literally brightens up my life and solves the Hellraiser cube within my head. He has no understanding of business meetings, books, mental health and carrying unresolved problems throughout adulthood. It’s beautiful to be a part of.
Our job as parents is make sure that his laughter is as loud as possible and lasts well into his adulthood, giving him a childhood that I can be proud of. If I can get that right, this poor and lowly author, can pass to the other side happy.