Heroes

Heroes can sometimes if not all the time end up disappointing us, for me I always found comfort in those tortured souls that end up either dead, or in the papers causing some sort of trouble. It is in the news all the time, Glee, Justin Bieber, Amy Winehouse.

For me I grew up with the unhealthy influences of Kurt Cobain, Richy Edwards (Manic Street Preachers), these artists that sing out to us, in the midst of their own self demise. Hell let’s face it we all thought Pete Docherty would be dead by now right?

It is only in the silver fox moments of my life (yes another greying reference, I am getting over it), that I have to come to realise that the biggest hero, the one I admire the most has only been on this planet for three years.

Her name is Chloe she is my niece, and because of her, because of her unbelievable journey I have someone I can truly admire, and maybe in later years she will realise what she has done for me, maybe it is best if I start from the beginning.

In the midst of all my misery, and turmoil my sister prematurely gave birth to a wee girl, three pounds three ounces. As you can imagine a horrible time in a moment that should be embraced. For three to four months (I forget how long now time is irrelevant), I looked after her other four kids. Suddenly it was not about me, I had to be there.

Yes I cooked, yes I helped with the monsters under the bed, the tantrums, yes I struggled rang for constant advice – How does one get rid of the bogey monster, that bastard has been lurking around since my childhood.

And in all this, this tiny baby, this tiny life, a hand the size of my little finger defied the odds, grew stronger lived breathed, fighting for each moment, when selfishly months before I had wanted no more moments.

She left hospital and despite struggles as you can imagine, is healthy and obsessed with Minnie Mouse, and I cannot look up to her more. Because of her, because of what unfolded in front of me, I grew and am still growing, I am trying to build on the momentum of that moment. Not stuck in time, but stuck in trying to make the most of time.

Of course, yes I struggle we all do, and of course I do not see her enough. But when she is big enough, she will get the biggest thank you from an Uncle so damn proud I cannot even find the words.

Hope comes in the darkest moments, in the strangest forms and ways. Who are we to question the why, and what ifs but embrace that fragile moment that light flickers in the darkest corner of your mind. In that moment things change, and it is only when you reflect back, find time to pause you realise that is the moment things changed, a tiny life, a tiny light and things will never be the same again – this time in a good way.

So when we look around for our hero, maybe we should look closer to home. Look at why we are here still fighting, the inspiration may surprise you like it did me.

Marking Your Passage In Time

We spend countless days questioning our purpose, we mark each week with the weekend, finishing work college or even uni. Friday drinks with friends to celebrate the end of yet another passage of time. The end of the month with payday, or completing that much delayed and rushed at 5 in the morning assignment. Each year that rushes by us with an anniversary of some sort, a birthday, Christmas, or even a birth or a death.

And that belies the issues, so often with depression or a mental illness we can feel disenfranchised from it, marking these events these moments can seem distant, society is moving forward, and we may be stuck on a place or time. Perceptions of the reality we live in so different, that gig, that sports event, that night out do different to us nothing but a distraction - reality slipping into the worlds we have created in our head sometimes a world that is there to keep is safe. 

There is something flawed marking that moments, watching us see time pass us by. Is it because it's too bigger concept for us to envisage as a race? 

To me marking time is like some geeky endeavour oh yes I remember that night 'Radiohead just released Ok Computer' or yeah sure I remember that summer I tried killing myself in the June'. Can moments be marked by memories of personal grief or triumph and not a need to celebrate the passing of our age. 

I turn 30 in August (22 if you must know!), people don't understand when I say I do not care for it. I am accused of being miserable (not true), old (semi true), or weird (definatly true!). The truth of the matter is I have no personal connection to my birthday, my life began three years not 30, it started the moment I survived that second over dose and swore to myself no more I can defeat that. Yet can I celebrate that openly, would the stigma and judgment spoilt that memory? Or do I have to stick with what society perceives to be the norm, stupid jokes about going grey (it's happening people) and having a mid life crisis ( had it at 19 middle of reading festival- well least til the acid wore off). 

I'm not asking for much but if people want to share my birthday of course I feel honoured and privileged to have those good friends, but can they not accept  I would rather remember that moment in time I got strong - I said no more will I wallow in that moment on the edge caught between life looking straight at death. Surely that's a new worthwhile achievement to mark?

One of my favourite things said to me recently which sums up this ramble in one sentance! 

"life feels pointless marked by false holidays you make your own life and your own landmarks" 

Truly truly so accurate