Think About It

As children, we are reliant on our parents, siblings and other family members to act as our support network. Upon attending nurseries, pre-school and further educational bodies, we begin to develop friendships as our need to form a surrogate family grows. Some relationships blossom out of necessity and a sheer desperation for a form of love and recognition; other times it is pure serendipity.

As we grow and change throughout puberty, our personalities morph and, in some cases, chasms form between those with whom we once thought we had unbreakable bonds. Our needs change. Our desires become more definable.

As adults we develop working relationships and social partnerships. We fulfil roles in a variety of scenarios and alter our temperament to tailor each event and suit the denizens within.

Our constant need for others to interact with continues throughout our lives until we, probably, end up in a caring home where our needs are not simply confined to someone to wipe our backsides.

You will see the repetition of the word ‘needs’. It’s quite a complicated word for, despite everyone having them, we don’t freely admit to it. I have always needed friends and, quite frankly, have been reliant on them a little too heavily throughout my adult life. The problem is that, as others have grown up and found their life-partners, careers and created their own families, I have remained rather immature and infantile in my own desires and needs.

Finding myself back within the bosom of my family and unemployed, I have discovered (rather unpleasantly) that there is no one who needs me any more. Obviously, my own mother loves me and needs me to be happy, but as a being with little to offer, I have become superfluous to requirement. When I had my beautiful cat, Fizzgig, I had someone who genuinely needed me there to aid their existence. Sadly, I no longer have that role.

This is NOT a cry out for false platitudes but rather a statement of fact and clarity. When I find myself a job, I will probably have a different perspective on things, but at the moment I feel as though my talents are worthless and other people’s needs do not warrant my skills or presence. Maybe people engage in coupling for the sole reason to escape this dreaded feeling of being ‘unneeded’. To be loved, yes, but also to be relied upon. Without those who need us, are we lacking in any serious validation?

Mulder once claimed that Scully was his “human credential” and I instantly understood what he meant by that.

Let It Go

One of my favourite moments in the sublime, cult ‘90s sitcom Absolutely Fabulous is when Saffy explains to her mother that all one needs to do to lose weight is eat less and exercise more, to which Edina replies “Sweetie, if it was that easy, everyone would be doing it.”

Although this line always brings a huge grin to my face, I wonder if it really is that simple.

A few years ago, I had managed to lose nearly 20 kilograms through excessive walking and cautious consumption, but I was indeed younger. So, last year, it wasn’t quite so easy.

Just like many frequent dieters, my weight fluctuates more than Chandler Bing’s. Why do I keep falling off the wagon?

As my birthday falls on the 200th day of the year (and I was turning forty), I decided in 2015 to create a challenge for myself – ‘200 Days Until 40’ – I even attempted to blog about it to force myself to adhere to the rules. I would list everything I ate throughout the day and wrote down the various attempts at exercise that included everything from walking to swimming. I even posted a picture of an incentive – the kind of body I would like to have. Admittedly, I was 39 years old and quite frequently the type of Adonis featured were way beyond my capabilities due to not being 20 anymore. Occasionally, there would be physical specimens within my age group – from Ryan Kwanten to Daniel Craig. The problem with these role models is that they are rather wealthier than I and tend to have a little more free-time, but it was a start.

However, despite all the attention to the blog, things did not go according to plan and I only managed to lose about 10 kilos over the course of six and a half months. As soon as the project was over, whoomph!, I was back to stacking on the blubber.

So, we need to ask why?

Quite often, those around potential slimmers will say, kindly, “You look fine as you are!” or similar pleasantries. The problem is that we aren’t happy with the way we are and quite often it can be down to mental health issues such as low-self esteem, depression, self-loathing and more. Should we be attempting to tackle these issues before working on our bodies or would the healthy body lead to a healthy mind? It’s a conundrum and one that cannot easily be solved with a blanket rule – it is different for all of us.

I loathe my current shape. If I force myself to strip and look at myself in the mirror, I am physically repulsed and disgusted. I am not obese (unless we listen to the rather strict ‘BMI’, which I prefer to ignore!) and some quite like my more solid frame, but I feel terrible. Hefty, chunky and sausage-like. If I wrap around a white towel whilst reflecting on my form, I look like a pig in a blanket (sans mustard)

How do I combat this horrendous self-loathing when it's hard to actually kick oneself up the arse when one is feeling so low?

If anyone understands where I am coming from, I think we all need to learn to let it go - try to be a little happier in our skin. It certainly doesn't help when we are constantly bombarded with images of the ideal body (this, of course, applies to men and women) and there is a certain stigma attached to depression (especially with men!)

I want to get to the bottom of this and I want to find a fine balance between being comfortable and happy with my body but at the same time, become fit and healthy.

I turn 41 this July. I have been single for over twelve years. I need to start to appreciate myself and my body. The best day to start doing this is TODAY.

Anything is Possible

It's taken a long time to get to this point, but now I feel it is the right moment to address what happened last year to me and my impossible brain.

Looking back, I think things began to go awry the night of the fire in my apartment block back in November 2014. Just a couple of hours before, still late at night, I'd been drinking and I was a little inebriated and, thus, feeling desperately sorry for myself. I started scratching away at my wrists with a safety razor - I know, I know... madness! I went to bed feeling like an idiot and with poorly bandaged extremities. Two hours later, I was awoken by a fireman banging on my door alerting me to the inferno just feet away from my apartment.

I spent the next seven hours out in the cold in just a pair of trainers, tracksuit bottoms and a jumper - no underwear. This was not a pleasant experience. Luckily, I had a friend who was able to put me up for a couple of weeks until it was safe to return to the building. I am lucky that my apartment was unscathed by the fire and water damage.

Christmas passed and in the New Year, it became clear that I ought to find a safer and cheaper alternative to my current abode. I didn't want to move, because I loved that apartment, but I had to for the sake of my wallet.

I eventually found a place that was pet-friendly but it wasn't quite the comfortable residence I was used to. It was a little too cramped and without any mod-cons. Then, of course, the worse thing happened... I lost Fizzgig, my dear beloved cat.

I was distraught, but we all know about that as I went on and on about it for ages...

Mid-year, I turned 40 and, almost coincidentally, I lost the plot. I became so unhappy in my own skin. I started thinking I was toxic and unpleasant to be around, so I hid away from the world and cut myself off from my friends. I went to work, of course, but apart from that, I stayed indoors in my flat feeling pathetically sorry for myself. This lasted for a few weeks. One of my closest friends had been overseas for the duration and, upon his return, he metaphorically wrenched me out of my self-pity by the collar and slapped me (again, figuratively). Sometimes I need someone to speak sense to me.

However, work was getting worse and worse. I no longer enjoyed my role and the open-plan was eating my soul (again, I have bitched about that for all and sundry to hear!) and I no longer felt that I was working for a company that stood for the same values and ethics that I hold so dear. It was horrendous. Just entering that building each day made me feel physically sick.

Then, one pathetic night in late September/early October, I made a big mistake; I tried to give up on everything... again.

After necking two bottles of wine and a bunch of diazepam and paracetamol, I wrote a note and started drunkenly hacking away at my wrists again. It wasn't pretty. It was only when some blood smeared on the note that I had a startling epiphany. I don't know why, but that image of red on the beige page was a startling wake-up call. Even though it was late at night, I sent a cry for help. Thanks to the quick thinking of the recipient, I was soon in the care of the police and the paramedics and I was kept in hospital overnight.

The following week, I was off work. I was instructed to be with people all the time so I couch-surfed between different friends' homes. I was taken care of and I begun to wonder why I had ever questioned their love for me...

The following Monday, I went back to work and, whilst in a meeting with HR at nine o'clock, I broke down again. When asked what would help, I said "Going home..." meaning the UK.

I don't remember much of last year despite (usually) having an astonishing memory for detail. 2015 is pretty much a blur apart from these defining moments. I don't really recall the details of how I managed to get everything sorted and get my backside back home to Blighty. Since returning just before Christmas, I have had a few panic attacks about the whole thing and wondering if I have made the right decision. I really enjoyed my independence, my autonomy (to an extent) in Australia. I miss the superb friends I made over the 16 years. I am currently unemployed, broke and lacking that sense of freedom I was so used to.

OBVIOUSLY, I know that there are millions of people in this world who are in much more dire situations, so don't think for one moment I am being ignorant of that, but this is just me attempting to be cathartic...

Hopefully, I will find a job soon - one that I like and one that makes me feel good about myself. Then I can find a new home for myself and set up the cocoon that I need so much. Maybe I will get another cat. I will reconnect with old friends, stay in touch with Aussie friends and, hopefully, make some new ones.

I need my confidence back. I need to feel like the old Ben that used to sing, dance and laugh. He has been missing for too long. I have a blank slate and now it's time to reclaim that personality that made people like me in the first place.

One last thing, I want to thank all those who helped me through my darkest period. I shan't list you all because you know who you are. I wouldn't be here without you all.

Evergreen

This morning, I went to my first ever funeral! It's taken me forty years, but I finally caved in.

I have known many people who have died - friends, family, acquaintances - but I have missed all their funerals because:

• a) I have been in another country
• b) I have not been able to get away from work or
• c) I just didn't like them very much

Today's funeral was for an old friend of the family whom I have known since I was a little boy. Her name was Eileen and it's so sad she is no longer with us. However, she was very pragmatic about things and liked a laugh, so I know she won't be upset about me blogging about it...

Mum was doing the eulogy, so we turned up early to make sure we got a good seat. Normally, when going to a show, I like an aisle seat, but seeing as mum had to get up, I magnanimously relented and gave her easy access.

It was quite a crowd queuing up outside the venue. It's kind of like speed-dating... you wait for the previous mourners to have their little soiree and then your crowd can pile in after. It was a bit like waiting for a ride at Alton Towers but without the crowd-control turnstiles. Whilst waiting, I was checking out the talent amongst the mourners. There wasn't a lot, but some lads do brush up well once attired in a suit... even Derbyshire folk!

Mum and I were allowed in first (a secret "Nur, nur-ne, nur-nur" went through my head to the others in the queue as I can be rather infantile) and we got front row seats. Normally I hate hate front row seats, but thankfully, this wasn't IMAX.

I was actually surprised at the little crematorium chapel. It was reasonably warm, but I imagine someone had lit a nice roaring fire somewhere for our convenience.

Once everyone was in, the service began. It was a short and sweet affair. Mum's eulogy was beautiful and touching, a letter from Eileen written before her passing was also read and it was charming, funny and moving. The host-chappie said something about Jesus Claus and the Christmas Miracle, or something... and then Freddie Mercury belted out The Show Must Go On. (He wasn't actually there, otherwise I might have to start believing in all that hocus pocus!)

We all paid our respects to Eileen as we passed through the exit (no gift shop - rude!) and then we got to speak to her husband, sons and family.

It was a tearful morning. All jokes aside, Eileen really was one of the kindest, gentlest, funniest, warmest, most beautiful women to have ever lived. She really was one in a million. She will be dearly missed.

As I am currently in a 'Will Young' phase when it comes to naming my blog entries, I have chosen 'Evergreen' as Eileen loved gardening and loved her allotment, I know that in our memories, her garden will be kept evergreen forever.

This isn't her garden, but I think it's pretty and Eileen would have loved it!

What's in Goodbye?

Today marks my final day in Australia (for the time being, at least). I fly out at 10:25 this evening and should arrive in Manchester just before midday on Tuesday.

I had originally intended to fly back on the sixteenth but, being unemployed and having already shipped my stuff, I was getting bored and decided to bring the flight forward. It was cheaper to do that than sit about eating take-out for three weeks and staring at a blank wall.

In the sixteen years of living in Australia, I have made some amazing friends, seen some wonderful things, and had some terrific experiences. As I look back on all that now, I feel a pang of sadness as I bid a fond farewell to this chapter of my life.

This was me in Queensland near the beginning of my time here.

As my fingers hover over the keyboard, poised with an anticipation of some profound words to type to express my oscillating feelings - some tenebrous, some bracing, all slightly overwhelming - I struggle to articulate myself coherently. Where do I begin? What do I focus on? Whom do I thank? Where do I go? How do I say "goodbye"?

Those friends who know me well will be fully cognizant of my feelings towards them. I am supremely grateful to those who have touched my life here in the past decade and a half. Some friendships have been fleeting, others more permanent, but all have shaped me in various ways to create the man who is writing this now.

Out of all the great things in Australia - the landscape, the society, the cost of living, the culture, the flora and fauna... - it is the people that I am going to miss most. I part the country with an ache in my heart.

But what's in "goodbye"?

It's not an ending, just a new direction (gosh, I sound like Oprah!) and it's not like I am never going to see any of these amazing people again. With travel and the supremely incredible land of the Internet, I shall be able to keep permanent contact with everyone. I still keep in touch with the majority of my UK friends, so I am sure the trend will continue (I'm a hard man to get rid of!)

OK, OK, I shan't waffle on much longer now for it is in danger of becoming maudlin and tedious.

Let's not be like this...

...but more like this!

P.S. I never did get to meet Ryan Kwanten, damn it...

My Needs

In December, I return home to the Mother Country after spending sixteen years and four months in Australia. Some people look at me incredulously when I tell them I am making the leap back and ask me why. Well, it's perfectly simple. I need to.

After a rather rocky twelve months (including the fire at my old building, moving home, losing Fizzgig, a painful break-up of a friendship and a pitiful slip into morose self-pity and depression - not all of which has been chronicled in this blog) I made a snap decision but the right one. I need to be within the bosom of my family. I need to be there for my niece and nephew (both under the age of two and I haven't met either of them yet). I need to start afresh in a new career. I need to be somewhere I can buy Yorkshire Gold tea at a reasonable price.

I will miss a lot of things about Australia; my friends the most, of course. But are there things I won't miss? Let's have a quick look...

• The heat - I get far too sweaty and I burn quicker than a ginger in a solarium.
• Melbourne's adoration of the awful avocado. You can't even buy a frickin' BLT without them turning it into a BLAT! SERIOUSLY! *shudder*
• Having to listen to teenagers on public transport who ALL sound like Ja'mie King

However, I am aware that I am going to return to;

• The cold - honestly, I don't mind the cold, but I am not a huge fan of the perky nipple.
• Britain's obsession with reality TV and the constant inane drivel surrounding it.
• I'll have to listen to teenagers on public transport who ALL sound like Vicky Pollard.

At some point in the near future, I will write a longer post about my last sixteen years. I bet you're all thrilled to hear that!

Hopes & Fears

A friend suggested I blog about some of the things that come up in my counselling sessions. I think he's right. I find writing very therapeutic...

I recently stumbled across on article on the Mamma Mia website that spoke of an app that is a place where people can admit to secrets and, in some cases, they confess to something hitherto made taboo. The great unspoken distaste for sex. It was something that touched my heart as I have often spoken about a fear of intimacy and it was oddly comforting to find that I was not alone. Some people say they hate the idea of people seeing their naked body (I can confess to having the same fear), some say they just find sex too painful and some simply say that they have no interest.

I do crave intimacy but I would be happy with hugs, cuddles and kisses. However, saying this out loud actually bemuses the majority of others. How often have I heard people say "If you don’t like sex, you’re obviously not doing it right" or "You haven’t met the right person"? Is it really that simple? I don’t think so.

This probably explains why I fall in love with straight men. I know deep down that there is no possibility of sexual interaction but I still get the joy of male company (although I cannot deny that I would love to snuggle up to them at times!)

A lot of things about sex actually repulses me. I gag at the thought of some of the acts. There is also a plausible argument to say that I am terrified of the loss of control one has during the orgasms. Words like ‘frigid’ are often bandied about when people have sexual issues. Those of us who aren’t as comfortable with our bodies or our prowess in the bedroom are often laughed at or dismissed as being freaks.

The truth is, I want to be loved, I want to be held, I want to have a deep connection with someone – and I probably could perform the more intimate acts with someone I felt that bond with – but instead it is a barrier against anyone getting close to me and, as one of the people on the site said, I guess I will be alone forever… but I certainly hope not.

Of course, I could always make an exception...

Just a hug will do...