So, this post is a long time coming, I’ve been struggling to process it until now. Back in December 2006 I was feeling deflated about everything and I was feeling weird physically then delusional behaviour so I went to the doctor. He prescribed me an SSRI for depression & anxiety. I didn’t tell many people about that. Sort of feeling like it wasn’t a real problem. The lying, the exaggerating all the time.
Then, I had this amazing idea in March 2007 to just abruptly stop taking them. Little did I know at the time that this is something you don’t just do. I can’t remember the exact dose I was on but I know now I should of weaned myself off it slowly. Anyway. I stopped taking it. Everything went manic. I would hardly sleep, I’d start having these weird delusions and I started to think it was normal. I was in withdrawal. I was in survival mode.
I met Rebecca’s mum. She came from Manchester to Llandudno on holiday and we hit it off. In my manic state I was beyond thrilled. I was all in. I was into driving two hours in peak traffic almost every day to see her. Then I just thought “Oh my god I’m not in the shire anymore” and decided to move to manchester and live with Rebecca’s mum. I was so high. Manic. I didn’t realise that I just picked up and left overnight.
To all my friends, to my parents to everyone I just went into radio silence. I threw away amazing friendships that I valued more than anything. I have for the two decades carried the lingering regret of doing that. I would never change meeting Rebecca’s mum. Ever. But I would change me stopping the medication. Especially now, knowing that it does help with mental health issues. I would text everyone back. I would still go to the cinema, go to the pub, walk up the orme and generally hang out.
Back in 2016, I think it was then, I arranged a get together with some of the people I hurt the most. It was a reconnection attempt but then a realisation that life and time had carved different paths and contact faded over that time. Life goes on. I get it. Time is precious.
After the divorce and moving into my own flat here in Bolton, almost three years has allowed me to look back at things with a clear head. I realise that I can’t change how unhinged my mental health was back in 2007. I’m so sorry for walking away. It took me twenty years to get to this point, to say out loud that it was my fault, I am sorry and I know it’s something I can never get back.
Doti and the kids have moved from Bolton to Cheshire. I don’t know anyone here. I have the carers all day, which is something I’m trying to get better for. This isn’t a weird demand for anyone to try and fix my social life. This is just a public acknowledgement and apology to lay that lingering guilt to rest a bit.
