Don't be afraid to be human

Having feelings that don't make sense is normal - own that shit.

When I was 15 years old I was visiting my cousin in Italy and, out of boredom, told him that I had formed an indie band in London that had become reasonably successful on the pub circuit.

Of course, there was no band - it was all complete fiction. A fiction I felt sure I could sell to him because (a) he lived in Rome and (b) there was no internet in 1990. How could he check my story? Anyone who has ever been a fifteen year old boy in the pre-internet age will tell you that life was really boring back then and making up lies about yourself was one of the easiest and cheapest ways of passing the time.

I think I almost had my cousin convinced. Then he asked if I had any songs I could play him. Feeling cocky, I produced a C90 cassette and played him the song ‘Freak Scene’ by American alt-rockers Dinosaur Junior. The tape was sufficiently worn, and the recording sufficiently poor, for me to claim that it was me providing the lead vocals on the track. He listened carefully twice through, no doubt noticing the distinctive Massachusetts drawl of the band’s singer J Mascis and how it sounded nothing at all like my own reedy London squeak. Eventually, after some contemplation, he said : ‘Fuck off, that’s not you.’

What could I say?

It was so very obvious that I had made up a stupid, transparent, pointless and pretty embarrassing lie. I couldn’t just hunker down and stick to my story - it would make me look even more pathetic. But, I’m afraid, that’s exactly what I did. I even feigned angry indignation that he didn’t believe me. Things got pretty awkward between us. In the end, he just dropped the subject - out of what I presume was abject pity- and we never spoke of the matter ever again. Effectively, the lie still exists. Aged 46, I have still not admitted to him that I am not, and never have been, the lead singer in an up and coming indie band. No wonder he hasn’t called me in years.

It wasn’t just boredom that had motivated my weird bullshit. It was also a desire to be respected. The need for respect runs pretty deep at that age, as you transition from the breezy life of being a child (children couldn’t give a fuck about respect, they just want love and ice cream) into a frustrating state of semi-adulthood in which you want people to start taking you seriously (in spite of your shitty bum-fluff moustache and fantastical political views).

Wanting to be taken seriously can be really exhausting and destructive.

Exhausting because you go round acting like someone you’re not. And destructive because you wind up thinking that the real version of yourself is not worthy of the respect you crave.

Although I grew out of telling such explicit lies about myself, I continued to adopt phoney personas well into adulthood. Like so many people, I wanted to seem cooler, tougher, richer or more resilient than I actually was. Appearing dtrong and resiliant was a particular preoccupation. If someone said something mean I would never allow myself to show that I was hurt. If I was anxious or worried I could never let on, not even to myself. I adopted a right Jack The Biscuit persona, strutting about like I didn’t have a care in the world. Worse, I sometimes acted like those people who did show emotions were pitiful and amusing to me. But when I went to bed at night, I had this mad habit of quietly muttering a little prayer in which I begged God not to allow any harm to come to me or my family. I must have got into that habit when I was about nine and I was still doing it in my twenties, while my girlfriend lay beside me. I dreaded the day she might hear my mutterings in the darkness.

“Sam, did you just say something?”

“Me? No.”

“Oh, sorry, I thought I just heard you pleading with God never to let you get cancer,”

“Hahahahaha. No. What? God? Cancer? Nope. That wasn’t me. Definitely not the sort of thing I’d mutter. As you know, I don’t believe in God. Anyway, night.”

A self-proclaimed atheist and cocksure super-lad mumbling prayers under his duvet every night like the little Amish boy out of Witness? Fuck me, I was/am weird.

Like many people, I just couldn’t allow anyone to think I was vulnerable.

Resilience is something people go on about loads these days. Of course, learning how to bounce back when life kicks you in the balls is important. We mollycoddle our kids at our peril and theirs. But there remains a place for compassion. At my daughter’s school they don’t let kids go home even if they have thrown up five times in the toilets because they say they need to work on their mental resilience. What a horrible picture of the world that paints. Rather than try to make life more bearable by increasing our compassion and understanding, we train our kids to be ready for the unthinkable pain and misery that adult life will inevitably bring.

Preaching resilience can sometimes sound like another way of saying ‘suck it up’ or ‘deal with it.’ It can be lazy and heartless - a way of belittling other people’s feelings because you just can’t be bothered engaging with them.

This is why we sometimes grow up to bullshit, lie and posture: because there is so much shame associated with having normal, human feelings. Emotions that have no connection with rational thought are natural. You can understand the science that keeps an airplane up in the sky but still be scared of flying. Feelings are weird, unpredictable and sometimes impossible to fully control.

So sometimes we feel sad or worried or sensitive or hurt even if there doesn’t seem to be rational or obvious grounds for it. And out of shame we cover it up and contrive a resilience that, inside, isn’t always there. We shrug and laugh stuff off. Why? Because we don’t want people to judge us. Or to make it awkward for them. But fuck other people if they can’t be bothered accepting the way you feel.

We just don’t want people to know that we are human.

Which is a real fucking shame because being human is what we’re stuck with. And anyway, it’s not all bad. It’s better than being, say, a dog. Or a bumble bee - those poor fuckers sting people just once and immediately die. Gutted.

Anyway, here’s my piece of life changing advice for the week: when you’re feeling down, tell someone. And I don’t necessarily mean tell someone in a serious “I need a chat about my feelings” way (although that’s a good idea too). I just mean get into the habit of being totally honest with everyone about what you might be going through. Get used to chucking it into conversation. You don’t have to make people feel as if they are obliged to engage deeply with your feelings. Just let them know the feelings are there. Make it casual. Normalise being human.

Honour the way you feel: be open-hearted and honest and you will feel so much better about yourself. You’ll be surprised by the positive responses you get. It’s also a handy way of filtering shitty people out of your life: those who mock or judge or belittle your feelings probably aren’t worth your time.

I was at the dentists the other day and she said I needed root canal surgery that would set me back six hundred quid. “Fuck!” I said. “That’s all I need! I’ve just had to shell out for a new roof! I’m skint as it is!” I went on to tell her I was miserable, anxious and that I would probably just have the tooth extracted on the cheap next time I was visiting the in-laws in Hungary. She looked a bit startled but was totally understanding. I felt satisfied that had I tackled the situation with complete integrity. I pretty much skipped out of the surgery. My tooth is quite painful, yes, but nothing a couple of ibuprofen at bedtime won’t take care of. The important thing is, I am comfortable with putting an honest version of myself out there these days. It’s true what they say, the truth really does set you free.

Latest podcasts with Horatio Clare and Dr Rahul Jandial

I’ve been away last couple of weeks so excuse the lack of correspondence. However, I have managed to get a couple of cracking podcast episodes out in which I spoke to two wonderful fellas. This week’s episode featured my conversation with the best-selling author Horatio Clare, about his experience of mania, psychosis and recovery. Horatio is an extremely smart and insightful bloke. You can buy his new book here.

Last week I spoke to Dr Rahul Jandial, the world’s top brain surgeon, about the workings of the mind, how it impacts our emotions and what he has learnt from twenty years working with patients who are nearing the end of their lives. It was such a fascinating conversation. Dr Rahul’s book on the same subject is available here.

Some services, links and phone numbers to help you through the tough times

https://www.samaritans.org/ Tel 116 123

@calm 0800 58 58 58

@YoungMindsUK 0800 018 2138

@ChairtySane 0300 304 7000

https://www.alcoholics-anonymous.org.uk/

https://cocaineanonymous.org.uk/

https://andysmanclub.co.uk/