Here we go again…

Here we go again.

Many things have been written already about 2020, most of which are in agreement that humanity is happy to dispose of it into the bin marked ‘Never Again’, whilst flicking it the bird and calling it names to hurt its feelings, although sadly this year seems to have taken up the baton that last year handed over with consummate ease.  Trying to remain positive and hopeful in these times can be a big ask especially when, like me currently, you’re feeling hollow or hopeless already.

I’ve found it increasingly difficult to find any light in anything other than riding my bike, and being with my son and seeing him smile and hearing him laugh.  The world has raced away and I felt, if you’ll indulge my analogy, like a domestique at the back of a peloton watching the sprinters at the finish chasing victory.  No chance of catching up, an also ran near the bottom that doesn’t get a mention.  As Brett Anderson so eloquently put it in the Suede song “The Drowners”, “slow down, you’re taking me over”.

It’s amazing how quickly things can get away from what seems like control, like I have it all together.  One moment I can be cracking jokes, the next apathetic to pretty much most of life, with no warning, no big neon light indicating that a change is on its way.  This makes things rather unstable and as such has me almost on a permanent state of alert, on the lookout for anything that might trigger or set me down the road of foreboding and woe.  My anxiety is the tag-team partner of my depression, often working hand in glove before and/or after/during a period of when I’m at my lowest.  This can be related to my worries about how my depression effects others’, their lives and wants, how people perceive me, question my own feelings and try to second guess their authenticity, query a person’s motive on almost everything - are they doing the thing they’re doing because they pity me/they don’t understand/they think I’m weak etc.  It can be hard to accept things for what they are, to recognise that, as Sigmumd Freud said, “sometimes a cigar is just a cigar”.

One of the biggest impacts my anxiety has on my day-to-day life though is, very quietly in the background, it operates in a way that makes it very difficult to switch off and relax properly.  There’s always something going through my head, something to fester on and question.  This inability to fully switch off battles against the tiredness I feel from fighting my depression and can lead to me getting a bit snappy for what seems like no reason.  This obviously can lead to arguments, especially during periods of stress, such as Christmas.  Following these outbursts, these tête-à-tête’s the guilt sets in over what has just happened - it’s all my fault, me and my bloody brain causing problems again.  The festive period is always a potential trigger for me.  It’s always such a stress-fuelled time of year, and this time was no different.  I sat there feeling like I wanted to run away from everything, from the tree, the seasonal music, other people’s excitement, from all of it, all the while feeling guilty that if I didn’t pretend to be enjoying it I would be ruining their day and their fun.  Then of course I hated myself for feeling that way.  A Christmas gift that keeps on giving.

I’ve never (well, my adult life at least) really got excited by the festive time of year, and have received some rather boring name-calling as a result, monikers such as Scrooge and Grinch have regularly been thrown at me, making me feel completely out of place and adding to the feeling that something was wrong with me. 

Trying to keep these negative thoughts and behaviours in check sometimes and remember to try and look at things from a rational perspective takes effort, and a certain amount of headspace.  Having some quiet time, away from the noise and the goings-on of home life, away from the 24 hour news cycle, away from other people asking things of me, or even just being there helps me mange things and be better equipped to handle things and function.  So when Boxing Day came, and as much as it can be called a tradition, a ride, I was in need of some headspace.

I’ve found myself gravitating towards those moments of space, of peace and tranquility more than looking to bust out a 100km ride, or get as much distance in a week as I can, or whatever other metric I found made me feel like I’d accomplished something.  Partly because I’m a dad and I need to be able to do ‘dad stuff’ when I get home (I’m not getting any younger), but mainly because these past few months of lockdowns and restrictions have led me to appreciate the ride itself more and to wring every drop of where my enjoyment comes from; not looking at Strava when I get home but the actual ride.  So slowing down, taking in my surroundings, and being grateful for having a bike and the ability to enjoy places in a way that only riding provides has become probably my main focus. The despondency and dark thoughts may not be gone forever, and the ebb and flow of my anxiety and depression will surely return, but these moments of space and clarity, this intentional slowing down has provided me some real solace in an age of despair.  This is my road to respair.