On lying and taking responsibility.

So, I seem to go through these phases of writing ferociously, and then losing the ‘plot’ a bit before writing ferociously again. Initially, I was like ‘shit, that’s not cool’, but for now I am just going to roll with it.

When I was younger (from about 14 until just before I turned 20), I was full of shit. I know right; has there ever been a teenager in the history of the world who hasn’t been full of shit, even if it’s a short period? Anyway…

I took drugs, I drank like a fiend, partied ’til ridiculous hours of the morning, lied to my family…all that stuff. After coming home from a club, eyes still shining brightly from all the ecstacy I had taken, my grandmother would say ‘You look so happy! Did you meet someone special?’ and I would lie through my teeth.

In my bedroom, there was a custom built bed with a cupboard and walking area underneath it (so basically like a really high bunk bed with no bottom bed – I had to use stairs and a platform to get to the bed), and this became the dumping ground for the dozens of bottles of booze after having friends over for the weekend. When my grandparents weren’t around, I would fill black bags with these bottles and dump them a block or so down the road, in someone else’s garbage.

So I became used to lying. I didn’t like lying, but the thought of telling my grandparents what I was up to was too terrifying a thought to entertain for longer than a few minutes.

These things have a way of coming out of course – and they did, after I drank a bottle of vodka and swallowed some rat poison. Despite feeling physically ill, the relief I felt after telling my grandmother what a shit I was, was overwhelming. It probably helped that I told her after an attempted suicide (what’s a bit of drinking/drugging compared to a suicide attempt?) but at the time I wasn’t thinking of it like that. I was desperate, and I needed help.

Unfortunately, while I learnt a big lesson after that day, it was not enough to keep me honest. While living with my son’s father I reached an all-time low in the lie department, and although I have ‘made amends’, I don’t know if I will ever truly forgive myself for what I put my family through. But fuck, that’s a story for another day.

It feels like it’s taking forever to get to my point, sorry. My point is: take responsibility for your fuck-ups.

I spent so many years blaming other people for the things I was caught out on.  And it was fucking exhausting, man. My son saved me though; the minute I found out I was pregnant at the age of 19, it was like a switch in my brain had suddenly flipped. I was so tired of my life and the decisions I had made, and so full of self-hatred for what I had put my loved ones through, and I decided that enough was enough.

Everybody fucks up. In fact, I would go so far as to say everybody is supposed to fuck up. It’s a necessary life lesson. Nobody is perfect, and perfection isn’t something I believe we should strive for.

When asked about my past and the circumstances which have led me to where I am today, I am brutally honest. Yes, I lied and cheated. Yes, I took a lot of drugs and did stupid things. I’ve been in a psychiatric institution, various hospitals, and dozens of psychologist rooms. I have scared the shit out of people with my obsessive tendencies, I have manipulated and said many hurtful things to people I love. Today, I take responsibility for my actions and admit when I have made a mistake. I still fuck up, I still say hurtful things, I still bend the truth a little at times…but when the temper cools and the demonic glaze has left my eyes, I apologise and take responsibility.

This spills over to work too. Nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing irritates me more than not taking responsibility for something you did wrong. If you want to make me furious, just try to pin your wrongdoings on someone else. Grow some balls! Admit that you’ve fucked up, say you’re sorry and try not to do it again! Surely this isn’t so hard? I have made a royal mess of things sometimes, which is of course not great, but most of the time I work my ass off and I produce great work. We’re all in the same crazy,thrilling, fucked up boat with a dodgy captain and a few holes in the floor…let’s make it as easy as we can for each other, yes?

Life is rough enough as it is.

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