I think know I’m within a very long line of people who are looking forward to throwing a middle finger up to this whole year.
2020 started off extremely uneventful; I very quietly celebrated the fact New Year marked six years since Josh and I first met. I had a slew of gigs lined up, and what I knew would be a busy year at work.
We experienced two concerts in Manchester & London within two weeks in mid-February-late February. Editors and Frank Carter & The Rattlesnakes were outstanding. We knew we had so much more to look forward to, such as Pearl Jam in London and Harry Styles in Glasgow to name just a few.
And then a fucking global pandemic hit, didn’t it? I was pretty much furloughed from work instantly. Did I welcome lockdown and furlough? For the first two weeks, it was absolute bliss. And then my depression hit me harder than it ever has. I was miserable. Josh was still working full-time, my friends all lived away, and my mother was, unfortunately, relapsing again.
I’m going to be brutally honest here: Nothing’s changed with these blogs regarding that fact. But I just want to make a trigger warning because I do go on to explicitly talking about self harm, mental health and eating disorders. So please do not make yourself uncomfortable by reading this. I 100% understand.
I found myself writing a lot more than usual. I found myself totally immersing myself in music again. It continues to be the love of my life, and I’m eternally grateful for that, but it became more of a distraction than anything else. And it deserved to be so much more than that.
I miss my friends. My two bestest friends in the entire world were so far away, one was down in Edinburgh, and the other was all the way over in Vietnam. It fucking hurt. And when you hurt that badly, the last thing you want to do is disrupt what may be a tough time for them too. So everything was bottled up. I very rarely bottle things up, that’s just not who I am; I transfer those feelings to writing or going to therapy or ending up bawling crying in Josh’s car after he’s finished work.
I turned 24 very early on during lockdown. I wrote a hell of a lot during that period. I wrote how I didn’t expect to make it to 24. Although, I still had doubts about making it to 25. I think about if I could speak to my 16 year old self, what I would tell her. Truthfully? I wouldn’t tell her she was still suffering with all of this shit because I know I wouldn’t be here today if I knew this was still going to be going on.
June hit, and I knew I had to call a doctor. I was on the verge of the biggest mental breakdown I’ve had in almost a decade. My eating disorder was consuming me. My self harm was happening multiple times a day again, the first time in almost 7 years where it’s been that bad. I wanted to die. That was the bottom line. I was hoarding medication. I was tripling, quadrupling, up on medication just so I didn’t have to feel anything.
I had dropped more weight. I was sitting at the weight I was at the age of 10/11 years old. I found it a chore to eat. There were occasions during lockdown where I had to set reminders on my phone to remind me just to even attempt to eat a fucking banana.
Six months on, I’ve only managed to gain 1kg back. Getting told that, with a disordered brain, you feel as if you’ve gained 1 whole stone, not just 2lbs. I kicked myself big time over that. I still do.
July came along and I was back to work. My line of work, a busy holiday park, you had some customers complying with the new rules the world have had to come to terms with since March, and others just didn’t. That stressed me out. I knew if I caught anything, I’d probably be OK, but I live with three high-risk people who wouldn’t be. Work was, for lack of a better phrase, a fucking shit-show.
My suicidal ideation was getting worse, my self harm was still happening almost daily, my depression, anxiety and my eating disorder were all simply suffering.
I also, again quietly, celebrated my third year anniversary with Josh. I know for a fact I wouldn’t be writing this end of year blog right now if it wasn’t for him. I owe him the world. I will never encounter someone who is more patient, loving, understanding and kind than he is. He’s been such a star. He’s had to learn how to administer first aid, understand mental health and just be there for someone who doesn’t even want to be there for themselves. I 100% do not deserve him.
I, thankfully, after a five month wait, got back in touch with my councillor, who could only have telephone appointments with me every other week. It was better than nothing. I realised finally spilling out everything I was concealing for months wasn’t right. I’ve not been myself for years, but this was someone else entirely. I cried up to 10 times a day. I was finding myself yelling to myself that I wanted to die. Thankfully, I still have that communication for the time being and I’m nowhere near back to being leveled out but, that takes a lot of fucking time.
Autumn came along, and there was no let-up with work, my mum was sicker than I’d ever seen her, and I had just found out my best friend had a brand new baby all the way over in Vietnam. It was a lot to digest. It tore me apart that I couldn’t do anything because I was thousands of miles away. Amazingly, she’s home now, and that baby is just every ounce of pure joy that a single human being could hold. That’s been a huge relief, and one of the better things to come out of this year. I hadn’t seen her in over three years. I have so many incredible friends, but your best female friends are vital, and I didn’t have that for years, and it really affected me.
And now we’re ending 2020…As if my year could get any worse, I was made redundant from a job I’ve poured my blood, sweat and tears into for over 4 years just two days before Christmas. It’s still not fully sunk in. I’m a worker. If I don’t have something to do, I struggle. I’m eternally grateful I have my music to immerse myself into until I find something new, whenever that may be. I’m also incredibly lucky my best friend is home.
I never make New Year’s Resolutions. I think they’re stupid. Why put an end date on something? When you’re ultimately never going to achieve what you wanted to within that timeline, and you’re just going to end up disappointing yourself.
I really fucking struggled with no live music this year. That’s my mecca. That’s my happy place.
I have a fair few gigs lined up for 2021, and I have everything crossed they go ahead, because if 2021 ends up going down the same route as this year, well folks, it’s not going to be pretty.
I haven’t been hugely open about my mental health on my blog in 2020 as I maybe should’ve been. Although, I think right now is the first time I’ve sat down long enough to really realise the magnitude of the last 12 months. My eating disorder still has me in a death grip, my depression hasn’t worsened, but hasn’t got better. My anxiety, especially right now, is in full swing.
I’ve been fortunate enough to have a phenomenal support system within my friends and medical team. I also still fall back a lot on Samaritans (Available 24/7 on 116 123) who continue to do incredible work.
I’m also going to leave 10 songs from 2020 that have, quite honestly, saved my life.
- Roses/Violet/Lotus/Iris by Hayley Williams
- Kyoto by Phoebe Bridgers
- Shame Shame by Foo Fighters
- Dance Of The Clairvoyants by Pearl Jam
- Opaque by Biffy Clyro
- Leave It Alone by Hayley Williams
- Reasons I Drink by Alanis Morissette
- Level Of Concern by Twenty One Pilots
- Monsters by All Time Low (feat. blackbear)
- 25 by The Pretty Reckless
Thank you for reading if you did. It makes me feel like I’m not continually talking to myself. But please do speak to someone if you’re struggling. The worst thing to do is suffer silently.
And here’s hoping our plans for 2021 pan out (and I find another job!!)
Claire x
The Mind Boggles... 