Mental Health Awareness Week – A Short Story.

I have often thought about suicide.

It used to scare me. Now it intrigues me.

I would be so terrified of losing control of my life and my actions that I’d panic my overloaded brain into thinking very cruel things. It was a riot. When I was younger I somehow took solace in these depressieve moments. The ease of slipping into a negative state lead me to become almost obsessed with my own funeral. There was less difficulty in staying broken than dragging myself out of this destructive slumber. Inside me there evolved a false sense of satisfaction in wallowing in the self-deprecating slumber I resisted awakening from.

Alas I never really could take my own life. I thought about it. I considered it. An important reason contributing to my desire of living was purely down to the domino effect my departure could have on others. I will be clear when I tell you that this wasn’t the sole rationale for my continuing existence because I cannot agree with the notion that suffering for the benefit of others is any way to live. We as human beings are more than capable of living and not surviving. We are all intelligent enough to make our own decisions (except for those who may be mentally impaired or sick, but that’s another discussion) and each individual ultimately must make their own resolutions when dealing with their own personal lives.

NOTE: (This does not mean anyone should ever encourage or enable an act of suicide or self harm. It is our moral duty as friends, family, peers and cohabitants to guide others in a positive light and onto a better path.)

But it did become important to me and eventually aided in my own realisation that I meant something to a lot of people. I have a large family and many close friends within a wider community/ social network. I can only speak for myself when I say that the knowledge of being important in another’s life is enough to try and find a way through whatever shadows you find yourself entrenched in. A different perspective can be sometimes all we need in moments of self-crisis.

This story is about a young boy who still mourns for his father after he ended his own life prematurely. I used this character as my idea of my own future son. I hold great aspirations in becoming a father eventually and by writing this particular short I am inspired to discover what it means to be a parent and to guard someone’s life, instead of a darker future of losing a battle against my own fears. It’s a personal reminder that there’s still a lot for me to do, to learn and experience. Even after the great adventures I will embark on in the future the horizons are still vast and I will still have new roles to motivate me after that.

The rain didn’t seem to bother him anymore. A thousand drops lashed him repeatedly and soaked him viciously down to the bone. A ruthless Scottish wind slapped his body violently. His white t-shirt was now wringable and his grey, cotton shorts now weighed considerably far more than when he left home. 

‘What’s the flu tae me?’ He asked himself. It was telling that he took comfort in finally feeling something…

”It’s been six years since my da’ died. My best mate. We done everything together. We’d watch the football. We’d play the football. He used to take me to my games every Sunday morning and to training twice a week, every Tuesday and Thursday. Up at half five every morning to not return until the back of six at night. Only to get a quick scran then take me out again. Sometimes we wouldn’t be back until ten o’clock at night. My mum offered to go instead ’cause she could see he was knackered, but he never did say aye. It meant as much to him as it did to me. Possibly even more.

I don’t think I’ll ever understand really why he done it. How he could leave me and my mum like that. He might’ve been tired aye but I never thought he was depressed. I sometimes wonder if it was me that made him do it. Did I stress him out or did I make him miserable? Maybe he didn’t really love my mum or me. For the rest of my life I will always feel guilty. 

Mum tried so hard to pick up the pieces. With football and everything. I remember the first time she told me I couldn’t go. Her eyes swelling up with tears, choking on her words. She put on a brave face but it was easy to see. Eventually I stopped going altogether to help her feel less of the blame. ‘I’m no interested anymore mum.’ ‘I’m just gonny go up the park with my mates instead.’

I’m 19 now. Fuck I could do with having him here. College is shite. All I want to do is bevy and smoke green. Mum thinks I should be getting a girlfriend. Someone to take my heed out the gutter you know? I’m no interested. If my old man didn’t want to live with me then why would some daft wee lassie feel any fucking different?”

He’d walked a fair distance now. Daylight was starting to break but there was no glimpse of the sun. It was to be grey, cloudy, solemn.. this morning. ‘Fuck it’. He sat down at an old bus stop. A brief moment of sheltered relief from the rain. His cheeks were pink but his hands were blue. A car speeded past and nearly soaked him with a splash from a puddle on the road. There was nothing to suggest his life could ever get better. And yet he still took comfort in the desolation of it all.

 

‘The Wide-Eyed Scotsman’ is a collection of thoughts, written pieces, opinions and blogs by myself, Aidan Meehan. Unless stated otherwise all of the work on this site is my own. All of the photos, unless credited, are my own. If you have anything to say or if you enjoy my updates please like, share, follow, communicate or criticise (be gentle). I am not a professional blogger/ writer/ photographer and any interaction which may help to improve my work would be appreciated.

It means the world to me to see people viewing this project. I hope its able to give you something in return.

For all private enquiries get in touch at aidanmeehan94@outlook.com. Thank you.

 


 

Support the Wide-Eyed Scotsman!

I deliver this project to you off my own back. I invest my own time, effort and money to sustaining the page. Therefore I have added the option of a donation button for anyone who would like to support me as I continue to share what I can through the blog. Thank you, your support is most appreciated.

£1.00

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Her – A Short Story.

I always wanted to share some short stories on here. So here it is, the first of many.

Hope you enjoy x

I saw her dream of better days. Of a future worth living even if it meant giving up on the treasures of her past. Every drag of her rolled up cigarette seemed to lure from inside troubling thoughts and transformed them into dancing wisps of buoyant smoke. She would be free. Liberated from affliction, torment and pain for the duration of the exhale. Each long & distant gaze I took I grew jealous of that fucking cigarette, such was my desire and obsession to be the one receiving her lips.

In the street below, drunken wanderers sauntered and swayed by and the trams carried passengers to their next destination; clubbers, a spent work-force, drifters…. I too would be down in the street almost every night. Lost in my thoughts of an existential crisis. Then I’d look up and the anguish of living would suddenly rear itself and become tame instantaneously.

3rd floor. 2nd from the right.

Her presence warmed me in the coldest reaches of my inner. To see her lean over that balcony..  A fleeting moment of ephemeral joy. And yet she took no notice of me. I wasn’t sure I wanted her to either. What despair would I feel if she was to look down on me dismissively or to feel threatened by my presence even from a distance? Maybe she would embrace me and invite me in to share her rolled up cigarette.. For it all to end in a complete disaster. A childish argument or a clash of personalities. She might not be as heavenly once met or I might not be of an adequate standard. Yes it was clear that I desired her. But I desired more for these other-worldly moments to never lose that thing which made them so sublime.

So I drank my poison and carried on as usual, begging for spare change and trying to stay warm on this wintry Friday evening, with an old sleeping bag and a jacket I was given just a few nights ago. I looked forward to the next time I would see her again for it was in this moment I felt like everyone else. Human and equal. Not just a tramp on the side of the street…

‘The Wide-Eyed Scotsman’ is a collection of thoughts, written pieces, opinions and blogs by myself, Aidan Meehan. Unless stated otherwise all of the work on this site is my own. All of the photos, unless credited, are my own. If you have anything to say or if you enjoy my updates please like, share, follow, communicate or criticise (be gentle). I am not a professional blogger/ writer/ photographer and any interaction which may help to improve my work would be appreciated.

It means the world to me to see people viewing this project. I hope its able to give you something in return.

For all private enquiries get in touch at aidanmeehan94@outlook.com. Thank you.


Support the Wide-Eyed Scotsman!

I deliver this project to you off my own back. I invest my own time, effort and money to sustaining the page. Therefore I have added the option of a donation button for anyone who would like to support me as I continue to share what I can through the blog. Thank you, your support is most appreciated.

£1.00

 

Good Wee Reads – Chris McQueer.

 

Bringing back the Good Wee Reads series for another spin on the blog I’ll be recommending (highly) finding copies of Hings and HWFG by the newly crowned sheriff in Glasgow town… Chris McQueer. This will probably be a fortnightly feature where I introduce the literary bangers I’ve been reading in my spare time. When it comes to my reading taste there are no holds barred so expect to see a variety of genres. And at the end if you fancy them for yourself you can click on the ‘Buy Here’ tabs available to grab a copy for yourself.

 

ChrisMcQueer-404Ink-SineadGraingerPhotography
Chris McQueer (404 Ink / Sinead Grainger Photography)

I heard good things about the Glasgow-based writer not long before Christmas and enjoyed some of his hilarious daily Tweets. I was filled with high hopes for good native chat and witty, creative stories. I wasn’t disappointed. I first read Hings and it was fucking brilliant. What a laugh I had. I used to read it during my quiet time and commuting while working in France. I’d be sitting on the tram howlin’ at the mad stories developing in the pages and attracting queer looks from the slightly bewildered passengers I shared my journey with.  I almost felt sorry for them. They just wouldn’t appreciate the sheer ridiculousness of the gags being churned out in such a Scottish manner. And for me  that is where it strikes the chord. I love reading and I read many books while being away from home. But none of them brought me back to Scotland quite like this. It felt like I was reading the group chat between my mates or like I was sitting on the bus and pausing music to hear what the dafty sitting behind was shouting down the phone, loud enough for all to hear, squirm and cringe intolerably. Hings brought me home. HWFG followed suit.

 

 

The laughs role out from story to story. Solid, earthy, comedic twists combined with the local charm which allowed me to not only enjoy the books but to also appreciate just how fucking hilarious Scottish patter is. I really hope and wish Chris McQueer has the best of success in the future and goes on to cement his place as a pioneer of said patter. There’s probably a lot of aspiring writers around including myself working hard to find that mark of originality or touch of magic that seems to have been discovered in these two books. He’s been name-dropped with the likes of Irvine Welsh already which is pretty incredible considering the reputation the Trainspotting author holds himself. But it’s all part of the newer generation looking for their own household names and fortunately we have young guys like McQueer who have both the talent and the baws to step up to the plate.

 

 

So Chris, thanks for the laughs so far mate. We’re all looking forward to what the future holds.

 

Chris McQueer – ‘Hings’ (404 Ink). Buy Here. 

Chris McQueer – HWFG (404 Ink). Buy Here.

 

‘The Wide-Eyed Scotsman’ is a collection of thoughts, written pieces, opinions and blogs by myself, Aidan Meehan. Unless stated otherwise all of the work on this site is my own. All of the photos, unless credited, are my own. If you have anything to say or if you enjoy my updates please like, share, follow, communicate or even criticise (be gentle). I am not a professional blogger/ writer/ photographer and any interaction which may help to improve my work would be appreciated.

It means the world to me to see people viewing this project. I hope its able to give you something in return.

For all private enquiries get in touch at aidanmeehan94@outlook.com. Thank you.

 


Support the Wide-Eyed Scotsman!

I deliver this project to you off my own back. I invest my own time, effort and money to sustaining the page. Therefore I have added the option of a donation button for anyone who would like to support me as I continue to share what I can through the blog. Thank you, your support is most appreciated.

£1.00