This is a story about world peace...

The star spangled banner. I'm not even an US citizen, and yet I feel a lump in my throat when I see the flag of the United States of America and hear the national anthem belted out by an angelic singer. I look at a Route 66 road sign and I'm transported to every Hollywood movie I've ever watched. American iconograhphy is embedded in every cell of my body.

We live in a world of uneasy peace. The Manhatten Project perfected atomic warfare before any other nation. The USA obilterated the cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, bringing Japan to her knees. America's military might is the iron fist that rules the world.

Do I object to the USA's role as world policeman and dominant culture? I'm torn.

The conventional view is that the atom bomb and America's willingness to evaporate hundreds of thousands of innocent civilians in an indiscriminate detonation of a weapon of mass destruction, was somehow for the greater good. It seems to me that the age of terror was actually ushered in by Western superpowers. Nothing could be more terrifying than nuclear holocaust.

The hypocrisy of the USA is palpable. While Israel benfits from nukes, tanks, guns, drones and warplanes, the Palestinian people are crowded together in occupied ghettos that bear no resembleance to the territories that were drawn up by the United Nations.

The United States is quite the warmonger, invading countries willy-nilly and committing a worldwide campaign of imperialist expansion.

However, everybody loves Mickey fucking Mouse, undeniably.

It's impossible to hate America. The people are so fucking nice. Have a nice fucking day. They're so damn positive and upbeat.

In a country where getting sick can see you bankrupt, and falling on hard times can see you more destitute than in a developing world country, the land of the 'free' is actually packed full of optimists, and for that reason I love it.

Britain and Japan are full of monarchic flag wavers who believe that they are owed some kind of divine right to rule. Clearly the inbreeding of the royal families has affected the mental capacity of residents. However, the United States is full of patriotic and positive citizens, who are happy just to cling onto the mistaken belief that they may be elevated from dire poverty and become one of the chosen few. It could happen. Anything can happen in America.

Even though the statistician/economist/socialist that dwells within me tells me that it's utterly fucking insane to cling onto the impossible dream that an average Joe might escape devastating poverty, at least there's fucking hope. Britain is a place where you'll know your place, which might mean free healthcare and not panhandling and hustling, but there's no upside either.

Do I want Trump to have the codes to nuke anybody though? No.

Tags: #politics

This is a story about the jungle...

What you have to understand about being a human male, is that the competition never really went away. We are all still fighting to be able to fuck the hottest females.

I was searching to find an image of me with swollen muscles. God knows why I would have swollen muscles. Perhaps because of the harsh physical demands of survival. But instead I find a comparative photo. This photo compares my friend Posh Will with myself, in the clutches of self-destruction mode. I probably haven't had a decent meal in several weeks, in this photo, taken around Christmas day 2013. What does this image tell us?

My friend Posh Will is obviously credited with pulling me from the rubble of my botched attempt to relocate to the beach and live the dream.

At the wedding of Posh Will and Space Girl, there was the concept of the "conversion project". Both Posh Will and I were particularly keen on the idea of finding girls who were enamoured with kitesurfing and outdoor pursuits. While I chased girls who were already engaged in extreme sports, Posh Will sought a life partner who held the right temperament to be able to cope with the rigours of being wedded to an adrenalin junkie. His strategy clearly paid off, for he is now happily married, while I am a shattered remnant of the man I used to be.

The friendly rivalry between two old friends persists. I used to joke about our hourly rate. While Posh Will used to work all the hours that God sent, I have always been an expert in dodging responsibility. Despite the eye-watering salary that PW commands, it doesn't actually look that great when you work out how hard he has to work, compared with my hourly rate of pay.

However, now that PW and I work within a few hundred metres of each other, PW's work schedule has become a lot more reasonable. While my own working week looks particularly lax, it's clear that PW has won. I turn up, keep my office chair warm, but PW is doing similar hours to me and getting far more job satisfaction that I am.

I've lost. On every level.

I love PW and his lovely wife. They took me into their home and nurtured me back to health. They opened the door of possibility for me and recovery. I'm not actually in direct competition with PW. I love him to bits, even if he won't return my calls.

So, male competition is utter bullshit. It will destroy friendships and make you insecure and unhappy with your partner. Fuck male competition We don't need it. Yes, it might make you and your girlfriend horny that you might have beaten somebody in your game of squash, but remember the zero-sum game.

For every winner there must be a loser.

Tags: #friends

This is a story about tireless commitment...

I came up with a list of 102 titles of blog posts that I wanted to write something about. I wrote a few of them, but the vast majority are in the waiting room. I'm terribly frustrated that those ideas and feelings are circling with nowhere to go. If you haven't already got the idea... this whole blog is somewhere where my pent-up frustrations are being expressed.

Actually, confession time: this whole blog is where I work out the whole live vs. die decision in real time, right in front of your very eyes.

Now, despite being somewhat tipsy from end-of-working-week indulgence in alcohol, I've decided at 2:19am to do a kind of live-blog as I attempt to make sure that I've covered off all 102 topics that are on my list.

Why would I do this?

Well, it's quite simple: I'm stalked by suicidal thoughts during most of my waking hours. I can't be too close to a sharp knife, a London bus or an underground train without thinking about the oblivion of suicide. This is alarmist language, but the reality is with me every moment of the day: I'm struggling to find the energy and enthusiasm to go on living.

Anhedonia - the complete lack of reward from all normal activities - has sucked the life from within me, and I feel like a mime artist doing a performance with no idea why it delights my audience. Life is brutal. From the moment I wake up to the moment I pass out, I'm asking myself "why bother?".

Yes it's melodramatic etcetera. Basically: fuck you. Goodbye.

I present to you, now, a string of live blog posts that attempt to catch up on the backlog of writing that I have not been able to pursue given my bullshit job. Due to said bullshit job, I've not been able to write the bulk of 102 blog posts that explain my existential crisis, and resolve the unreconcilable difference between what I experience and know intuitively to be worthwhile, and the horse shit that seems to bring cold hard cash into my bank balance.

I wait. Tick follows tock. I patiently wait for my moment to express my frustration at the structure and routine of human existence.

This is a fucking time capsule. Clearly, I have somewhat lost my grip on 'reality' but I don't give a fuck anymore. This is life and fucking death. These are the last acts of a crazed lunatic. This is the evidence for the postmortem.

Enjoy.

Tags: #suicide

This is a story about surprises...

We are very keen to jump to conclusions. So many of us read the headline and assume that we know the story. Surprisingly large numbers of people will comment on a social media post without even clicking through and reading the content. It's so easy to walk in on a chapter of somebody's life and assume that you know the whole story.

Mental health problems? Blah blah blah... go and see a doctor, get some happy pills and all your problems will go away. No need to hear the end of that story. All problems can be medicalised and will be just fine if you just speak to the right specialist. For sure there are people out there who deal with this kind of stuff. Not my problem. Go away.

Drugs? Say no more. We know how this ends. Yes, your story is bound to involve selling your own grandmother to unscrupulous rogues in order to raise money for your dirty habit, and basically you're filthy scum and don't even deserve to have your story heard. GET OUT OF MY EYES AND EARS and go away.

Nervous breakdown? Why not take up yoga? Stop and smell the flowers. Do cartwheels in a field. Other people have things so much harder than you so I don't even know what you're complaining about. Everybody's life is terrible. Get a grip on yourself. It's all in your head. Why don't you exercise more? Salsa dancing? Homeopathy? I'll write the end of your story for you: all your problems went away and you were magically transported to the land of milk & honey. The end. Go away.

Sex addiction? You filthy pervert. Go away.

Workaholic? You should try sitting around on your arse on a continous jolly holiday. Why don't you retire or take up knitting? If you force yourself to smile, you'll suddenly feel much happier about everything. Take some deep breaths. Have you thought about shutting down the system and rebooting? Failing that, you can reformat the hard-disk and reinstall the operating system.

Isolated, lonely and suicidal? Chin up. Look on the bright side. Suicide is so selfish. Suicide just leaves a big mess for other people to clean up. You're so attention seeking. Cry for help. If you were serious you'd have done it already. Go away.

We are being told that problems are all in our heads, and the only person holding us back from achieving our full potential is ourself. This is utter bullshit. There are so many barriers to entry and things that are holding us back. Life is more complicated than every self-help book, motivational quote and trite soundbite that sounds inspirational but is actually really depressingly useless.

People who are happy and fulfilled are the ones who go to the gym, cook organic freshly prepared meals, don't smoke, don't drink, do yoga, meditate, smell the flowers, swim in the ocean and generally swan around having a lovely time. Doing those things is not the cure or the answer to anything. Doing those things is a symptom of the fact that your life is pretty bloody perfect. There's a reason why people are depressed, stressed and anxious, and it's not that they haven't done enough yoga.

The yoga can wait. It really can. I'm far too worried about earning enough money to pay my rent, bills, food, transport and other cost of living expenses, while also keeping myself washed, clean shaven, hair cut, nails clipped, nose and ear hair trimmed, and with enough clean clothes that are not completely threadbare in order to have a reasonably professional appearance. I'm far too worried about servicing my debts, staying on top of my taxes, keeping up with the administrative headaches that our bureaucratic government forces upon us, as well as turning up at work and keeping a seat warm from Monday to Friday. The yoga can wait. I'm far too preoccupied with my soul-destroying job that makes me suicidally desperate for escape, but escape is eternally just out of reach.

So you're going to quit your job and go travelling? What about your kids? What about your pets? What about your family? What about money? Oh, you don't have any money? Well you could save some up, couldn't you? Oh, you've been trying to save some up, but you're having a crisis NOW? Well, can't you just postpone your crisis, perhaps for another 30 years?

So you're going to quit your job and find a new career? What about your rent? What about your bills? What about all the money you need to pay for tuition and certification? What about the money you're going to need to fund yourself when you're looking for an entry-level job? What about the huge drop in income you're going to have, having no experience in your new career? What about the tent that you're going to buy because clearly you're going to go homeless if you lose your source of income?

So you're going to leave the city and get away from the rat race? What about the fact you don't have any friends or family anywhere else? What about the fact that there are no opportunities anywhere else? What about the fact that you've got nowhere to live, no car, no van, no tent, no cardboard box?

Oh yes, the world is stuffed full of opportunities to avoid the sources of stress that are destroying you. Yeah, sure it's all in your head and you should just imagine what you want to be, snap your fingers and it will come true. How's about a ballerina, footballer, pop singer, astronaut, fireman, deep sea diver? Yeah. The only thing holding you back is YOU you stupid dummy. How silly of you.

Or you could just do some yoga. Yoga fixes everything.

Here's the image that you had to click through to see, and scroll all the way down here. I hope the reward was worth it. Well done. Gold star.

Tags: #mentalhealth #suicide #addiction #career #depression

This is a story about science fiction...

Do you know what the trouble with physics is? Are you aware how much the scientific community is dominated by dogma, doctrine and the status quo? The business world is full of powerful dinosaurs who have too much to lose if they were dethroned. So why would science be any different?

Let's start with a madness that afflicts nearly every physicist.

Do you know what the difference between a model and a theory is? A theory is some equation, algorithm or logical thought experiment, that can empirically explain real-world observations and make testable predictions.

If I have a theory that explains the arc that a ball will trace when I throw it, it should be able to predict where it lands. I plug in the wind speed, the weight of the ball, the size of the ball, the strength of gravity on the planet, and the initial force and angle that will be imparted on the projectile, and the theory gives me the expected result. By testing various different balls and various different throws, the theory can be said to be proven insofar as the predictions are in agreement with the measurements, within a margin of error.

If I take various measurements from various experiments and gather them together in some great big database, and then attempt to infer a relationship between the measurements and the outcome, then I have a model. For example, it's fairly obvious that a heavy ball will not travel very far versus a light ball, when thrown with the same force. From the data, there emerges this statistical correlation between the weight and the distance, but there is no underlying theory that predicts much beyond this simple association of variables.

This is what we understand as the most important distinction between theory and model: that theories can make useful predictions that are testable, and give us some elegant mathematically expressible equation about the true nature of the universe, but models can only give us clunky retro-fitted attempts to make sense of vast swathes of data.

To understand the theory of a thrown ball, we had to employ the laws of motion, the laws of drag coefficients (wind resistance) as well as gravity. Newtonian mechanics tells us about the movement of objects in a frictionless universe. Fluid dynamics tells us about an object travelling through something like air or water. General Relativity tells us about objects acted upon by the force of gravity. Through the combination of these three theories, we can accurately predict where a thrown ball is going to land.

However, a model can make a reasonably decent job of the numbers, within a margin of error. Big heavy balls didn't travel very far, and small light balls flew further. No need for all that theory mumbo-jumbo. A model can easily be within the same order of magnitude as the theoretical predictions.

Have you heard of the Standard Model of particle physics?

The Standard Model tells us what goes on at a subatomic scale. Or rather, it attempts to, given vast quantities of experimental data.

Before I tell you any more about the Standard Model, let me let you in on a little secret. It doesn't scale. Yes, that's right. The Standard Model is very successful at the subatomic scale, but when we use it to model the entire universe, it doesn't work. In order to use the Standard Model to explain what is observable in the universe, cosmologists have had to invent 3 massive cludges, for which there is no experimental evidence to confirm the existence of: inflation, dark matter and dark energy.

The Standard Model concerns itself with stuff that we can see, and how things interact with each other. However, cosmology has had to invent dark matter (27% of the universe, but you can't see it), dark energy (68.3% of the universe, but you can't measure or detect it) and inflation (which attempts to explain how we got into this mess in the first place).

Religion is often derided for asking the faithful flock to accept things at face value without evidence, but now the dominant science of physics and cosmology asks us to to believe that over 95% of the universe is made up from stuff that's never been seen, never been measured, is not predicted by any fundamental theory and was basically dreamt up because our favoured model of the subatomic world doesn't scale.

Now, please don't get confused with quantum mechanics.

Quantum theory is quite empirically testable. The quantum behaviour of the universe is nearly impossible to visualise. Our day-to-day experience of the world is a deterministic one. When I put down the ball and look away, when I look back it's still there. When I throw the ball, I can know both its momentum and its location. I can predict where balls are going to land, in the deterministic world of the macro scale. Things get mighty weird in the quantum world, but that doesn't mean that things are not underpinned by good theoretical science.

The problem comes in when we model. The Standard Model has over 20 free constants, which are tweakable numbers fed in from experiments. The Standard Model is designed to be constantly improved, as new data become available. The often touted defence about how well tested and accurate the Standard Model is, is null-and-void, because many of those experiments actually feed back into the model itself. The Standard Model automatically adjusts itself to match experimental observation.

The problem with the Standard Model is that it doesn't make any testable predictions. The tests that we have done have simply improved the model. The experimental measurements change the free constants that are plugged into the model. The model confirms itself, but it doesn't tell us anything we hadn't already experimentally measured.

The only true test of the Standard Model would be to scale it up to see if it matches observations from cosmology. It doesn't scale.

Models don't give us fundamental theories that underpin the universe, and allow us to make predictions about previously unobserved phenomena that we can then design experiments to investigate. Models cannot be proven or disproven, because they do not make predictions. Models are unassailable, because they can adapt themselves to include any new experimental data.

The whole era of shut up and calculate has been a hinderance to the progress of theoretical physics. When people talk about the staggering accuracy and number of experiments that confirm the Standard Model, they ignore the fact that the model is only as accurate as the measurements that were used to build it. The model has told us nothing about the fundamental nature of reality.

Now, when the Large Hadron Collider (LHC) detected a bump in experimental data at 75 GeV, we had over 300 papers published to explain such an anomaly. The bump turned out to be nothing more than noise, a glitch. Physicists are writing science fiction - fan fiction - to explain the workings of the universe, but none of it is backed by testable theory that makes useful predictions.

Show me the physics that predicts a discovery in advance as opposed to proton smashing and attempting to retrofit data to a model. The current design of experiments completely contradicts the scientific method.

Until we return to the era of coming up with hypotheses and fundamental theories that make testable predictions, and then building experiments to prove or disprove those theories, we will be stuck with our multi billion dollar particle smashers, that do nothing except to improve the accuracy of models by a few percentage points, and unearth no useful physics at all.

Tags: #physics

This is a story about lies, damn lies and statistics...

What do you think the main cause of death is for men under the age of 45? Road traffic accidents? Infectious diseases? Cancer? Industrial accidents? Drug abuse? Murder? War? Terrorism? Starvation? Auto-erotic asphyxiation?

It's suicide.

It's well documented that the number of people dying in wars has dropped immensely in the last hundred years. The number of people dying of starvation has nosedived in just the last 40 or 50 years. In theory, we are living in a time of peace and plenty.

At its peak in the 20th century, death by starvation never exceeded 1% of the population. Most people were not starving to death. The 60 million soldiers and civilians who died in World War II accounted for 2.6% of the population, but 12.5 million babies were also born in that period.

Even for your grandparents and great grandparents, the chances of dying through war or starvation were surprisingly slim.

But what are the chances of you buying some land, building a house, having a job or some project to work on where you feel happy and fulfilled? What are the chances of meeting a nice girl and settling down and having some kids, living close to your family, near where you grew up? What are the chances that you'll be able to stay on top of your finances, and have the things you need for you and your family? What are the chances that you'll have the basic essentials you need in your bio-psycho-social world?

You would have thought that now we have the high-yield agricultural techniques to grow all the food that we need, and we have the means of mass producing everything else, we should be free to pursue arts and education. We should be released from the need to do bullshit jobs. We should be freed from the prison of the office.

The benefits of working part-time are unquestionable. Not working at all is arguably bad for you, because the structure, routine and socialisation of working is good to keep the brain ticking over, but working 5 days a week or more is counterproductive.

Empirically, it has been proven that the same productivity can be achieved in a 3 day week as a 5 day week. There is so much 'padding' and pointless time wasting, as we attempt to spin out our bullshit jobs to last all day, all week. The jobs are utter bullshit anyway. There isn't going to be any less food on the table or fewer houses built because some social media marketing person didn't tweet enough, or some corporate lawyer or accountant didn't turn up for work.

Wars galvanise whole nations into action and hunger is something that cannot be ignored. The drive to fight and protect, hunt and gather, build shelter... these things are instinctive, and human.

However, there is no instinct to put on a shirt and tie and go and sit at a desk for 7 or 8 hours staring out of the window, bored out of your mind.

The link between going to work, getting paid your salary, and then using that salary to pay your rent, buy food and drive your kids to school is a very tenuous one. For sure, once you've got skin in the game you're utterly fucked and you just have to go along with what everybody else is doing, no matter how insane it is. You can't rock the boat when you're living a hand-to-mouth existence where you're never more than one or two months away from being evicted or having your home repossessed (i.e. mortgage foreclosure).

In the UK, 8.6 million people live with Damocles sword hanging over them... just one missed paycheque would see them unable to pay their rent or mortgage, putting them at risk of homelessness.

The pressure is ridiculous, and although the chance of you dying by war or famine is really small, the chance of you ever escaping the rat race is also really small. You hate your stressful shitty life where you've got absolutely no hope of ever getting ahead. You'll never escape the stress and relentless bullshit. Why wouldn't suicide become a more and more attractive option?

This is what we're seeing. There is no hope for people, but there is a mountain of stress and anxiety.

Depression rates are soaring. There is a mental health epidemic that is raging out of control.

Were we born to just pay bills and then die? Is that much of a life?

Tags: #suicide

This is a story about getting rich or dying trying...

People come to London seeking their fortune. I went to Ireland seeking my salvation. In a way, I kinda found it.

My life had fallen apart. I had lost a lucrative contract with Barclays through no fault of my own (the guy who terminated my contract was then sacked because of his stupid decision) as well as breaking up with my girlfriend, being evicted from my apartment in Swiss Cottage (again, through no fault of my own) and had once again found myself homeless and unemployed. Many friends took sides during my breakup, and I ended up suddenly alone.

It was January, in the depths of a depressing British winter. No job, no money, no friends, no girlfriend, no nothing. I was fucked.

A friend who I met in the summer, when I first became homeless, had returned to the emerald isle. He had generously made an open offer that I could go and stay with him and his family if I ever needed it, and oh boy did I need it. I was suicidally depressed and a big danger to myself. Camden council had been supremely unhelpful to a resident who they owed a legal duty of care, but they didn't give a shit whether I lived or died.

I guess a lot of unimaginative runaways go to London, and a huge proportion of them will end up in Camden Town. Camden is cool, undoubtably. Camden is full of wide-eyed young people, tourists, and huge amounts of recreational drugs, casual sex and music venues. It's a great place to spend a summer on a shoestring, smoking strong cannabis and chatting up girls.

I had made a couple of similarly Peter Pan-esque pals in Camden, in their mid thirties and working dead-end jobs on low pay, forced into living in hostels and dreadful squat-like houses with several people sleeping in every room. For me, it was a hugely novel experience, having been a wealthy IT consultant working in banking since I took my first big money contract at the age of 20, for Lloyds TSB in Canary Wharf. After 17 or so years of fabulous wealth, slumming it for a summer was almost fun.

My girlfriend at the time was a waitress at an Italian restaurant. Despite having a degree in economics from the University of Bologna, she had rejected the rat race in favour of a minimum wage job and getting ridiculously stoned every day. She was fun and easy going, just so long as all you wanted to do was sit around while she chain-smoked joints, and have great sex of course.

I wouldn't say I outgrew my circle of friends, because I loved them dearly, but the stresses and demands of my contract at Barclays were not really compatible with the lifestyle of casual labour and the pursuit of recreational drugs. At some point, the worlds were going to collide.

My girlfriend and most of my friends felt that I had arrogantly snubbed them, but in fact I was desperately dependent on our social circle for my wellbeing and happiness. When things all fell apart, I did too. I was devastated by the collapse of my social life, as well as losing the structure and routine of my employment.

I ran away to Ireland, and my friend picked me up from Cork airport and took me back to the little village of Killavullen, that he and his family call home. Nestled in the hillside above the village, looking over the valley below and just at the edge of a vast forest, my friend's family home is a peaceful idyll that is completely unlike the rat race of London.

The timing was not ideal, and I arrived in the middle of various challenges facing the family, but they welcomed me and treated me with incredible warmth, kindness, care, despite the crises that they were dealing with. It's not my place to be indiscreet about the family matters that I became aware of, but suffice to say the last thing they needed was some sick burnt out heartbroken citydweller suddenly thrust into the mix.

My state of mind collapsed still further, as it became clear that there would be no reconciliation with my former friends: I was a pariah. There was nothing for me back in London, except a certain collapse in my will to live. My friend's family insisted that I should stay with them until I felt fit and well enough to return home. I missed my return flight and didn't book another.

I tried to go along with the flow of family and village life, getting to know the people that my friend grew up with, and his family.

My friend and I went panning for gold - I had bought him a kit while in England and had brought it over to Ireland for him - as well as climbing to the top of the 'mountain' that he lived on. We drove around the vast forest that covered the hillside, and explored the neighbouring villages, as well as nearby Cork city centre. Although I had visited Ireland twice before, I had missed the point about stopping to smell the shamrocks. I'm always in the mode of rush, rush, rush.

We travelled to the huge cliffs at Old Head, and I stood there on the edge, having had a haircut, a shave, a bunch of hot meals and having slept in a warm comfortable bed in a welcoming family home for some time. Instead of wanting to jump off the edge of the cliff, I was actually happy to be alive.

Tags: #friends #homeless #london #ireland #family #suicide #depression #career #banking #computing

This is a story about taking a break...

This time last year I was charging around Ireland, exhausted and stressed out of my mind to the point where I was losing my marbles, because I'd had such a rough ride up to the point that I finally got out of the country for a few days break.

August is a dreadful time to get anything done. The French have the right idea, basically taking the whole month off work, leaving the cities and heading for the coast. I peaked a little early this year, because I wanted to be on holiday while celebrating my birthday.

A friend raised the very valid point that becoming engaged in debate is exactly what I'm looking for when I'm courting controversy. To say that I'm shitposting or attention seeking would be untrue, but there's certainly a reason why I don't just keep a private journal.

Now that I'm in my mid-thirties, most of my peers have spawned offspring, and that means they're taking their snot-nosed little shits on holiday. Can you sense the provocative sarcasm? Certainly the irony in my tone has not come across effectively at times, causing offence to stressed out mummies and daddies over my irreverence towards the magic of parenthood.

Every so often I reconsider whether what I've been writing is balanced and fair, and occasionally somebody tells me I'm out of line or otherwise gives me feedback that directs my attention towards points of view I hadn't considered.

However, now we are in the middle of the school holidays, I definitely feel like any attempts to address my critics would fall on deaf ears. Most of my child-encumbered chums are too busy trying to stop their offspring drowning while in the paddling pool or World War III from kicking off in the back of their family-sized car packed with infants and infant paraphernalia.

Unless you've met me during your sprogged-up years, you're not going to know that I'm actually poking fun. For my own amusement, I'm assuming a caricature: that of the footloose and fancy free bachelor, who is too much of a cultured citydweller to be bothered with mopping up sick and pooh. In actual fact, if you have met me during your years of parenthood, I hope you think I'm at least a little bit sympathetic to the trials and tribulations of raising unruly offspring, and it's obvious that I actually like kids.

Ironically, those friends who genuinely are footloose and fancy free and have rejected the commitments of family life, have also missed the point. While they are off partying around the world, with buttloads of disposable income and zero fucks given for how the other half live, they've ignorantly chided me for not being more grateful for my lot in life. A couple of pals who life has conferred considerable good luck upon, have deigned to give me a lecture on homelessness and the struggles of the working class... presumably while also sipping champagne on a yacht and completely failing to see the irony.

The irony is not lost on me, no matter what you might think, and believe me when I say that I do consider those who have not been fortunate in life when I bemoan my own situation. I hope that I always give an adequate nod to say that I acknowledge my own fortune that I haven't had my limbs all cut off and lemon juice squeezed in my eyes while my testicles are removed with a rusty spoon. My God I'm so glad that didn't happen to me. Oh how terribly fortunate I am. I can hold up a prompt sign if you like, so you know when I'm being sarcastic.

I have this strange habit of directing what I write at various groups of people or individuals, which must be very confusing as a reader, but it's also confusing for me as a writer. Who am I writing for now? My passive-aggressive attacks on my parents, and my rebuttals of my critics, have fallen on deaf ears. It's the school holidays and everybody's off on the beach or at a country show.

I could stop, regroup, and even take this opportunity to actually write on themes rather than using my writing as a vehicle to deal with the demons of my mind and argue aloud with the thrust of my critics words, even if they're not reading or responding.

There's something satisfying in knowing that you've won the argument, whether your opponent listened and responded or not. So many people are terrible at debating anyway, believing that contradiction is the same thing. "No it isn't" then "yes it is" repeated ad nauseam. Yawn!

And so it is, I feel like I'm talking to myself, and this feeling is further exacerbated by the summer break and the "calm before the storm" moment I'm facing, where I feel like I'm shouting into an empty room, but I also know that I'm closer than I think to making a breakthrough.

Taking a break can so easily mean the abandonment of a project, and the web is littered with abandoned blogs. I might not have achieved much, but I've certainly achieved a degree of consistency.

I'm so close to turning a corner, and yet it feels like I'm getting nowhere during a lonely school holiday where everyone is distracted spending time with their families in the sunshine while I plug away at an unfulfilling job and continue to bare every aspect of my soul on the public Internet.

I could stop, but then I would be like Wile E. Coyote when he runs off the cliff. It's only when he stops running and looks down that he falls. If that cartoon coyote just kept running he would be fine.

That's the discipline of the completer-finisher. That's my discipline. I don't stop. I don't give up. Not until I achieve something. Not until I reach some kind of goal. The project's not done. I have to continue even if it's bleeding me dry.

Anyway, void, I know you're always here listening to me and it's mighty therapeutic to be able to talk at length. Feels a bit weird continuing to blog away when so many people are off on their summer holidays, but there we go!

Tags: #writing #ireland

Tags: #comics

This is a story about self sabotage...

What the hell am I doing, blogging about stuff that could get me fired, sued and make me unemployable? Why the hell am I burning so many bridges, and destroying my own reputation? Is this simply self-sabotaging behaviour?

If we look at the wider context of my story, the rat race has made me unwell. The boring office jobs propping up the instruments of capitalism so that an idle wealthy elite can ride roughshod over the proletariat, has made me unhappy. Compromising on my moral, ethical position, five days a week is not healthy. Working in an unstimulating environment that is unchallenging and uninteresting is a fate worse than death.

It's very easy to keep doing what you do because you fear change and it's the path of least resistance. I've been moulded into a certain career and industry sector. I'm the perfect guy to have join your massive corporation and quickly get up to speed with the bureaucracy, systems and processes. The bulk of the hard work in a big organisation is not the actual skilled thing that people are qualified to do, but just dealing with the crap that gets built up by a zillion little Hitlers all micromanaging their tiny empires they're building and trying to justify their pathetic jobs.

It's interesting who I'm friends with on Facebook, and who follows me on Twitter. In fact, with very little digging you can even find this vast cache of dirt, on Google. This is not about how important and influential I am, because I'm not. This is about public exposure. I took a decision to lay my soul bare, and I stand by that decision. But, for a moment, let's consider the kinds of people who I know or suspect have at one time dipped into my social media and online accessible over-sharing:

• Ex colleagues from JPMorgan
• Ex colleagues from HSBC
• Cohorts from a technology startup accelerator
• Two influential and well respected directors of startup accelerators
• Mentors from startup accelerator
• My accountant
• People who are influential and well respected in the technology sector
• Friends who work in tech and/or industry sectors that I work in

I've stopped short of actually tying my LinkedIn profile back in this direction, towards my blog. I've stopped short of in any way linking my limited company back towards this new alter ego of mine, although I did briefly get myself in a muddle over some suicide watch startup idea that I had. That was on September 21st... right when I started this journey of deciding to go public with every struggle I faced when I finally lost my grip on my career, my company, my reputation, everything.

For sure, I'm a nobody. However, people still talk. There is a rumour mill, no matter how small and insignificant you are. And people who work in offices are particularly interested in lurid tales of people who're doing anything that is out of the ordinary, even if that's losing your mind and ending up in the gutter.

By now, my tale of the toxic combination of stress, abusive relationship, mental health problems, heavy drinking, drug abuse (in that order) leading to suicide attempts, hospitalisation, homelessness, destitution and even police involvement, is well documented.

Well, I guess it's not that well documented, but it's out there in the public domain.

I have no idea how much was known before I decided to embark upon a mission of full disclosure, but I know that my abusive ex-wife was particularly indiscreet and insensitive. I'm sure that my friends did their best to save my blushes and protect my reputation as much as they could, but people still knew that I was getting more and more unwell.

Obviously, at times during my descent into melancholy and the infinite madness, I sabotaged my own reputation amongst my Facebook friends. I once shared a picture of some potassium cyanide that I had bought with the express intention of ending my life quickly and cleanly. The lethal dose is about 250 milligrams. I bought 2 grams of the toxic chemical: 8 times more than was strictly necessary.

Depression now has less stigma associated with it. We pretty much all know somebody who suffers with depression, and takes anti-depressant medication to help them with their low mood. These things are no longer taboo to talk about, and many people are able to still continue to hold down good jobs and be in positions of responsibility. Suffering from clinical depression is not a death sentence, certainly as far as a person's professional reputation is concerned.

Bipolar disorder has almost become cool to have. There are a list of celebrities and politicians as long as your arm, who have come forward and declared that they are living with the condition. Obviously, the ability to turn your hypomanic episodes into hyper-energetic flurries of productive activity, means that you can get shit done. In a way, we celebrate the person who has these mood episodes, because they can produce the 'overnight' successes we so revere in society.

Alcohol is everywhere, so unless you're swigging from a bottle of vodka hidden in your desk and reeking of liquor fumes as you breathe on people, just about any amount of drinking is socially acceptable. It's only if you declare yourself an alcoholic and have a stay in rehab that people start to stigmatise you. You can cover up your 28 days in The Priory, by saying that it was private hospital treatment for stress and anxiety.

Drug abuse is the last taboo. You pretty much don't want to put that one down on your CV. Cocaine use is widespread throughout London, and coffee gets stronger and stronger to the point where you're practically swallowing amphetamines. A few cans of Red Bull is the socially acceptable equivalent to snorting a couple of lines of some stimulant. Students are increasingly using Modafinil, Ritalin and Adderall to improve their concentration span and fact retention, as well as to stay awake during long revision binges.

If you think that these things feature in my daily life, you're wrong. These issues are simply incompatible with day-to-day existence. Depression robs you of the energy to get out of bed and face the day. Bipolar hypomania robs you of the contents of your bank balance, as it all gets ploughed into crazy schemes. Alcoholism is hard to hide, not that I've ever been physically dependent on booze, thank God. Drug addiction is all-consuming: there's no hiding it when you've lost the battle with addiction and it's taking you on a white-knuckle ride to an early grave.

So, if I've won the battles, why would I make it public knowledge that I fought them? Why would I take the time to declare, beyond all reasonable doubt, that I'm a flawed individual? Why would I spell it out, that I could relapse into any number of life-destroying illnesses at any moment?

Well, we could all succumb to these things at any moment.

I was 28 years young when I was knocked flat by clinical depression. I was 32 when addiction got its hooks in me. Just because I'd been a good student, a well behaved polite boy, a model employee, a career go-getter, and on the face of it I had a perfect little life, it doesn't mean that I was immune from anything.

But "it could never happen to me" right?

We believe that smart life choices will keep us safe. We believe that we have free will, and that therefore we would never choose to do something stupid. We believe that past performance is indicative of future results, even if the disclaimers always tell us the opposite.

There's something ugly about academic and corporate life, where we put a black mark against people's name if they fuck up even once. Screw up your school exams and you'll never get a chance to go to university. Screw up in your career and you'll be frozen out of the good jobs forevermore. Screw up in life and you'll be a dirty leper who nobody will want to know or to help.

This is the bleak outlook for so many people, who were simply unlucky or made a decision that was obviously regrettable, but life is continuously setting us traps and pitfalls. Why do consequences have to be so long lasting? Oh, you got in financial trouble? Here, let us help you by now charging you fines and punitive rates of interest, plus denying you opportunities and making the cost of living sky high because you have a poor credit rating.

The punishment for not having any money is that you have to pay more money. The punishment for your crimes is the deprivation of your liberty and the destruction of your future opportunities.

Apparently people are mocking those who have chosen to get a semicolon tattoo, but let's think about this for a minute.

I work in a big office and I see hundreds of people every day. In all likelihood they have seen that I have a semicolon tattooed behind my ear. If you were to Google "what does a semicolon tattoo mean?" then you will see that it's mostly to do with struggles with depression, addiction, self-harm and suicide attempts. I wonder how many people are thinking "why the hell did we employ this guy?".

When I did my interview, I sat so that my interviewers were on my right-hand side. The people who interviewed me never saw that tattoo, until soon after I started in my new job. I wonder if they'd have hired me if they had seen the tattoo.

Tattoos are actually uncommon amongst investment banking IT consultants. Certainly visible tattoos are even declared as not permitted, in many banks dress codes. I even thought about putting a sticking plaster over the mark on my skin, for my interview.

However, that's all I ever did for years and years. That's our whole approach to mental health and the problems that people face in their private lives: put a sticking plaster over it.

I've written at length about how angry I am that our first line of defence for people who are stressed out and depressed by their shitty unfulfilling office jobs, is to give them powerful psychoactive medications that artificially alter their mood so they can continue to work their dreadful jobs.

I'm angry that I'm so pressurised by wider society to cover up my problems, in order to retain a blemish-free reputation. I feel like the need to appear pristine and infallible to potential employers, fellow work colleagues and bosses, is largely to blame for why I had a massive breakdown and implosion, instead of things getting fixed before they got out of hand.

We are brainwashed to believe that we can't have any gaps on our CV that we can't explain. We are brainwashed to believe that we can't take our foot off the gas pedal for a single second. We are brainwashed to believe that a stain on our reputation will hang around for the rest of our careers.

You know what the problem is? It's our fucking careers. The treadmill. The rat race. It's making so many people mentally unwell, as well as causing physical health damage due to the sedentary nature of the work. No amount of standing desks or free gym membership is going to compensate for the problem.

I backslid into office employment because it was easy and I was desperate. My back was against the wall, and it made perfect financial sense to go and suffer another stretch of agonising misery back doing the shit that I'm most qualified and experienced to do, but it's fucking killing me.

It's important to be values-aligned, but it's also so easy to be tempted by 'easy' money. The cash rewards for doing the kind of mind-bogglingly boring work that I do are substantial. In theory, I only have to do this work for short bursts, and then I have spare time and cash to do whatever I need to do to balance the books, psychologically. However, in practice, all I'm doing is servicing debts that were built up just staying alive.

The welfare state took a dim view on my situation. Why do I need help, when I can go and get a job that pays fabulously well? Well, guess what? I tried it. I tried getting one of these shitty desk jobs that kill me, while I was homeless living in a hostel. And guess what? Working one of those jobs that made you unwell in the first place while you are still unwell really fucks you up.

This whole exercise of blowing my existence and private life wide open serves to document the ridiculousness of the mental health destroying lives that we are forced to live. If this whole experience ends up killing me, at least I've left the evidence: the smoking gun.

Nobody really cares when white middle class, well educated men in good jobs kill themselves. Why would they? Well, look around you. Do you see people getting happier? Do you see mental illness declining? Do you see suicide rates declining? Do you feel secure, fulfilled? Do you feel like the human condition is improving?

I look around and I see war and I see poverty. I see ordinary British people being forced into zero hours contract minimum wage McJobs, and still unable to afford basic amenities. I see loneliness and depression. I see a lack of real local community. I see families pulled apart by the need to go to large urban centres to seek your fortune. I see people locked into their own little world: headphones plugged in, eyes cast downwards at their smartphone, not talking to anybody face to face except to ask for their morning coffee.

Is this just a London thing? Is my view tainted because I'm struggling with depression myself? Actually, London is the canary in the coal mine. The sensitive people who have their head up looking around, sensing for danger, are usually on to something. Everything is pretty shit and fucked up right now.

And so, I am rejecting the conventional. I'm rejecting the sensible, rational and tried-and-tested. I'm burning the bridges that lead back to places I should never return to.

Yes, I might be making a fool of myself. Yes, people might be sniggering at me, safe behind their computer screens. Yes, important people are judging me and they have the ability to thwart me because of their prejudice, and make my life hard and even impossible. I could find myself unemployable, but not know why, because nobody has to tell me. I'm giving away all the ammunition you need to destroy me, and people are eagerly taking it.

But you know, who's the real winner? If you take what I gave you and use it against me, how are you going to feel? We're all doing that. We're all exploiting weaknesses that we discover in each other, in order to get ahead in the rat race.

How do you win a rigged contest? If everybody is cheating, do you cheat too?

The other option is to martyr yourself. For sure, you'll be hated and excluded. Nobody will thank you. But at least you can sleep at night, in the gutter.

Prisons can mean anywhere you feel trapped and your liberty is restricted

Tags: #career #london #computing #banking #depression #suicide #mentalhealth