[A/N: Strange times. This was originally posted 19/12/2008. I was a lot more angry then. I like to think I at least had a good reason. - AK, 18/7/10]
Third attempt at this post. To the depressive mind, the past is a hole. You can spend years of your life climbing out, reaching for the light. But all it takes is one misplaced limb and you’re sent back down, and as the darkness closes in on you all you know is falling.
I need a cigarette. I don’t even smoke, but I need something to do with my hands that doesn’t involve a razor-blade. And I will admit that breathing smoke has a certain appeal when I’m in this frame of mind.
I’m not over it. ‘It’ being Dulwich College. In Regency novels, buildings at least had the decency to reflect the mental state of their inhabitants. After a total mental and social collapse, it seems only right that the focal location collapses in on itself as well. Sadly, the red-brick monstrosity continues to exist, in total contravention of narrative constraints.
I was doing so well. I had been able to lie to myself that I’d dealt with everything that happened to me there, that I could just bury the past. It’s never that simple, is it?
I despise the place. Words cannot describe what it does to people. My hands are shaking just from looking at the picture, and I’m not sure if it’s fear or anger. Probably both.
Dulwich is a factory for identikit public schoolboys, who believe that the world belongs to them. This is probably because it does. My best friend for a number of years was the son of a Prime Minister’s press secretary*, after all.
So everyone’s off to university, except me. There they will drink copiously, wear rugby shirts and network. I’m not over it. I’m pissed off. I’m not over people who’d rather ostracise me than try and help**. I’m not over staff who think ‘support’ means ‘using a slightly more patronising tone of voice’. I’m not over being in love.
I’ve always been a dreamer, but right now I’d very much like to be the Count of Monte Cristo. The wronged exile who returns in disguise to ruin his betrayers. But maybe I should stick to books.
So this is a catharsis, in part. Really, I should be doing this over the course of years of therapy, but a blog post will have to suffice. A fair while ago, the MH-blogosphere was awash with sarcasm in response to a BBC piece that suggested that depression could be a positive, character-building thing. I don’t think the Corporation was entirely wrong about that. If my breakdown has taught me one thing, it’s that you don’t have to take shit from people. Moreover, it’s kind of shown me that most of the people I used to call friends are, and always were, cunts.
Maybe things get better with time, I don’t know. For the moment, however, they suck worse than an ambiguously-gendered Thai prostitute.
I’m tempted to post a link to this post on Facebook, as something of a parting gift. Unsure.
* No, I am not saying which Prime Minister. I think that’s a sufficient level of anonymity. For all you know it could be Ted Heath.
** If you’re reading this, Nathalie, I want my fucking laptop back.
[A/N: Needless to say, this inspired some responses; some scornful, some supportive. Most of these were on Facebook, and as far as I know these have long since expired or been deleted. A couple of the surviving comments are below. In hindsight, they had some good points. Then again, I flatter myself I did, too. In fairness, I did get a lot of messages along the lines of 'go fuck yourself' as well. Oh, and I never did get that laptop back.]
You know the reason you never fit in was your sense of superiority right? You had such an arrogance as you went about your business, you made it so clear that you thought you were smarter and better than everyone else. You were in no way ostracized because you were different, many other people managed to fit in despite their quirks. Also you were unable to see beyond a certain type of boy, the rugby player, when assessing the college. If you had bothered to explore deeper you would have learn’t that most people aren’t actually the ‘identikit public school boys’ that you describe.
Dear Misanthrope,
Remember us? The long haired smokers. We have heard that we were referred to as such. However the rumour mill is awash with…rumours about your departure from the school. You said you “despised the place”. Well, we despise you. Not because of your homosexuality, not because of your decision not to wear rugby shirts, drink heavily and “network”. No, we despise you because you despise us. In the five years we spent with you at the college you never once engaged us in conversation other than as lesser beings. Somehow we were in some way beneath you. We find this odd, although not wholly surprising.You see, misery and self-loathing breeds anger and superiority. You suggest that we have no idea what you went through, what you are going through now. The thing is, by and large, we have had the same experiences. We too have attended the “SPS”. We too have been ostracised, mainly for our smoking. Neither of us plays rugby, though we would look so damn sexy in the shirts. We’re not going to university next year either. The difference is, we take this in our stride. We take, dare I say it, pride in our differences. It’s what makes us “us”. We apologise for the clichés, however we have another complaint. Your post contained something of an irony, which is to say a glaring irony like a huge wound in the side of a sow. you complain about the students here, yet through it you have created a simple, unbending classification.
You are angry, and rightly so about people making homophobic comments towards you. You have been branded as a “gay” and for that we are sorry. The thing is, in telling the world about your troubles, you have branded every single member of Dulwich College as a rugby playing, hard drinking stereotype. As an intelligent person, I’m sure you don’t need us to point out the irony.
Basically, we are truly sorry about any hurt you may have received from the College. If you have ever felt that it was in part or even wholly responsible for the mental breakdown you suffered, we apologise as much as we can apologise for our own actions (although we accept any apology we make will not make up for the suffering you have felt). However, we feel it is important that you understand that the points you have made are not wholly accurate and we present another argument. We would be very happy if you were to publish this open letter on your blog and perhaps send one in return.
[A/N: This about all I can dredge up. I make no further comment.]
