Pt 3; House of Cards
How Belief came to life.
Part 3 of 4.
Part 3 House of cards
So by now you’ve got the picture. Troubled youth with a pretty shitty past, but I got my ducks in a row, worked hard and created a wonderful life with a house of my own, a career, fiancé, surfing, meditation, training, and teaching MA and women’s self-defence.
I was on one hell of a roll. One I never really expected of myself, I just decided that I wanted to create a good life where Homeswest would never again dictate where I lived.
I was training at a local Boxing Club. I used to train with the owner when we were both under the tutelage of the State Secretary of W.A Amateur Boxing – Patty Wilton. Darren was a great trainer with a successful Amateur Career. A tough bastard but funny and very caring. Darren knows most people in the scene and one was Danny Green’s promoter so it came about that a bunch of us decided to head over to Sydney and watch the Green – Mundine fight. It was a great experience, except for the outcome!
The day after I returned to Perth I went and had a kick of the footy with a few mates. We were there for a bit, pretending we were worthy of selection to an imaginary AFL team when I jumped up and took a mark. Landed. And boom. My foot was in agony. I fell to the turf like a bag of cement.
This injury was one that wasn’t going to heal. I had smashed my Tibia into my Talus (Leg into foot) and mashed their corners together like chalk whist severing Tendons and nerves.
Over time I have had 3 unsuccessful operations, countless Physio and injections to no avail.
So with this broken foot, my world also broke.
I couldn’t Youth Work the way I used to because I couldn’t play sports with the kids (a wonderful way to allow people to drop their defences and chat about what’s going on for them), I couldn’t walk on uneven surfaces like sand for about 2 years and I still struggle today.
And worst of all….I couldn’t Box or do Martial Arts, and I couldn’t perform squats or leg presses, skip, or jog…. I was completely devastated that this had been taken away from me and I couldn’t cope.
My career suffered dramatically and I lost my drive, and my job. My relationship suffered because of my spiral into depression, lack of income, and inability to exercise as a coping mechanism.
My fiance and I separated and I moved into the house I bought (and was barely holding on to). Then I started to drink. I went to a party and attracted a woman who was bitter and horrible. But like attracts like, and I got what I was asking for. After a short while, we moved in together and I sold my house.
We were at a wedding when we decided to have some cocaine,… and then the spiral I thought couldn’t get worst, started spiraling on a whole new level.
The following months were revolting. I had made more money than I had ever seen on the sale of my house, I was deep into depression, and my drinking and drug use was out of control. We couldn’t get coke one night so we moved onto meth. A friend (who knows) once compared meth to an abuser in a relationship “It’s fun and easy at the start, you kind of trust your handle on it, but over time it wears you down, cuts off all of your outside contacts, keeps you trapped, and makes you weak where you were once strong”. This combination self-hatred, money, a toxic relationship, and meth tore me apart.
Over the short course of 18 months I became an absolute piece of shit. I transformed into this “thing” that was my polar opposite. Selfish, violent, short fused, unreliable, hating, and unloving of anyone or anything, I had completely lost my true self. I started getting in constant trouble with police, I couldn’t hold down a job, and my partner and I were constantly abusive towards each other. My family were sick of my behaviour and quite frankly – they were scared to have me around them. My partner and I separated under terrible circumstances and I was so fucked up in my mind that I returned to the house and hanged myself under our back patio.
My two sisters and my nephew.
This is what I saw as I hang there slowly spinning and slipping further and further into unconsciousness on my way to death. It’s not an existing photo, but I saw them standing there looking straight at me… Lucky for me I can’t tie a decent knot to save….well, to kill myself, and I undid it and fell to the ground. I called the ex and she called police, who took me to the Psych Ward at Charles Gairdner Hospital where I spent the next one and a half weeks. It was supposed to be two weeks but I was so out of control even they kicked me out!
Upon exiting the hospital, I moved to Mum’s but apparently this was STILL not rock bottom. I pushed Mum’s love for her son so far, that she had no choice but to kick me out to the streets. I had burnt all of my bridges after couch surfing for a while and I ended up living in a park with little but the clothes on my back, a phone and my wallet… I was literally ‘park bench fucked’.
I had everything I could have hope for in life but when I sustained the injury, I realised that although it was my job to teach coping skills to youth, I had no coping skills outside of exercise. For it was my coping strategy since I was a boy.
It might sound weak and defeated, and you may not be able to relate – hell, before this happened to me, I may have labelled you weak and pathetic too – but it happened, I was defeated and 95% of me just wanted to drink and drug until I was dead.
So what about the 5% remaining?