So, another month has passed and I’m still not drinking beer.
Eight weeks now.
Eight weeks without beer. For anyone who knows me, that is quite an achievement. I’m not going to pretend that I’ve suddenly become some sort of fitness guru who spends his evenings drinking protein shakes and talking about macros. I’m still the same bloke who thinks a good evening involves loud music, questionable decisions and probably a kebab. But I have managed to stay away from the beer, and I’m actually quite proud of myself for it.
The main reason was simple. I wanted to lose some weight and get myself into better shape. I know that beer was not exactly helping with that. There is something about drinking a few beers that makes the idea of eating half a packet of biscuits at 11pm seem perfectly reasonable. So I decided to stop drinking and see what happened.
Eight weeks later, I’m still going.
I’m not sure exactly where this is going yet, but I’m going to keep going and see what happens. Maybe I’ll lose some weight. Maybe my training will improve. Maybe I’ll discover that I actually enjoy being sober. Or maybe I’ll just become increasingly annoying to everyone around me as I tell them how many weeks it has been since I had a beer.
There has also been a bit of a worry going on in the background this month.
I found a small lump in the middle of my leg. Obviously, the sensible thing to do was get it checked. The less sensible thing to do was let my brain immediately start imagining every possible worst-case scenario. Unfortunately, my brain has never been particularly good at waiting patiently for information.
It was decided that the lump should be removed and sent away for a biopsy, so that’s what has happened. It has now been cut out and I’m waiting for the results.
And waiting is probably the worst bit.
There is nothing you can actually do. The thing has been removed. It has been sent away. Somebody with considerably more medical knowledge than me will look at it and tell me what it is. Until then, all I can do is wait.
Of course, telling someone with a mental health condition to “just wait and don’t worry” is about as useful as telling a Labrador that there is a sausage in the next room but it isn’t allowed to think about it.
My head does what my head does.
I’m trying not to think about it too much, though. Hopefully it will turn out to be nothing serious and this will eventually become one of those things that I look back on and think, “Why the hell did I worry so much about that?”
That’s the plan anyway.
In the meantime, I’ve been keeping myself distracted with something that has always been good for my mental health.
Heavy metal.
I’ve been to a few gigs this month, with Fear Factory and Blaze Bayley being the highlights. There is something about standing in a room with thousands of other people while someone absolutely batters you with guitars and drums that seems to put life into perspective.
You can’t spend too much time worrying about what’s going on inside your head when your ears are being assaulted by industrial metal.
Fear Factory were brilliant, but Blaze Bayley was probably the one that stuck with me the most.
I’ve got a huge amount of respect for Blaze, not just as a musician but because of the way he has spoken openly about his own mental health journey. He has been through some incredibly difficult times and yet he continues to get on stage, perform and talk honestly about what he has experienced.
I find that incredibly inspirational.
One of the things I’ve learned over the years is that mental health doesn’t necessarily disappear just because you look alright from the outside. You can be standing on a stage in front of thousands of people, or standing in a workplace surrounded by colleagues, or sitting in a pub surrounded by friends, and still be fighting battles that nobody else can see.
That’s why I think people talking openly about mental health is so important.
For years I thought there was something wrong with me because my brain didn’t work like everyone else’s. I thought I should be able to deal with things better. I thought other people were coping and I was somehow failing.
The more people talk about their own experiences, the more you realise that nobody really has it all figured out.
We’re all carrying something.
Some of us are just better at hiding it.
So, that’s where I am as another month disappears.
Eight weeks without beer. A little bit of weight still to lose. Training still to get back on track. A lump removed from my leg and a biopsy result to wait for. A few bloody good gigs under my belt and another reminder from someone like Blaze Bayley that having mental health problems doesn’t mean your life has to stop.
I’m still here.
Still trying.
Still training.
Still listening to music that probably isn’t doing my hearing any favours.
And still trying to keep the Bipolar Ironman moving forward.
One day at a time.
