In my childhood, I never lacked security, at least at home. School was another matter: primary school was a breeze, but grammar school… not so much. From 1967-1973, we were single sex and with that came some very particular issues, chief amongst them the cliques. For whatever reason I was never really in any of them and thus felt somewhat on the “outside”. Living across town in the country some two miles from school meant inviting friends home wasn’t really an option (or rather, I thought it wasn’t) so I was something of a loner those years. Oddly, when the Girl’s Grammar School merged with us in 1973 for my last year, it wasn’t as big a problem for me as it might have been due to my having had a relationship with the girl (literally) next door for some years and being comfortable around girls. Actually, it was something of a blessing… 😀
But afterwards, in the big bad world, it was different. Why, I don’t know, but I drifted from job to job, slowly developing a degree of insecurity about, well, pretty much everything but especially my looks. Looking back at photos, I wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, and nothing like as stocky as I imagined, but at the time, in my head, I wasn’t tall, slim or good-looking, and that began to gnaw away at my confidence until in summer 1976 I had a full-on nervous breakdown, doubtless aided by the industrial quantities of drink & drugs I was self-medicating with. In one sense you could say that wiped the slate clean, but in another it solidly reinforced my insecurity, and that’s something that continues to this day. Having an overactive imagination and a somewhat gloomy outlook doesn’t help in this respect: not that I need constant reassurance (although that would be nice…) but it’s hard to see the bright side of life sometimes (or as I’m won’t to say, be a sunbeam for Jesus), even when there’s no real problem. Maybe it’s not so much a insecurity as a feeling of inadequacy.
It’s been pointed out to me that over the years I’ve had my share of success with the ladies, so I can’t be that bad looking (or so I’ve been told) or that much of a problem to be around. Thing is, I’m seeing it from the inside: I know my shortcomings and it can be hard not to play up to them (if that makes any sense).
There is one area of my life where, if anything, I’m overly confident of my abilities, and that’s writing and researching. I know I’m a damn good writer: I’ve been told so by other, better scribes but even if they’d not, I just know I’m a good writer. Because I am. Sorry if that seems immodest (seems ?) but it’s true. Maybe not so much these days but should the need arise, I can still produce credible prose, and enjoy doing so. But… that’s just the one thing. The rest of my life, I’m still the same thirteen year old boy standing on the outside, looking in and wanting to be there. The difference these days is that I’ve come to accept my lot. This is me, This is how I am. I know there are people out there who care for me, like me, love me, and the preceding is in no way dismissive of them or their feelings towards me. Again, it’s just how I am. Fortunately for me, one in particular thinks that’s enough for them. And that means the world to me.
