Please note: this story contains descriptions some readers may find upsetting.
My wedding day was one of the worst of my life. That’s not something you’d expect anyone to think, let alone say out loud, but for me it really was. Now, it’s not because I didn’t want to do it, it’s because 8 years ago, around the time of Our Big Day, I was suffering from crippling anxiety.
At the age of 25 I had everything going for me: a great job, a beautiful fiancée, Mandy, and we had just bought our first house together. She had recently graduated university with a 1st class degree, and had secured a well sought after position with one of the UK’s leading psychologists at Gartnavel hospital. I was also getting really into performing stand up comedy on the Glasgow circuit; my ambitions of being a performer for a living were getting closer and closer to becoming a reality.
On November 24th 2009, Mandy took her own life. She had struggled with her mental health before, but thankfully always got the care she needed. This time the illness came on too quickly for anyone to do anything; she lost her fight that night, and I lost everything. I became somewhat of a recluse; even the thought of going outside amongst other humans sent my body into shock. I’d feel sick, sweaty, and ready to snap at anybody who would even attempt to suggest such a preposterous notion. Performing on stage was obviously just a distant memory too.
I became an ambassador for mental health and helped to raise thousands to support local charities that assisted those going through similar situations. I educated myself on symptoms to look out for in friends and family, and openly spoke about my story. I hoped this would help to chip away at the concrete wall that society had created to make such discussions taboo. Not once did I even consider that I was one of anxiety’s victims.
In 2010 I started talking online to Danielle, one of Mandy’s friends from university. We had a lot in common, and we were able to comfort each other emotionally following our mutual tragedy. We quickly fell in love and one night, in a drunken stupor, I proposed to her.
We tied the knot (I tried so hard not to use this phrase but we quite literally tied a knot at the ceremony, so it’s justified here) on April 7th 2013 at a beautiful mansion house filled with family and friends. We had a string quartet play during the ceremony, and an amazing rock band to keep the party going throughout the night. There were magicians entertaining guests while we got the obligatory wedding pictures done. We even had our first dance to a song that we wrote and recorded ourselves. Everyone was drinking and celebrating our new legal relationship, it was perfect. Except for the fact that I hated almost every second of it. That anxious feeling I would get just going out to the shops had been multiplied by eleven, and there was nowhere for me to hide. I couldn’t leave, I had to perform; everybody wanted a show. I couldn’t wait for the ceremonial Runrig jig, because I knew it would shortly be followed by me shaking hands with people as they left and I could finally be in peace.
The day after our wedding we went on our honeymoon to Mexico. It was an all-inclusive resort, so I didn’t need to worry about straying too far from the safety of our apartment, which was a plus. Most of the days spent there were fun, and we were able to make some lifelong friends too. But sometimes my anxiety would creep up on me. Like that friend who loves hiding behind doors just so they can jump out at you and make you absolutely wet yourself. One evening we spent around $200 on VIP tickets to the infamous Coco Bongo club. These golden tickets meant that we got our own seats with table service, and as much alcohol as we both could handle. I hid in the toilet for most of the night because I couldn’t shake the notion that I was going to blow chunks over a stunt performer dressed as Captain America. Granted his shield would have offered some protection, but I don’t think he’d have been happy about it. And remember that "all you can drink" honeypot I mentioned? Well I couldn’t handle anything stronger than bottled water. We stayed until about 11pm, and I couldn’t handle it anymore, so we valiantly fought our way downstairs and through the packed dance floor. The look of confusion on the people’s faces that we manoeuvred passed was not unwarranted, but certainly didn’t help.
8 years have passed and thankfully I have been able to teach my body and my brain to deal with these soul sucking scenarios. The support my wife gave me at every step, no matter how much she had to sacrifice, helped me to be me again. Danielle and I now have 2 beautiful kids, and trying to recall the terror I got from doing the mundane seems so alien to me. I often talk about wishing I could relive those moments again but this time with the capability to enjoy "the most expensive party I’ve ever had" but why should I? They become the strongest foundations for me to begin rebuilding everything that I had lost.
This story is about celebrating, but not in the way you would think. It’s about not looking for the obvious wins, but realising that you have someone right there in front of you everyday who is worth more than any exorbitant gathering you could fathom. That one person who is nothing less than an extra limb, and when you think about them, your mouth insists on smiling and your heart fills. You might not think you have one, but you do; you’ve just not realised it yet.
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