My Story 

Produced in South East London (ironically in the same year that Prozac was invented), here began my strange upbringing. My sister, three years old by then, was probably unhappy about my arrival. I do and have always strived to be the centre of attention - it’s just in my nature and is both a blessing and a curse.

 

When my father decided to turn a whole 180 from his career as an insurance broker to begin training to be a member of the C of E clergy, I was about 5. We moved around the country as a family to accommodate this calling. My sister and I moved schools several times before we settled anywhere, and therefore never could keep long-term friendships. This was just how it was.

 

We finally settled back in London, dad with his own church to boss, mum having to work full time for us to afford life in London (vicars are not paid much, but the ‘company house’ is a big bonus), sister settling into her secondary school, me discovering cigarettes and alcohol as well as attending school, I was around 12/13. Until this point, sports had been our thing. Sister was an incredibly promising swimmer, competing in national galas and racing 200 metre butterfly stroke (imagine that). I was a similar level gymnast, being slapped around by angry sports coaches - the norm for the 90’s in competitive sports. With this move, we gave up these sports - neither of us were quite on the national podium enough for it to be worth the effort (30 hours per week), but also, we would have had to make our own ways to training and back.

 

For me, stopping gymnastics exposed a humongous void. I had a few interests I could fill it with, I loved music, and played guitar - writing my own songs (my most famous smash hit back then was entitled ‘Going to the Park’ ‘wooohhh oohhhh ohhhh’ which already metaphorically talked about how I’d love to be free). I also occasionally hit some golf balls around with my dad. These two things would remain my passions for life, but weren’t enough to fill the void.

 

I was always a very deep thinking, empathic and emotional lad. Most of the friends I became close with were girls who were having mental health and hormonal problems well before I knew what these were, and I was a good listener. I took these feelings on board, and quite frankly felt them as if they were my own. I had no idea if this was right or wrong, but it made me good in their eyes, and therefore a good friend (the likes I had never known). 

 

I carried many burdens - some of which my own, and sought ways to alleviate these off my shoulders. God was one way - I was spiritual and had faith, but the groups I was around were not always helpful at getting rid of this pain, but actually the opposite - I took more on. The other ways were to be ‘naughty’ - cigarettes, alcohol, moving on to drugs, gambling, relationship chasing - but rock and roll made it so… glamorous! I knew I was an alcoholic by age 14, when I would drink a bottle of wine per day, keeping a nice level of tipsy, and thereby taking each moment as it came - good or bad. 

 

A friend had committed suicide this year - one that I had tried to help save, and I lost a lot of hope, promise and appreciation for life. I was depressed, and in need of help, pretty badly - yet, I was mostly left to help myself. Even my ‘therapy cats’ walked into the road and died before they were one year old. I was sure Wailand’s was an accident, and then Waddington’s was suicide.

 

I left school at 16 after a break in music - I was signed to work with a major management, and published for my songwriting capabilities - There was no chance I would do A-Levels after this. Earning money, I began to socialise in pubs (well underage) and became close to a man who ‘took me under his wing’, invited me home to his boyfriend, and continually groomed me, sexually abusing me and feeding me alcohol and cigarettes to dampen the ride. I am only just getting closure on this now (20 years on).

 

Then, after being out of my home for a few years, my parents split… it’s not good for a vicar to be cheating on his wife for many months and then just up and walk… apparently. I had a duty to then look after my mother, who was mentally struggling (as you would be), and I lost even more control of my own addictions and mental wellbeing in the process. I worked in a pub, and drank more than any of the punters could, whilst maintaining excellent customer service and a talent for communication in a very busy environment. I felt… accepted? I also played in bands and followed my music career - of course the drink flowed and the drugs were the norm. I always knew that I ‘needed’ them more than anyone else though.

 

Further and further downhill went my grip on myself - more and more trips to hospital, until out of the blue at 25 years old, I quit drinking alcohol. This was a crazy achievement, and a major turning point in my life. Admittedly, I just replaced the sheer amount of booze with ounces of marajuana, and cocaine kept creeping back in and out, but I had conquered alcohol!

 

Running my own decorating business (out of complete incapability to hold a ‘proper job’), working on my own terms, and with a spliff on the go at all times, I went on to have a few good years of making ridiculous decisions that felt right, obsessively gambling, chasing damaging relationships, people pleasing, and further beating down my own mental health. This culminated in a very full on relationship that became (fairly quickly) a marriage. This marriage consisted of me trying to be the saviour of her very serious mental health and eating disorders. When she was leaning on me the most, she attempted suicide, blaming me. (If you are unfamiliar with the diagnosis of BPD, then look it up - it explains a lot and serves some purpose to excuse some of her actions). 

 

I then followed suit, failing at my own suicide attempt. The next few months were of my cocaine addiction grabbing me by the goolies, and ruining anything I had left around me. I was having bigger and bigger seizures, hoping that each one would be the end, and that I would be found in my flat, stiff as a board with powder all over my nose. Unfortunately (at the time) I didn’t die, and I became more and more controlled by Mr. Addiction, until I realised that I had to make a choice. Die, or go to rehab.

 

I chose a rehab that was on the other side of the country so that I wouldn’t be able to easily walk out. It was more like a prison (many of the inmates were there on court orders), the rehabilitation process was strict and hard, and the leaders were not to be messed with. I was looked after in there - on suicide watch - but very much on the beginnings of the path towards recovery. From this point on, my life started again.

 

I was encouraged to break my marriage, which I promptly did, due to the fact that I would never be able to stay off the drugs if I was with her! The result of this breakup meant that I really did have nothing left. I didn’t own anything, I had no car, home, money (in fact I was in a whole pile of debt with the bank and drug dealers and credit providers) and no way to pay it back. This was rock bottom.

 

The next seven years or so have been a real struggle. I am having to discover what real emotions are, and how to sit with them. I am having to accept my diagnoses of hypothyroidism, bipolar and autism, and therefore living with these without the old escape routes of drugs and alcohol. It has been the hardest time of my life.

 

However…. During my time in rehab, a fire was lit inside me. Passion has been building, hope has been strengthening, and I was beginning to really see what I was put on this earth to do - The fire was building, burning and lighting up the future as well as the past. I HAD to go through these things or how else would I be able to help others?

 

So this is where I’m at. Name changed, past accepted, somewhat excited about the future. I’m desperate to help make a change. Not just on an individual level, but on a large scale. My mind is full of ideas, and my heart is full of passion to answer this question: 

 

“How can WE help?”

 

Billy x