Hello Life! Read online

  Luckily I soon came around. I realized Matt and I shared the same interests. He was a year younger than me and we both loved basketball. We even liked the same teams. Dad had put up a hoop in the garden so we’d play together after school, trying different moves. In the end he became like a real brother to me. Even though Dad and his mom eventually broke up after a big wedding and six years of marriage, I still see him around Brighton and the banter is always the same. “Oh, man,” I’ll say. “I miss you so much! Let’s hang out.”

  Me and my stepbrother Matt, having a slice of pizza on a ski vacation

  Despite everything that went on, we still have that relationship and a load of great memories together. Not everything that happened during the split was terrible.

  Even though at the time I felt quite weird going through a family breakup, I now know that I wasn’t in the minority. Lots of people I speak to these days have been through a divorce or a parental breakup. It might even be happening to you, which is why you’re reading this chapter.

  The reality of a breakup involving your parents is this: it sucks. But the biggest thing I learned from that time is how DIVORCE CAN BE ALL RIGHT IN THE END. That might sound crazy if it’s happening to you right now, but it’s true. My mom and dad both have new partners now, and they’re both happy—maybe the happiest they’ve ever been in their lives. The fact that they’re with different people was a little tricky to get my head around at first, but they’ve found people they’re better suited to. And they still love my sisters and me as much as ever.

  When the breakup was going on, I realized early on that it was important to NEVER TAKE SIDES. You might be at an age where your parents feel as if you’re old enough to cope with the details, and as a kid that can be really daunting. Mom might moan about Dad; Dad might talk about something Mom’s done to upset him. That can be heavy, so sit them both down and try this line: “Mom, Dad, your problem is with each other. All I want is for you to be happy, so it would help if you don’t bring me into it.”

  It’s a bold move and it might be hard to deliver, but it’ll help in the long run.

  Then remember that THEY’RE HURTING, TOO. The family has fallen apart so emotions are going to be flying around. There could be arguments, big fights. They might even say horrible things in front of you. But, deep down, they don’t really mean any of it. Your parents have hit rock bottom. The good news is that the only way for them to go is up.

  In the end I decided to FIND SOMEONE ELSE TO CHAT TO. I spoke to people I was close to who were older than me, like my year-four teacher. She knew what was going on because Dad had told her and one day she called me over at the end of class. That gave me the fear at first because I didn’t know what was going on. I thought I’d done something wrong.

  Uh-oh, I thought, I’m gonna be in trouble!

  But she then told me that she understood what was happening at home, and if I wanted to chat to her about it, I could. I found talking to her to be a massive help. Reaching out to someone with more experience than me was a boost. I felt supported. It was nice knowing she was there if ever I had to get something off my chest, especially if it was something I couldn’t talk through with either Mom or Dad. I think dealing with it on my own might have been a bit of an ordeal.

  I guess the whole experience showed me that MARRIAGE MIGHT NOT BE FOR EVERYONE. I often feel like there’s this pressure on all of us to eventually get married. There’s still this idea that you have to live a traditional life, even though there are lots of people who are doing their own thing. Times are changing, which is really cool, so why rush into a marriage when it could end in divorce? Why even get married in the first place?

  If you’re into it, then great. If not, don’t stress. And just because life might not have worked out in the way that your parents—and you—had hoped, it doesn’t mean you can’t all find happiness. I know, because that’s what happened to me.

  ILLNESS: HOW TO HANDLE THE STRAIN

  One of the biggest challenges I’ve ever faced began a few years back when a family friend who I had known all my life and was close to at school (we’ll call her Katy, although that’s not her real name) became seriously ill. It started when she went to Thailand on vacation. She was only fourteen and traveling with a friend and her family, but one night, at the end of the trip, she sneaked out with her friend, like you do when you’re a kid. The pair of them found a bar and ordered some drinks, but when Katy’s friend went off with a random guy she was left alone. After that there were only flashbacks: some Australian guy, more drinks, her waking up in the middle of the street with memories of being in a stranger’s apartment. It was nightmarish.

  When Katy eventually found her way back to the hotel, she spent the night with her head in a toilet bowl, puking and passing in and out of consciousness. She was taken to a hospital, where a doctor told her that her drink had been spiked. They checked her for any signs of sexual assault, which thankfully hadn’t happened, but she was freaked out at what turned out to be four missing hours. She had no idea of what had gone on, apart from blurry memories that would come out of nowhere, such as the recollection of a weird apartment and the feeling of some unknown man’s hand on her back.

  When I heard what had happened, I got really mad. I’ve always been very protective of Katy. I always used to stick up for her at school. The news made me livid and scared. I had loads of questions.

  “Why her?”

  “Are the police looking for this sicko?”

  “How did this even happen?”

  When Katy eventually returned home, she seemed fine at first. It was as if nothing that serious had really happened and we all brushed it off, hoping that was the end of it. It was only after four months or so that I noticed that she was acting a little strangely. It was just a few flashes at first, but she would leave her food at lunchtime, which was something she’d never done before. In the beginning it was just bits of her meal, then it was the whole plate. She would make out that she wasn’t hungry.

  Around the same time, Katy got into exercise—and I mean she really got into exercise. She would train all the time and at crazy hours of the day. One night her sister came downstairs around 2 a.m. to get a glass of water and found Katy skipping and dripping with sweat in the living room.

  “Er, Katy, what are you doing?” she said.

  “Oh I can’t sleep,” said Katy. “And Mom told me that skipping was a really good way to wear myself out.”

  That made sense at the time. If you’ve got loads of energy and you can’t relax, why wouldn’t you exercise before going to sleep? But thinking about it now, we were forever being brushed off; Katy had an excuse for everything. If she wasn’t eating, it was because she wasn’t hungry. Exercising was her way of tiring her body so she could sleep more easily. Every weird incident had a legitimate explanation, until Katy admitted the awful truth to me: she had anorexia.

  I guess it was a good thing that she had recognized the fact. She’d even booked herself a doctor’s appointment to help resolve the issue. But it didn’t feel like a positive start at the time. She told me that her condition had first started after coming back from Thailand. She would eat a lot before making herself sick, which she knew was bulimia. Eventually she stopped eating altogether, and that’s when the intense exercise regime began. Katy had wanted to be stick thin, but now she looked ill and tired. Anorexia was wasting her away.

  It was to get even worse a short while afterward when her parents went away for business one weekend and Katy asked me and some other friends to stay over. Hours after we’d all fallen asleep downstairs, I heard an awful scream coming from the bathroom. It was Katy. It was as if she was in real pain. I could tell by her voice that something was seriously wrong.

  I ran in to see what had happened and when I pushed the door open the first thing I noticed was the blood. It was everywhere. Katy was standing there, a nasty-looking gash in her arm, and blood was pumping out of it. The cut was so deep I could almost see the muscle.
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br />   “What . . . what happened?” I asked, starting to get scared. “I was shaving my legs,” she said. “I dropped the razor and then I fell on it. It sliced my arm open. . . .”

  I should have known there and then that something was up, but I wasn’t thinking straight. The blood and Katy’s injury meant my focus was on driving her to the nearest emergency room.

  “Shall we call your mom?” I said, as we helped her into the car. Katy shook her head. “No, I don’t want to annoy her, Marcus. She’s in Paris . . .”

  It was only once we’d got Katy to the hospital that the doubts started to creep in. A nurse was stitching up the cut and she soon started asking questions about how the accident had happened. Katy told her the exact same story as she had told me, but I could tell the nurse wasn’t buying it.

  “You’re not lying to me, are you?” she said.

  Katy was adamant. She explained for a second time that she’d fallen and cut herself on the dropped razor, but suddenly I was disbelieving her story, too. I think we all were. It didn’t seem right. I called her mom later on in the early hours of the morning, and I remember saying, “I’m not sure if it was an accident or not. I don’t think a razor caused the cut, even though Katy swears it did . . .” The doubts were there for all of us.

  After that, Katy’s behavior got progressively more dangerous. She collapsed at school one day and an ambulance was called. I was later told by her mom that because she hadn’t been eating, her energy levels were down to zero. Katy was wiped out. The doctors hadn’t really solved the issue of her anorexia and none of us knew what to do. That’s the moment when I first thought, This is getting serious. This is bad. But it was to get worse when I was at a house party with friends one evening and, as the night came to an end, I heard sobbing coming from the bathroom. It was Katy.

  “Katy, what’s up?” I said, knocking on the door. “Is everything OK?”

  When she let me in, Katy was sitting on the edge of the bath, crying. She told me that she had taken eight paracetamol, and she admitted to cutting her back. That made me nervous. I remembered our time in the hospital, the nurse’s face, and Katy’s story about the razor.

  “What do you mean?” I said. “Can I take a look?”

  She turned around and lifted her T-shirt. I had to step back, hand across my mouth, just to hold it together. It looked bad. Her back was a crisscross of slices and cuts. There was lots of blood and it looked like she’d been attacked by a cat—an angry one.

  “Does it hurt?” I asked. Katy nodded. “Yeah, it really does . . .” I asked her why she had done it to herself. “Someone was telling me to do it,” said Katy. “A voice in my head.”

  She was crying a lot, unable to hold it together.

  Now that really scared me. Katy was hearing things. It was getting late and I didn’t want to leave her alone, so I took her back home and made sure she was going to be OK.

  Not long afterward, Katy was admitted to a rehabilitation unit. She was only a teenager, but her condition was so serious that she was taken out of school for treatment. I remember visiting the clinic where she was staying and it was awful—there were ten other people in the ward and everyone was stick thin. I saw people sitting at tables, rocking backward and forward in their chairs. After they’d eaten their bodies would shake. I was so young. Those moments in the hospital opened me up to a whole new world.

  Over the next six months there were different treatments for Katy. She went home for a while, then she was back in treatment for three months. When I visited her, I would often watch her as she ate her food because she would shake her legs while she was chewing. It was as if she had tons of nervous energy to use up, but I guess it was a symptom of the anorexia. She wanted to burn off the calories so she could stay thin, even though there was no weight on her at all. At times, I was worried we were going to lose her completely.

  While Katy was away, I was told I could only speak to her once a week on the phone and she wouldn’t be allowed out for visits. I would write letters to her instead, telling her how much I missed her and, over time, once friends were allowed to see her, I could see an improvement. She became happier. I caught her smiling. Katy was finding more energy and enthusiasm, turning back into the friend I remembered from before the illness took her away from us.

  In the end, the doctors worked out that the root cause of her problems was the incident in Thailand. It had triggered post-traumatic stress disorder, which then brought on bulimia and anorexia, summoning up the devil in her head—the one she believed was telling her to be thin, to lose weight. There were no miracle cures, they said, but with counseling and treatment Katy could manage her condition.

  They were right, too. These days, she’s great. She’s studying for a degree and she’s healthy and athletic. She looks after her body in the right way.

  The thing is, we all know her condition isn’t cured—it can’t be. It’s just being managed—and we’ve all learned how to handle it, especially Katy. At times, though, life was really scary for me and my friends, and one of the main things I learned throughout the whole experience is that IT’S IMPORTANT TO BE UNDERSTANDING, though this can seem like the hardest thing in the world at the time. Often, when a loved one is going through something serious like a mental illness, it’s not unusual to experience frustration, to think, Why are they acting this way?

  That’s natural. I studied mental illnesses in Psychology in college, which in no way makes me an expert, but it did give me an insight into what Katy was going through. I quickly realized that her condition was no different to someone with a broken arm or leg—they’re injured, but in a different way. It was important for me to think, How can I help her to live with this? I realized she had a mental condition, and being understanding meant I could show an interest; I could care for her.

  The other thing is DON’T GET ANGRY. It can be easier to show stress than concern. Why? Well, showing concern means you have to admit to yourself that something is terribly wrong, and that can be a scary thing to do. But, believe me, the ill person knows that what they’re doing is odd and scary to other people, yet they can’t stop. They want to get better; they just don’t know how to. Shouting at them, or asking “What’s wrong with you?!” every day isn’t going to help. But love and understanding will.

  It’s also important to realize THERE ARE NO QUICK FIXES, or magic factory-reset buttons to restore a sense of balance and normality. Dealing with serious health issues can take time. So many people think that if you go to the doctor to gets some pills, it’ll all be OK. But working with a mental illness is one of the most complex things out there. It takes time.

  IT’S IMPORTANT TO LOOK OUT FOR YOUR FRIENDS OR LOVED ONES. Often they’ll want your help when they’re in trouble. I know Katy did. It could be that you’ve noticed a friend at school rapidly losing weight, or that strange cuts are appearing on their body. People will often gossip to their friends about someone acting a little odd, but they rarely ask if they can help that person. If it’s your friend, don’t let them slip away. Don’t get in their face about it, but do reach out and find out what’s going on.

  Of course, they might not want to talk to you at first. They might even shout at you. You’ve got to almost accept that an argument or confrontation could happen because they’re feeling scared or embarrassed. They might be in denial about the situation, but deep down they’ll want help. If a one-on-one conversation doesn’t work and you know something’s seriously wrong, then explain the situation to a parent or teacher. They’ll know the best thing to do.

  If you are worried about someone who is very close to you and part of your immediate family or group of friends, remember: EVERYONE AROUND YOU WILL BE WORRIED. If a sibling or relative is really sick, your dad could become stressed and your mom might freak out. If it’s someone close to you at school, a lot of your friends might become upset. Consider that when tempers become frayed, or people appear to be down or edgy. It’s natural for everyone to feel unbalanced.

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bsp; There will come a time when the problem is resolved, though. A lot of people recover from serious illnesses or mental-health issues, but sometimes that isn’t the end of the process. Like with Katy. She isn’t cured; she’s simply learned how to MANAGE THE SITUATION, and it’s important that you learn how to manage it, too.

  Once a person starts getting better, that’s when the hard work starts: they’re going to need support from their friends and family, more than you can imagine. I remember when Katy came back from rehab, her family were there to help her, as were her friends. We were supportive. We respected her and made sure she knew that we understood her situation. That gave her the confidence to go forward.

  It’s very easy for someone returning from a serious illness to feel paranoid. Katy could quite easily have felt scared about returning home. She might have thought, Oh God, I’ve got to go back. My friends and family don’t get it. They hate me. They might shout at me. . . . But as her friends we understood that something was wrong. We had to do everything we could to support someone we loved very much.

  If you’re in the same situation as I was, remember to make the person in trouble feel loved and welcome. Tell them you understand. Tell them you love them. The best thing you can do for that person is to let them know that you’ll be there for them, no matter what happens.

  DITCHING TOXIC FRIENDS

  Sometimes, if you choose them badly, your friends can cause you as much stress as your enemies. Trust me, I know from experience. For a short while when I was at school, I used to hang around with the naughty kids. They were the troublemakers in the class for sure, and though I wasn’t usually a badly behaved kid myself, for a while I found myself getting a buzz from getting into scrapes with them. I started skipping school and messing around in class and picking up detentions and warnings from teachers.

  It wasn’t really bad stuff—I wasn’t into fighting, stealing, or bullying—but I was putting pins on teachers’ chairs so they would jump up when they sat on them. I’d get wet toilet tissue, run past the school kitchen, ring the doorbell so someone would come and open the door, and then launch the wet tissue toward the staff. I even threw rocks at windows until they cracked—those kinds of things. Looking back, it wasn’t that much of a big deal. It was hardly crime-of-the-century stuff, but I guess it could have been a gateway to some more serious issues, had I not got it under control and stepped away from that group. That was a decision I had to make, and leaving them behind was tough. They were fun; they made me laugh. I can remember some good times hanging out with those guys, but deep down I knew what I was doing wasn’t right. I also realized I could get into a lot more trouble at school if I didn’t sort my attitude out. There wasn’t one incident that forced me into that decision—it was a gradual realization.