Nike SB Why So Sad? - Louis's story
I’d like to preface the story I’m about to tell by saying that I absolutely adore skateboarding: The community it’s opened up for me, being one of the lucky few to have the opportunity to work in the skateboard industry, and the endless hours of enjoyment I’ve had simply by pushing around on my little plank of wood. But it would be remiss of me not to mention skateboarding’s shortcomings when addressing my mental health. Skateboarding is a fantastic short-term stopgap, a fleeting solution to the problems presented by our daily lives, letting us momentarily divert our attention elsewhere before we put the board down for the day and the scary-nasties come barrelling back into our brains like heavy-handed home invaders. Skateboarding is like comfort eating with cake. Or, as in the story you’re about to read, drinking alcohol to excess, beyond the point of fun. I just hope that by finally communicating something that I have held dear for so long in a public forum, that it encourages others to engage in similar discussions, from the skatepark and beyond.
Moving to university never seemed an intimidating prospect until I was actually there - besides, I was only moving across the bridge from Bristol to Cardiff! But being 18 years old and dropped in an unfamiliar city, suddenly things felt very real - something I’m sure is a shared experience for most students, but no less poignant. My parents helped me to unpack my things in the afternoon, and later I got to experience that awkward, bumbling first introduction with the few flatmates who had moved in on the same day. The people I would be spending the rest of my year with. As the day crept into night, so the feelings of isolation seemed to roll over me with the lowering of the window blind. I vividly remember my heavy, wooden door closing for the first time with a low thud and feeling locked within my cell. I thought about my family, my friends, my girlfriend, and felt as though I might as well have been on another planet. I cried that night, and many a night thereafter.
A week passed, and I’d managed to conjure a tenuous connection with my flatmates. It was fresher’s week, and, whilst everyone else was seemingly expanding their social prospects, I was busy upholding the longstanding British tradition of drinking until I couldn’t tell my arse from my elbow. The truth is, I didn’t make any friends in that week. And, if I’m being totally candid, I didn’t really make any friends at all - save for those in my flat. I relied on them to facilitate my drinking to obscure the feelings of loneliness I was experiencing, and I allowed fresher’s week to become fresher’s month, and, subsequently, fresher’s year. I didn’t know anyone, and actively perpetuated my isolation by barely attending lectures. The thought of showing up to a seminar room weeks down the line alongside people already acquainted and far more intelligent than me made me feel cold and warm all at once, and like a ball of cement was trying to force its way up through my throat. I wanted to skate, but I couldn’t bring myself to – I felt embarrassed and uncomfortable when outside on my own, like the whole world was judging me. My earphones were a permanent fixture on my face when I left the flat, and my shallow, wobbly breaths between songs served only to heighten my nervousness.
Things really came to a head when my girlfriend and I split up. Yeah, classic, I know… It was my first “real” relationship and I struggled to deal without her, it accentuated my loneliness. In that moment, with wide-eyed obtuseness, I thought she was the only fish in the sea, and instead of fishing, I was drowning. With hindsight, it’s easy to say that I was being naïve, but it was more potent a feeling than I’d ever experienced before. My drinking got significantly worse, and I let thoughts of ending everything shroud my consciousness. Every waking moment not tainted by alcohol was tainted by suicidal thoughts, as the black dog took up its residency behind my eyes. One night I came home drunk with a few others from my flat, but I wasn’t ready to call it a day. Instead, I insisted on taking out another litre of cheap vodka and 2 litres of cider and pounding the pavement. At the forefront of my mind I told myself I was going to the bay to sit and think things through, but the inescapable smell of booze on my breath and the swirling thunderclouds forming at the back of my head told a different story.
In the quiet darkness, the sounds of the city silenced hours previous, I reached the final straight towards my destination, taking big gulps from each of my bottles… and I heard a faint voice. A lone taxi driver was parked beside the road, and he emerged from behind his vehicle and beckoned me over. He acknowledged the lukewarm drinks nestled amongst the firm grip of my cold, pale knuckles, and quickly analysed the sullen, sunken look on my face. Somehow, someway, he knew where my mind was at. He told me a tale of his friend who had taken his life and how he’d never forgiven himself and how he couldn’t be partial to anything like that happening on his watch again. He spoke candidly with me and reassured me and showed me a song he’d been listening to – just to keep me talking, I think - a moment to recollect my senses. He’d been on the clock, working, but he had put all that aside to offer his help to a complete stranger. A complete stranger who definitely looked like an absolute bug-eyed mess. I wavered for a second, his kindness had swayed my commitment, but I told him I was going anyway, “just to think”. He made me promise I’d look after myself, sincerity emanating from his eyes and conviction sharpening his words, before taking off, and I never saw him again.
Stumbling on, a short way down the road I heard someone else calling out to me. In my drunken state I was perplexed, the street had seemed a completely barren urban tundra before, and this was the second impromptu side mission I was being sent on alongside my quest. Across the road was an elderly man, skinny, bedraggled and slumped against a wall with his loose-fitting trousers collapsed around his ankles. Shouting across the road for fear of some kind of setup, I established that he’d fallen over, and he’d been there some time. Thinking of the man from before, and the kindness he’d shown me, I flagged down another taxi driver for some help, and although this most recent character was a little more reluctant to lend a hand given the state of the gentleman, I offered to pay the fare to the hospital and together we awkwardly helped lower the man into the back seat. On arrival at our destination, I went to the front desk and explained our predicament. They knew the man. “He does this all the time”. I could feel all eyes in the place on me, this rat-arsed teenager juggling his way through sentences like a clown with holes in his hands. But I didn’t care, I was thankful – thankful that we’d got this man to safety and that, unknowingly, he’d done the same for me. The taxi driver offered me a ride home and gratefully I accepted.
Immediately after the event, I naively assumed that maybe I’d experienced some kind of divine intervention, or a Truman Show-esque fantasy. The whole trajectory of events was just too perfect. But ultimately, what I had that night was an epiphany – there can be compassion and openness between total strangers, and there are people who need me. I felt a sense of purpose and it was invigorating. I felt like I could talk with my friends and family about my feelings and that I could be empathetic and supportive. I felt lucky. And, slowly, I felt I could do the simple things, like get on my skateboard again. I began on another road, towards being honest about what’s going on in my head. But it’s an ongoing struggle, and sometimes I still find myself battling with myself - in these moments skateboarding helps, but it’s a combination of keeping myself occupied and expressing myself outwardly that works best.
This is the first time I’ve gone into such detail telling this story, and I’ve found it incredibly therapeutic. I hope that by sharing my story, someone, somewhere might be encouraged to share theirs.
