Teeth?
Gets the horn from suffering
Teeth in a Leitrim man?
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Leitrim invented the toothbrush
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Toothbrush, not the teethbrush, they only have one tooth
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You may be right but there is nothing wrong if he doesn’t feel its the right way for him to express himself either. The best I ever got from my aul fella was an occasional “good lad”, but neither of us were ever in any doubt about how the land lay. I don’t think I’d have liked it at all if he started telling me he was proud of me as time passed, we communicated differently and that helped make the bond more unique. It’s old school but it doesn’t mean it’s wrong.
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Thats fine too. Sometimes it just doesn’t need to be said. Whatever works.
I feel a small bit awkward expressing these type of emotions to my own kids (particularly as they
get older) but always feel good when i manage it.
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True that. It was called soot. Nothing cleaned your teeth like soot.
Lick your index finger and dip in the soot and fire away. Cheap too… 
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Oliver Kahn and the battle with depression
“Two billion people watched me fail”, says Kahn in a recent statement while remembering the 2002 FIFA World Cup final. In the 1-0, Rivaldo shoots from distance, Kahn fails to catch the ball, and Ronaldo scores from the rebound. In the end of the game which ended 2-0 for Brazil, Kahn sits down looking devastated and sad in the goalpost. That was the sad look of a defeated man who did everything in power to make sure that a talentless, old, Germany team could reach the final. And that determination is what made Kahn become defeated mentally, so he says.
Kahn plunged into a deep self-doubt after the final whistle. A well respected, and feared goalkeeper, sometimes greeted with bananas or monkey noises in his goalpost at the stadiums. The aggressiveness, the motivation, the determination, is what made him defeated.
Full of energy and mentality. Sometimes the energy and drive to win drains you so much that the failure that follows is an even harsher lesson. Sometimes accepted, sometimes it changes you as a person. The determination and the mistakes “drove me into a tunnel. It was like a burn-out and exhaustion. Sometimes, I found it harder to even take the stairs”, said Kahn.
The 2002 World Cup was not the only failure in his sporting career. The 1999 Champions League final against Manchester United, where Bayern conceded 2 goals in the injury time after leading 1-0 for the entire 90 minutes. Around Kahn’s peak, the depression had always become a topic of mockery, but nobody guarantees that it is not a topic of mockery in the modern day society either.
Kahn, while knowing the stigma around depresson and mental health issues, decided to take sessions with a therapist, which helped him win a lot of personal battles. The talk of depression on public would have ultimately ended his career. Something among the lines of “For God’s sake, there is no way this is going out publicly!” was the attitude of those who could not come out with relief due to the fear of being mocked and missunderstood.
Instead, Kahn went into a stage of acceptance. He took therapy sessions which made him become not only a more balanced footballer, but even more so as a person. While sitting on the bench behind Jens Lehmann in the 2006 World Cup, Kahn became more supportive towards his rival. The “old” Kahn, would have never accepted it.
Around Kahn’s peak, again, he was not the only patient from Bayern that suffered from mental health issues. Sebastian Deisler, one of the most celebrated German talents of his time, fell into depression due to the constant injuries that hindered his career, later on, he finished his career emotionally and defeated. He was also another patient of Florian Holsboer, Oliver Kahn’s personal therapist and medical professor.
Uli Hoeness, the sporting director of that time, also was aware of the mental health stigma in that time. According to the therapist, Hoeness told him: “I don’t care what they say and write in the media. I just want the boy [Deisler] to be well again”
Almost 2 decades later, Kahn now sits as the chairman of one of the biggest clubs in history. A completely changed person, diplomatic and calm, attitudes which some of the Bayern fans do not welcome, as they were always used to seeing Kahn passionate and driven. And when the club faces crisis, you cannot afford to see Kahn calm and diplomatic. “When we were eliminated by Villarreal in the Champions League. I stayed calm. This is not always well received”, said Kahn.
“I wanted to change things. To change my personna in my job. I didn’t want to run away.” Kahn wants to remove the stigma that exists around depression and mental health issues. He urges people to always seek professional help, there is no shame in it.
Wednesday December 7th
I had a very good phone conversation with a member of this forum, although the line was terrible.
I had a counselling session. I had to tell my counsellor that I had not gone to A and E but the counselling went better than I expected. She said it was good to see me smiling while talking. I said I would go to A and E. I did not.
Afterwards I had a coffee in Le Petit Delice in Mainguard Street which felt like a small win. But then I just wanted to go home.
Thursday December 8th
Don’t remember anything about this day.
December 9
I was alone in the house for approximately five hours. Around 12pm I started looking at one particular hanging video again, one from Syria. Around 2:10pm I went to the hot press and got a bedsheet and tied it around the bathroom rail and then around my neck, while standing. I exerted just enough force on the bedsheet to exert some pain around my neck. I didn’t like the pain so I immediately untied the bedsheet and folded it up and put it back in the hot press.
I rang the Pieta House helpline about ten or fifteen minutes later. This call took me up to around 3pm and the start of Croatia v Brazil. I watched that and then watched Argentina v Holland.
After the Argentina game my uncle unhooked the internet in order to fix sockets in the other room. For about half an hour I told my mother how much I hated myself. I used the words “human excrement” about myself.
Saturday December 10
My uncle says that if I don’t get out and exercise in good light my eye will atrophy and not get better so I went out for a walk down to the river at Dangan and around much of the rest of the neighbourhood. This took about an hour. Watched the football. Don’t remember the rest of the night.
Sunday December 11
Went for a walk into town and back in the sunlight which took over an hour. Watched the last 25 minutes of Glen v Kilcoo. That night I monologued to my mother about how I hated myself and was going to kill myself and that this was an entirely rational decision.
Monday December 12
Was alone in the house for four hours. Used the time to have a shower for the first time in 17 days. I have a horrible pile on my arse but it’s getting better. You don’t need to know any more about that.
Went for a two hour walk. Generally felt miserable after getting back. Fell asleep early on my chair around half ten.
Tuesday December 13
Went to see my surgeon for a check up for the first time since November 1st. My surgeon’s assistant did another OCT scan on me and says my distortion will NOT disappear as long as I have an epiretinal membrane. An epiretinal membrane is a cellophane like yoke over part of the retina which can cause visual distortion and is associated with a posterior vitreous detachment. A posterior vitreous detachment is a disintegration of the vitreous humour which can pull on the retina and cause a tear in the retina which if left untreated can develop into a detached retina.
But my surgeon said to my via e-mail four weeks ago that my epiretinal membrane was NOT causing my distortion.
Surgeon’s assistant discouraged me from having surgery to remove the epiretinal membrane. I said I was willing to take that risk if it gave me a chance of getting rid of the distortion. She said I could go blind in the eye.
Surgeon says “things couldn’t be going better” after 76 days. “All you need to worry about is that the retina is reattached”. But again the likely difference in outlook between a surgeon who sees success as reattaching the retina and the patient who sees success in terms of functional recovery of vision is apparent in my mind.
Surgeon says the distortion frequently alleviates over a 1-2 year period, “and even if doesn’t the brain will ignore it”. The words “even if doesn’t” seem to be doing a lot of heavy lifting in that. To me anyway.
Again, he talked, I listened, and sod all chance to ask questions. About five minutes tops with him all in, in two segments of about two and a half minutes each. Look up, look up to the right, look down, everything’s great. I forgot to ask about the epiretinal membrane because I feel pressurised in these situations and my mind goes blank.
So, at the end all this I’m as confused as ever, maybe more confused.
Next consultation: nine months from now.
In the car leaving the Galway clinic I got a phone call from my GP’s secretary. She had rang me that morning to tell me my GP wants to do a new set of bloods on me after Christmas. I don’t know is that a sign of anything, I hope not. While I was on the line I asked her could get more anxiety tablets. She rang back after my surgeon’s appointment to tell me I could but that I was over using the anxiety tablets and that they are meant to rationed otherwise they lose their effect. I’ve gone through 20 in two weeks. I have two 22 tablets now which I have to make last until into January at least. I’m going to run out of sleeping tablets by Christmas at current rate so I’ll have to ration them too.
On the way home I tried to get out of the car while it was stopped on the roundabout beside the cemetery. My mother screamed and warned me not to get out of the car while stopped at the edge of a roundabout. I got out on Quincentennial Bridge instead and went an hour’s walk.
Watched the Argentina game. Had a non-alcoholic beer watching it. After it I felt down. I went inside to the other room where my mother and brother had the programme about the Irish Civil War on and my brother told me to piss off, that he was sick of me.
Wednesday December 14
I felt like not getting up for my counselling appointment but did. Gain I had tell my counsellor that I had not gone to A&E. I told her about the hanging experiment I did the previous Friday. She said I need to go to A&E. And that she did not trust me to go or my mother to make me go. So she said, very nicely, that she thought she should ring the guards. She asked me was that alright. I said yes and that I would go to A&E. All this was very polite and civilised. Two male Gardai and one female Garda came to the office. They were very nice to me and said I was doing the right thing by agreeing to go. Because I was calm and not in any way psychotic they said they couldn’t Section 12 me, they could only advise me to go. My Mam was in the office by this point, she was shocked when she saw there were Gardai there.
So immediately after I left the office, which was about 12:20pm, I went to A&E. I got my blood pressure taken after about an hour of waiting. Then there was about two more hours waiting before I got assessed by two women. We talked for about an hour and all the stuff I said was taken down in notes. They went outside for about 15 minutes to discuss my case.
The upshot of it all is that i) my anti-depressants will be doubled in dose from tomorrow, ii) they will contact my GP to get me in touch with Community Mental Health Services which entails meeting with a psychiatrist and online Cognitive Behavioural Therapy. All this seems a bit vague but at least I’m not in a psychiatric ward.
I can go back to A&E if necessary but it was decided not to keep me in. The woman said to me “I’m guessing you were hoping to be admitted?” and I said no I wasn’t. “It can be a very challenging environment”, she told me. So am happy enough to not be admitted but at the same time not quite sure where I go from here, I guess I’ll have to wait for my GP to ring about the next step. While waiting for my prescription and looking at the square, laminated tiles on the floor, I again noticed that my bad eye was dominant over my good eye in some situations where I’m faced with straight lines. This is infuriating to me.
I only half watched the France-Morocco game at best, mostly the second half, barely watched the first half at all after the goal.
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Theres a lot of positives in there, you took a shower, went to a&e and it went fairly well, your taking your tablets and attending the councillor. These might not seem like much at the moment as youre still really struggling but its a big step forward from a few weeks ago. Try and get at least a phone call with the surgeon to ask the questions you forgot to so you can be clear as to what they are seeing, in case you want a second opinion. Keep talking and doing a few buts everyday post here, we are all here for you pal
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There’s more chance of Morocco winning the World Cup.
Its a fucking balls, 9 months until the next appointment. How many specialist in this area are in ireland? Ive done it myself gone blank and forgotten to ask what I wanted.
Not that many. I’d guess about 10 or 12 at most, possibly less. Plenty of opthalmologists but not that many who specialise in retina. They’d all be in the major urban centres. My guy is pretty much the only game in this town. I overheard the staff saying there was a guy supposed to come down from Donegal for an appointment but couldn’t make it because of the weather.
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I’ve a Polish friend who is a sound engineer, and a Czech one too, a Czech one too
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You have taken some good steps there auld stock, but you need to get into John of Gods
Old one
Unfortunately I believe you may be correct on this.
I feel I’m beginning to run into a brick wall. I’ve had surgery, been to opticians for other scans, done suicide specific counselling and now been to A&E. I’m supposed to be meeting a psychiatrist according to what the ladies in A&E said (I presume they’re psychiatrists themselves, I didn’t even have the presence of mind to ask) but I expect the wheels on that will turn slowly and it will likely be after Christmas.
Unfortunately John Of Gods cannot cure my eye problem and unless and until that is cured it is doubtful anything can cure me.
Today has not been a good one for me so far. I was in and out of sleep until 2pm with thoughts of self hatred and self pity consuming me. My uncle departed the house today, he’s been here for the last two weeks. I got up around 3 and cried uncontrollably for 40 minutes. I heard about that chap killed in Lebanon and the chap injured and that Russia is going to launch a new offensive in Ukraine and that makes me lose hope. The plight of the migrant workers who built these stadiums for this World Cup we’re all enjoying makes me lose hope. Even good news makes me lose hope.
I made it for a walk. To the front gate about six yards away and back.
If I was normal I’d be agog with expectation and excitement about Argentina being in the World Cup final. Instead I feel like I’m in a mental and physical prison from which there is no escape.
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Fair play Sid. None of that is easy to write. And you know that there are bad days and good days and half decent days and really shit days and this is probably one of the really shit ones. Do recognise that you’re emotions of despaur and helplessness are spiralling about many things you cant possibly have control over. Ukraine, Lebanon all of it. Controlling the things you can is an achievement you can do. Getting out of bed, washing, going for a walk. John of gods cant fix your eye but they can teach you to accept/think differently about your potential sight loss.
Keep trucking, keep taking small wins and dont give up. I look forward most days to what Gianni Infantino feels like and im sure most people do. I also dont see any reason the Gianni Infantino series should stop after sunday. We’re all rooting for you.
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It isn’t one of the really shit days though and that’s the scary thing.
My uncle said it was better I went to A and E as he sees it as things coming to a head. Things haven’t come remotely close to a head. They’ll come to head when I kill myself.
I was on the phone to my auntie and she is is furious I was not admitted to the psychiatric ward.
She gets it in a way I don’t anybody else bar my counsellor does. I don’t even think I get it myself in the same way. She is blue in the face telling me and my mother I need to be saved from myself.
My current equation is: visual impairment = death.
I feel that this is an utterly disgraceful, eugenicist, almost Nazi-like sentiment as it’s a grotesque insult to posters on this forum and to any person with a physical challenge and to their worth, and that makes me feel worse about myself again. It’s also what I feel about myself.
I told my counsellor that I had a loose plan, more an idea, to go to Oranmore and get a bottle of vodka, drink it and go to where the rail line comes near to the old Dublin road near the water tower, and throw myself under a train. I don’t actually think I’d do that because it would involve too much effort and a lot of thinking, and I’m not psychotic in any way. I’m not out of it, in another world. I’m lucid. The danger is the impulse. Being at a crossing while out for a walk and deciding in one second to throw myself under a truck. Running at a car. I’ve already done that in a mad impulse. This is why I try to stay away from busy roads if possible when walking, there’s a major traffic junction down at the bottom of the hill near me but there’s an alternative route which involves a slight diversion to go under that road so I go under it.
Fear of loss has always paralysed me. It has paralysed me from when I was a child. When I was 2 one of my first words were “gone, gone”, when my granny went back to Galway on the train after being up in Dublin. My first memory is saying “I want to go back” when my Da had me on his shoulders and brought me out in the snow of 1982. When I was 6 I was in floods of tears during a fire drill at school because I thought it was a real fire and I thought my schoolbag was going up in flames. I used to have dreams that a cheap plastic football I had was floating away down the Liffey and I’d wake up in a panic. This yoke probably cost a pound. When I was 8 I brought my hurley and tennis ball on a drive out to Connemara and my brother threw my tennis ball into a wilderness beside the Connemara Coast Hotel near Furbo. Every time I’ve ever passed that hotel I think about that tennis ball. When I’d play pitch and putt with my oul’ fella and one of us would lose a ball he’d react like it was a national tragedy. I had my bicycle stolen in 2013 and this pushed me into smoking every day (I didn’t up to that) because I blamed myself for it being stolen. I was and am obsessed with fear of losing things. Weirdly, I got over actual deaths of family members much quicker than some trivial things.
The psychiatrists asked me yesterday, “are you afraid of dying?” I said “yes, bloody sure I’m afraid of dying, which is why I want to die”. I’m afraid of living. You fear losing something, ie. your life, so much that you want to lose it because the alternative - to live it and go through all the heartache that entails - seems even harder.
I rang the helpline there for about the ninth time and they tell me to take it day by day. I’m counting the days. Counting days is shit. I’m scared of Christmas because things shut down at Christmas. I’m scared of weekends because things shut down at weekends. I don’t think it’s a coincidence I had my most serious suicide attempt on a Bank Holiday weekend.
I’m ringing John Of Gods in the morning and then I’m ringing the GP. Pats/the Dean Clinic have a four month waiting list. I don’t doubt it will be the same with John Of Gods.
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