I was diagnosed with incurable brain cancer at the age of 36 (Picture: Abi Feltham)
‘The tumour is more aggressive than we initially thought,’ my neurosurgeon said over the phone. ‘You need to come in for another surgery as it’s cancerous.’
After hanging up the phone with my doctor in May, of course I felt devastated and afraid.
But overwhelmingly, there was a very familiar pang: the self-pity that came whenever things weren’t going my way.
Now, if there’s ever a moment to feel sorry for yourself, it’s probably being diagnosed with incurable brain cancer at the age of 36.
But I just could not escape this intense feeling. I sat there for a few minutes as the words ‘why me’ repeated in my head. I focused on my breath, my heart racing as I tried to calm myself down.
It’s not the first time I’ve felt overcome with all-consuming self-pity.
In my mid-20s, whenever I took a sip of alcohol, I found that I couldn’t stop drinking until I was either blacked out in some random pub, or naked in a stranger’s living room. Sometimes both. Often consecutively.
Soon, I realised that I was experiencing alcoholism, and with it came my introduction to feeling sorry for myself.
I realised that I was experiencing alcoholism, and with it came my introduction to feeling sorry for myself (Picture: Abi Feltham)
The cycle went like this: anger that I couldn’t drink in moderation like everyone else, sadness that it was happening to me, then frustration at my futile attempts to change the way I felt by – you guessed it – drinking.
By the time I hit 30, my mental health was at an all-time low.
The relationship I treasured so much that I moved to New York for it had broken down. I lost two jobs for showing up to work drunk.
Thoughts of ending it all were such a regular occurrence that I barely batted an eyelid at them anymore.
All I could do was sit alone on my front doorstep, chain-smoke and ruminate over how miserable I was.
I didn’t realise that I was self-pitying at the time; I thought I was dealing with my problems. But soon, I had completely isolated myself from my family and friends, leaving me with nobody to turn to at all.
When the pandemic hit in 2020, I moved back to the UK. I was 32, living back at home with my mother and deeply depressed. I realised then that my life had gone terribly wrong. If I wanted to create a happy future for myself, I would have to stop drinking.
All I could do was sit alone on my front doorstep, chain-smoke and ruminate over how miserable I was (Picture: Abi Feltham)
So, I started to speak to alcoholics who didn’t drink anymore. One of my favourite phrases they would say was, ‘poor me, poor me, pour me another drink.’
I thought it was brilliant. If only I could get past the drink-pouring part.
Eventually, I did get sober at age 32 through 12 step-programmes, opening …read more
Source:: Metro
