Mitchell's Mustard Blog

October 12, 2017

Confession of an angry man

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 5:57 pm

‘I have options’.

I’ve never been the easiest person to get along with, my armour is incredibly hard to penetrate. I don’t give anything away easily, my mind is a locked box of troubles and turbulence, tears and anger.  The inner me wants to see things burn, see myself burn. I’ve been like this since I gave up drugs. I’ve learnt to bite my tongue and swallow the blood. Sometimes I think I fear confrontation but in honest truth I fear never knowing which way it may go, how far I will go. I fear saying or doing things that can’t be taken back. I went through depression for a couple of years and came to terms with my troubles. We shook hands and agreed to stay on our own sides of my skin but every now and then I find myself questioning my decision. Maybe I should embrace my inner anger? I’m not too worried if people don’t like who I am, but I am worried that I won’t like who I will become. To meet me I have a calm and placid facade, jokes and tomfoolery. But like an old penny, I have another side, a side laced with melancholy thoughts, an anger that resides, kicking and screaming to be heard.    

But, just like that old penny I always remind myself that there are two sides, there are options. At any given moment I could go in swinging, frothing at the mouth, but I am thankful that I can compose myself. Walk away with my head held high while I extinguish the fire that licks the back of my teeth. I have options.

I understand that the voice inside that wishes to see my world in flames isn’t going anywhere any time soon, but I do hope that he eventually finds peace in the decisions I make because one thing he will never take from me is the other side of that old penny.

Advertisements

May 13, 2017

Bruised

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 1:14 pm

He had come home from school with another bruise, another one to add to the collection. This young boy full of charisma, charm, and joy when encased by the families four walls ached physically and mentally without a peep. His mother could hear him quietly weep in the morning whilst getting ready for school, which in turn made her cry for answers, but he was proud and strong and a shrug of the shoulders was the answer to all. He often came home with rips in his clothing, when doing his washing she would find blood stains on his sleeves, his explanation was yet another nosebleed. She watched her young boy battle in silence, the more pressure she applied for answers the more he closed up and became aloof around her. She had spoken to the school on numerous occasions but they explained that without her son coming forward they couldn’t pursue. A promise to keep an eye out for him was lost in communication because he had come home again with a cut on his head, an accident he had explained. His eyes told another story, a silent uncomfortable story. Over the last year his character had changed, her brave little boy seemed to fear the outside, and worst of all, fear the inside. His brave little smile had left, his charisma had been removed, joy was a thing of the past. She confided in friends and family, ‘troubled teens’ they’d say to put her mind at rest. But she could see the screams behind his eyes, the damage to his body, the way he flinched at movement.

  She had heard him weep again in the morning so she confronted him, no prisoners, she wanted answers. Where had her charming and enthusiastic boy gone? What was happening?

  As she broke down, so did he. He was curled in the corner lost and fearful, she had scared him. She knew she needed to apologise . . .   

   . . . But it was too late, that day he had taken his own life. She wished someone had listened, wished she had worked harder to get to the truth, wished her little baby boy had opened up. But, all the wishes in the world had expired. Stood by his graveside she cried for today, cried for tomorrow, and feared whatever followed.

September 23, 2016

The things I would tell a younger me

  • Don’t start smoking . . It may seem like everyone else is doing it but smoking will stay with you longer than most of those people.
  • Be yourself . . I wasn’t happy with who I was until I reached my 30s, it wasn’t too late but I could have been happier earlier.
  • Not everything your parents tell you is true . . They want the best for you but sometimes their opinion can make your playground smaller.
  • Be respectful of others feelings . . Everyone has a personal battle and some of your actions can affect others in ways you couldn’t imagine.
  • Appreciate the people close to you . . One day they won’t be there anymore and the things unsaid will haunt you.
  • If you believe in something, fight for it . . If you let it slip through your fingers then chances are you didn’t care about it that much.
  • ‘There’s always tomorrow’. . In most cases that’s bullshit, you’ll only keep putting it off, get it done!
  • Learn to agree to disagree as early as possible . . Everyone has a different opinion on things, most aren’t worth falling out over.
  • Some days you’ll feel like you’re alone, you’re not. . Talk to someone, open up and trust people. Your pride can take the day off.
  • Stop shaving . . You look much better with a beard. Stop complaining about the itchy stage, man the fuck up.
  • Don’t fear doctors and dentists. . They’re here to help you (and make you skint). Your health should be a main priority.
  • Don’t be negative . . Stay away from negative people and energy, that shit is incredibly  contagious. Don’t be part of the chain!
  • Drugs . . Do what you have to do, just be safe. Don’t be peer pressured into taking anything you’re not sure about. You can easily find yourself in a black hole that will chew you up and spit you out.
  • Learn a new language, or musical instrument . . You will try to learn both later in life and find them both near impossible.
  • Never think any idea is too big. . If you want it, go for it. If you fail then at least you have tried, that’s better than most. Shoot for the stars!
  • Nothing good comes easy. . If you want something to work then you have to be willing to roll your sleeves up and work for it.
  • Balance your work and personal life. . There is a fine line between the two and it can tip either way. Do you work to live? Or live to work?
  • Be polite. . Just because a lot of people around you have no manners, doesn’t mean that you should act the same way. Two wrongs do not make a right.
  • When your Grandma is ill, go see her more often. . Say the things you want to say, hold her hand, tell her you love her. Saying it to a hole in the floor isn’t quite the same.
  • Research tattooists properly. . Have a good look around before you settle on a tattooist or you’ll find out halfway through your second tattoo that the tattooist line work is a little off because he has a glass eye!
  • Don’t pretend to be something you’re not. . Or you’ll find that the people who befriend you or fall in love with you don’t actually know you. Don’t lie to them and don’t lie to yourself.
  • Girls that like bad boys. . Don’t even bother! You might have your father’s mind and mouth but you have your mother’s heart and emotion. You will never fall under the ‘badboy’ category.  
  • Don’t get too involved in others bullshit. . Be supportive but be careful or their bullshit will eventually become your bullshit. You have enough weight on your shoulders, you don’t need theirs as well.
  • And finally. . Believe in yourself. Don’t put yourself down, there’s plenty of other people out there that will do that for you! Be kind to yourself, and for god sake smile more.    

July 14, 2016

His Loving Touch

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 3:09 pm

“Fuck. . . I’m sorry” he yelled.

The words that echoed around the walls as she lay looking up at a crack in the ceiling, it wasn’t the only thing damaged in this house. His voice had changed so much over the years, it had lost it’s edge of calm, of love, and reassurance. It had become angry, just like him. Soon after it would turn to desperation while she cried nursing the new trophy of their altercation. The kind of trophy you didn’t want on show, hidden under her make up rather than proud on the mantle piece. This had become her life. Another day, another bruise. She was strong, had built up a tolerance to his knuckles. But this time was different, the type of knock that puts your world on it’s side, pulling you into a plume of darkness, the ones you have to wake up from.

“I didn’t mean it, darling. I didn’t. . . It was an accident” he pleaded.

She flinched from his skin, she could smell the alcohol seeping from his pores. This smell had become resident in their household, a long time gone were the scent of flowers and peace. She stay laid where she landed, he collapsed back onto the sofa. His presence of anger turned to adolescence, holding his troubled mind in his damaged hands.

“You have to forgive me, my love” he begged.

She had never feared him before, she knew the telltale signs as to when she should keep her distance, but never actually feared him. But she lay there fearing the next moment, the next day, and the next time his anger touched her skin. Her nausea could have been from concussion, realisation, or their unborn child.

“Help me, please help me” he sobbed.  

The thing she feared the most was that she didn’t want to be there, but she didn’t want to be anywhere else either.    

February 29, 2016

She Got That From Her Mother

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 9:30 pm

It was either the nausea, or the pain streaming through his head that woke him. Before he opened his eyes he knew things weren’t okay. With all the telltale signs around him, it was his gut feeling that put him in panic mode. Knowing he was awake but feeling like he was dreaming, he would pinch himself but movement was limited. Frustrated that his body was ignoring his commands, like a child with no control. His lungs rebelling as his chest squeezed tight, looking for the biting point, the line of no return. Finding it hard to concentrate, like distracted adolescence. The pain, enclosed breathing space, a loud humming from a distance. All the things playing hide and seek with his senses added to his confused train of thought. His mind jumping back and forth, current to past. The uncomfortable seat he was slouched in, the smile on his daughter’s face. The fear of opening his eyes, his wife holding his hand.

Feeling his chest start to pulse, liquid leaving his mouth and nose. It felt like a memory, but the realisation kicked in with the damp feeling in his lap. Is this a dream? If so, he wanted to wake up now. He felt guilty, confused because he didn’t know what for. Feeling his throat wheeze reminded him of his father, he had smoked for years against everyone’s complaints and concerns, his father’s whistle. The memory stuck with him while he slipped deeper into the dark. Remembering the anguish across her face, the sound of his daughter crying his name as he left. Tears found their way down his face through sealed eyes, his nose burning.

You only regret making a decision once it’s too late, no energy to turn back time. His life slipping away through his pores. He remembered attaching the pipe to the exhaust of the car, taking a look at life outside before he closed the garage door and sealed himself in. His mind was fighting but his body refused to react. Fatigued, frightened, alone. His final thought was of his daughter, she was beautiful, strong. She got that from her mother.   

November 20, 2015

The Junkie Boneyard

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 3:19 pm

I will always remember the day I decided to turn a corner . .

 

The air was so heavy I could taste it, a mixture of mould and the unkept. The room was dark and dank, a patchwork of plaster and brick on the walls, urban artistry that occurs only from being unloved. The only thing that broke the silence was the creaking of ropes that held up the hammock I was laying on. On further inspection, this hammock was about five foot from the ground and held up by pulleys connected to two of the walls across the corner of the room. God only knows how it was holding my weight, also I’m hoping he might know how I got here, because I had no clue. In fear of moving too much I carefully checked my surroundings. To my right I could see the room was littered with cushions, candles, and sporadic limbs protruding and entwined with sleeping bags. Hoping these limbs are still attached to their bodies. To my left was a window, a battered and ripped blind masked the sunlight from outside. I could see dust dancing in the rays of light that beamed through the cracks. The window ledge was covered in dust, burnt out candles, spilt wax, and the one main thing that caught my attention, a bloody hand print. ‘Where the fuck am I?’ I thought to myself.

   I had been wearing the same clothes for 3 days, my skin felt like it had forgotten about it’s love affair with water. My jeans clammy from sweat, my skin sore where my clothes had started to pinch. My mouth was dry, my nostrils on fire, whether that was from substance abuse or breathing in the close encounters of the room, I wasn’t sure. Craving fresh air and a warm shower to wash away the loathing, I needed to move.

   Before testing the strength of the hammock I looked underneath to make sure if I did fall, I wouldn’t be landing on something or someone. There wasn’t even anything I could use to climb down onto for a safe dismount, there was no way I could do this quietly or gracefully. I lay there for a moment trying to execute a plan in my mind, I didn’t want to find myself in a position where I’d have to converse with another human being, I just wanted out. In one swift movement I was sat upright with my legs dangling below me. If I gently eased myself off the hammock I felt like I could land quietly with great precision, like a ninja. Oh how I was wrong. After breaking what could have been 4 glasses of water, knocked over a couple of candles, kicked a metal tin across the room, and standing on someone’s hand, I had successfully caused the room to stir. All the movement under the sleeping bags and cushions played games with my mind, I felt like I was in a scene from the movie Tremors, the floor looked like it was moving, I panicked, I did what every straight laced mind wouldn’t do, rather than run I sat down cross legged and closed my eyes. For a fly on the wall view this would have been quite amusing, the floor moving and crashing like waves around me as I sat cross legged in the middle, eyes closed while humming to myself to find the calm inside.

   I don’t know how much time had passed, but the room was deadly quiet again, and my heart wasn’t trying to leave my chest. Looking around me I could see all sorts of drug paraphernalia, the ones that caused me to think long and hard about my current circumstances were the used hypodermic needles that littered the floor. There was a fine line between a bohemian drug haven and a junkie boneyard, this was a glimpse into the latter and I wasn’t interested. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what the smell, taste, and feeling of this room was. But I knew I didn’t want it to be part of my life. My current lifestyle was hanging above my head like a noose, so the decision was easy to make. With this new found motivation, I got up, I found the door, and I got out. I remember stepping out into the sun, feeling warmth. I walked up the path and turned back to look at the house. I had never been there before, and in more ways than one, I have never been there since.                   

No turning back.

          

April 18, 2015

We can’t afford to live like David Gandy

Filed under: My Work — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 5:28 pm

David_Gandy_by_Conor_Clinch_(2013)_-_cropped

In this day and age, for some unknown reason, most articles in which you read about mens fashion, health, and lifestyle expect us all to have unlimited funds from that rumored tree in the garden, and a constant day off from the sometimes overbearing rat race. I know we’d all love to live a lifestyle similar to Harvey Specter, you’d be crazy not to. But let’s be realistic here. Being a man of 32 years old, I’m one of few in a position of having very little depending on me. Most men at my age, shared with their partner, have a family to feed, bills to pay, larger financial expectations to fulfill. So it’s rare that today, a modern man like yourself, will flick through this months must have gentleman’s magazine and decide to treat yourself to this new seasons blazer that will cost the equivalent to your next months rent. Or maybe your new born baby can go without nappies for a week so you can pick up a pair of socks that apparently best compliment your new Italian leather loafers which last month put you in debt with your utility bills? What I’m asking is, because most of us live a realistic lifestyle, does that mean we can’t be seen as fashionable? If we can’t afford the luxuries of their advice does that mean we will struggle to look after our appearance? Do we have to follow the guidelines of these so called gentleman gurus that lead us to the temptation of being broke yet looking good with it? Of course not!
If you’re not bothered by the label that’s sewn into the garment then you’ll be just fine, sometimes people are more worried about the brand they wear than how the actual item looks. There’s an old and wise saying ‘Money can buy you a suit, but it can’t buy you taste’. We all know that person, whilst out for a pint, they tell you the brand and cost of every item they’re wearing. A man with taste doesn’t need to talk about what he’s wearing, where it’s from, or how much it cost. He’ll let his outfit do the talking.
What I’m trying to say is, don’t be fooled into thinking that the glossy dream on the pages of an over priced magazine are the instructions to a modern day gentleman. You don’t need to spend your annual income just to look good. The sooner we realise that we can’t afford to live a David Gandy lifestyle, the sooner we’ll be comfortable in our own style. Just remember, he gets paid to look that good! We all have our own style, we’re all that little bit different, roll with it.
Whatever you do, don’t let your baby go without nappies, if you do then that’s a clear sign that you have an issue that needs addressing and your dress sense is the least of your worries.

February 10, 2015

Milestone

After just ending a phone call to my mother, wishing her and my father a happy 42nd wedding anniversary, I had asked her how they had managed 42 years? She had simply replied, “you work hard, and you make sure you laugh a lot”. With deep honesty, I hope I hit that milestone, but, this had got me thinking.

Do we work hard enough at our relationships? Or do we sometimes find that we simply quit at the first hurdle because we’ve forgotten what pulled us together in the first place?

Temptation is on every corner, on every page, there to shake you awake every morning. It has become part of our everyday life, but we all know that the grass isn’t always that much greener once you cross that bridge. In bad times, I think you have to sit back, look at your partner and remind yourself of the things that you cherish about your relationship. You’ve worked to get to where you are today, is it worth giving up, or are you afraid of a little hard work?
I can’t help but think that the problems we all have in our relationships are made by a lack of honesty, it can only be as complicated as we make it, right? Obviously, not all relationships are meant to work, but can you walk away knowing that you tried? None of us go into a relationship thinking that it isn’t going to work . . . What caused that first ignition of passion? What ties you together?
Yeah, I know it’s easy for me to put a couple of words on a page to try and sum up relationships, I know all relationships are different due to different circumstances . . But, the one thing that ties them all together, they all start the same . . . with two people attracted to each other, willing to push all boundaries to make it work.
I’ve walked away from a relationship without a second thought, and I know that I’ve also been on the receiving end of that too. The older I’ve become, I’ve realised that I could have tried harder.

If you’re in the midst, or you’ve just managed to shake off a nutter, then please ignore all of the above. We’ve all been there, good luck with that.

As I said, I hope I hit that milestone. Sometimes it seems a little doubtful . . . But, that won’t stop me from trying!

February 4, 2015

The Grand Misconception.

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 5:49 pm

Ladies, there is, and probably always will be an unwritten rule – a man never chooses a woman, he can only show you that his interest and availability is there, and as much as most of us men would hate to admit it, the decision generally falls onto your lap. But with that, that doesn’t mean that the effort should only lay claim to the male. We all know that the instruction manual for the opposite sex will never be published in our lifetime, if I took a guess, the author is probably battling their sixth divorce and feeling quite like a fraud.
There is a grand misconception that us men do not discuss our likes, wants, and dislikes between each other, well, we do. Whether it’s in the gym changing room, the pub, or even a chance meeting in the magazine aisle in Tesco. We talk about you. From the women that have crossed our path, or the ones that are yet to do so. I’m not talking about the childlike ‘I’d do her!’ comment from the prepubescent jock, I mean the conversations that happen between like minded, early thirty somethings that have slayed their man mountain ego through their twenties and have come out the other side as a gent.
I thought I’d take this opportunity to give you a heads up, I’m not taking sides, I’m not selling out, just giving you something to think about.

We’re not as shallow as you think we are. Bold statement, I know. Nothing ever just comes down to looks. Yes, the way you look will always be our first impression, but if we’ve made that effort to open a conversation with you, that means we want to know who you are. Please don’t ever think that the way you look on that particular evening holds precedence over confidence and the ability to hold a good conversation. It’s always nice to have someone attractive on your arm but if your social skills are as strong as a chocolate teapot . . you’ll only ever be an attractive someone on the arm, nothing more. We want to be able to take you to a friend’s wedding and be in sound mind that if we nip to the mens room, or the bar, we don’t have to rush back to our ‘rabbit in headlights’ plus one.
If we’re dating you, amongst other things, we’re attracted to the way you look, so easy on the make up please, love. We all love a woman who takes care of her appearance, but there is a thick line between looking good, and looking like Boy George, yet you sometimes still try to cross it. Waking up next to your natural self, shows that you are confident around us, your confidence gives us confidence. . . . We want to get to know all of you, and we won’t judge. Please don’t misconstrue the point I’m trying to make, I’m not saying don’t wear any make up, as I said before, we all love a woman who takes care of her appearance. I’m saying, the less make up, the better. And don’t be coy about us seeing you without.
A high majority of us men find women that train attractive, whether you’re the woman in the gym on the cross trainer in the morning, or out pounding the pavement at night. Yes, you might be all red faced and sweaty, to us, we see the confidence, the discipline, the motivation to get up and make that personal effort to better yourself, or to keep in shape. This shows us that you are willing to go out and put effort behind making a difference, and while having that attitude with training, in most cases means that you also have that attitude with all aspects of your life. Next time he asks you to train together, run together, go to a class together, don’t over think it. Just do it. He’s not going to think about your level of fitness, whether you look red and out of breath. He just wants to share that motivation with you.
If you’re on a night out with the girls, on a work lunch, or just popping to the shops, and you see someone who interests you, don’t wait for them to come and chat you up, act on it. There’s a chance they haven’t spotted you so don’t automatically think they’re not interested. That confidence will speak volumes. We are the same as you, we all fear rejection, we all have our own insecurities, and because of this we all have missed opportunities. The fact that you have approached us is attractive in itself. The idea that a woman should never approach a man is outdated. Also, if you are approached by someone and you’re not interested, don’t be a dick about it. Just think of the courage that person has had to build just to come over and talk. Put yourself in their shoes. Being polite costs you nothing.

Above all, just be yourself. You don’t want someone to fall for the person you’re trying to be. We’re pretty simple beings, be honest, be open, and if you have any sense . . never sleep on an argument, a man full of doubts is a dangerous man.

February 1, 2015

For when the blanket of expectation falls . . .

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 7:35 pm

To chase a fools gold, the myth found at the end of a rainbow, making the journey just to kick yourself as the end destination keeps moving, grasping and clasping to catch a rogue leaf in a windy city, the key is knowing when to give up. The longing for the false hope you would receive from the thing your mind laces with fortune and future, only to realise that your illusionist mind works for the enemy, and what you thought you wanted, doesn’t exist. The cloak and dagger tales that are spun for your mind, to hold them in the cobwebs that accommodate the corners, waiting to be devoured or disturbed and blown away. Sometimes we are oblivious to what’s in front of us, It can only ever be as complicated as you make it, and by all standards, it seems that complicated is key. To know that you want what you can’t have is a step towards affliction, a step towards addiction, but a huge stride to a solution, lacing up and stepping out in a different direction than before, a strange but true horizon, an unfamiliar future, but a future none the less. Let those cobwebs be blown away by the refreshing breeze of a better day, a realistic sunrise, turn so the history of shadows surrender and lay down at your heels, bask in the knowledge that what’s in front of you will only ever guide you, take my hand, tomorrow will be successful, the day will guide and never dictate, to pull on the corners of this existence together and wrap it around us like a magicians trick, for when the blanket of expectation falls to the floor, we will have left it all behind, only to return when we choose.

Older Posts »

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.