Have you ever had one of those days when you feel you're going to see the
wrong film? When I arrived at the cinema today it was packed. The queue was so
long that it stretched out of the foyer and into the entrance area. That
always warms my heart. I'm happy to see cinemas doing well. Cinema attendances
took ages to recover after the Corona pandemic.
But what were the people going to see? At the door where the tickets were
checked, almost everyone headed straight on to watch "Nosferatu" on the
largest screen downstairs. I was one of a few who went up the stairs to watch
"Better Man". In fact, the theatre upstairs was almost empty. There couldn't
have been more than twenty of us watching "Better Man". That's understandable.
Robbie Williams was a big star in Britain, but only moderately popular abroad.
In America he was almost unknown.
Nevertheless, those of us who sat watching "Better Man" were greatly
entertained.
It was moving for me to see Robbie's childhood in the streets of
Stoke-on-Trent. It was an important city for me in my teenage years, and the
scene of one of the most dramatic events of my life. It was the place where I
attempted suicide when I was 18. It was something I'd been planning for weeks.
I never talked about it to anyone. I always say that people who talk about
suicide won't go through with it. It's just a cry for help. There's
nothing wrong with that. People who want help shouldn't be ashamed of asking
for it.
I took a train to Stoke-on-Trent in the morning. I was careful not to carry
anything with me that would identify me. I went onto a hill overlooking the
city and swallowed a packet of rat poison, washing it down with lemonade. It
had a bitter taste, difficult to swallow. Then I sat watching boys playing
football lower on the hill, until I grew tired. Eventually I lay down to
sleep, happy in the knowledge that I would never wake up.
But I did wake up. I don't know how long I'd been sleeping. I didn't have a
watch with me. The sun was still shining, but it was summer, so it could have
been two hours later. I don't know. I didn't feel bad, so I went to the train
station and travelled home.
In the evening I was watching television with my mother, as if nothing had
happened. Then I developed stomach cramps, so I told her what I'd done. An
ambulance came. In hospital my stomach was pumped. I was told that I was very
lucky. Lucky? I considered myself unlucky. I was surrounded by people asking
me why I'd done it. That was a nightmare. I never told anyone the truth, even
when I spent six weeks in a lunatic asylum.
I'd attempted suicide because of my mother. Growing up we'd always been close.
She wasn't just a mother, she was my best friend. That changed in my mid
teens. She became addicted to alcohol. She was drunk every night when she came
home, and it was impossible to talk to her. This broke my heart. I'd lost her.
Death was the only way out.
But I survived. Things didn't get better with my mother, but I carried on.
Two years later she left my father to live with another man.
I felt like she was leaving me, not him.
Ironically, she never moved in with the man. They rented
a small apartment together, but he got cold feet at the last moment and didn't leave his wife.
I still thought about suicide, but I didn't try it again. I was terrified that
I'd fail again. The aftermath of a suicide attempt is awful.
One thing though. I never returned to Stoke-on-Trent. I had friends there, but
I never visited them again. I've avoided it all my life. It was emotional to
see the city today. It gave me a feeling of melancholy.
I could hardly bring myself to write a review. I've backdated this post to
January 5th, the day I went to the cinema, but I'm writing it a week later. I
needed time to overcome myself.
