Life Begins.

Fuck me, I'm forty.

The fateful day.

The milestone's significant and inevitably a moment for reflection. It seems like only yesterday I was celebrating my thirtieth while on tour in the Netherlands and suddenly I'm a step closer to what's commonly regarded as middle-age...if I'm not there already. And all those gits who say "Life begins at forty" are conspicuous in their absence. I may speak to Citizen's Advice about a recount.

Joking aside, I see my fortieth as a positive chance to sink more comfortably into my skin. For much of my life, I questioned my self-worth to the point that it made me unwell. The events of my childhood scarred me mentally and left me riddled with self-doubt and ill-equipped for a happy adulthood. The kid I could have been was drowned out by the role forced upon me and it crippled my progress. And so much energy was consumed in pretending I was okay when I wasn't. I had to bury the truth at all costs. It didn't matter how I felt as long as the outside world thought I was fine. And consequently, I crumbled. I'd spent so long faking normality while secretly living in a toxic environment that I only had a facade to rely on. It's little wonder I became an actor when I was doing it daily.

Irrespective of my trauma, turning forty's as good a time as any to state clearly who I am, warts and all. It's also a chance to embrace my stage of life and try to own the person I've become and set out to improve myself as I see fit. I've wasted years to depression through no fault of my own and I won't get them back. And who knows how long I've got left? There could be less time ahead than what's passed and I'm determined not to waste it. My life with my wife's now my priority, and thank fuck for that.

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