20 Years Young

By Luke Green

Halfway to 40, a third of the way to 60 or a quarter of the way to 80. No matter how you put it, turning 20 makes you feel fairly old. Rather than looking so negatively at it though, I invite you to take a trip down memory lane with me as I look back at the best and worst times of my life as a teenager. I’ll warn you now, it won’t be the most joyous or euphoric read, but I can promise you that every word is the truth.

It’s not been the easiest of times for me, as I’m sure is the same for everyone, but for now, let’s start at the beginning of adolescence, being 13. At the time, I don’t think you realise just how young you are and how little you know about the world. You think you’re king (or queen) of the world and that nothing can stop you, a statement that couldn’t be more wrong.

Some of the most vivid memories of my early teenage years encompass a whole range of emotion, from happiness to despair. For me, the most important memory of that time will be the death of a much-loved friend who I went to school with. Whilst he wasn’t my best friend, he was certainly more than just an acquaintance. Memories within memories spill forward thinking about the time I spent with him. The fondest being when he traversed the school roofs to retrieve what can only be described as our years mascot, Pepe the ball. You may laugh at the image of a gaggle of teenagers worshipping a mere plastic sphere, but that ball held many special memories for us all. He managed to climb out the window of our chemistry block and free run his way across the rooftops until he could secure the precious cargo. Looking back, it wasn’t a massive breaking of the rules, nor was it particularly impressive, but at that time, he became a school legend. After leaving our school for reasons I won’t discuss, he faced some terrible problems of his own. It’s not my place to explain to you the details of his troubles, but I can assure you that it’s something I wish no one would have to go through, least of all a friend. Sadly, after starting a new school, those troubles became all too much and a man who was friends to many of us took his own life. To some of you, this may seem a regular occurrence with the current social issues with mental health. However, for a bunch of 13- and 14-year olds, it was like being struck straight in the face by a brick wall. Our year came to a complete standstill, utterly dismayed and upset with the news we had been given. In all honesty, none of us knew whether we’d be able to move on from it. Over time, we did, we had to. It was arguably the worst point in my teenage years, being the first time that I’d seen the truth about reality. If I learnt something from this, it’s to live every moment as if it’s your last. If you like someone, tell them. If you love someone, tell them. If someone is making you feel like shit, tell them. Live to enjoy yourself and the people who surround you because you never know when it could all change.

Moving on to my later teenage years, I had the joys and pitfalls of my GCSE’s to contend with. After A-Levels, I can safely say GCSE’s were far easier than I thought, but none of us knew any better. The way we acted, you’d think the rest of our lives depended on them. Taking 11 of them, I’d set myself out as an arts student from the beginning. It really was a rollercoaster 2 years, but 2 years I’ll never forget. During it, I had my first long term relationship which would start at age 15 and finish just after my 17th Birthday. I’m not a huge fan of living in the past so probably the less said about it the better. All I will say is that it taught me valuable lessons for the future and opened the door to understanding the so-called “relationship game”. My time as a 16-year-old was much of what you’d expect, thinking I was the top dog and going to parties multiple weekends in a row. What you probably wouldn’t expect though is the fact I didn’t drink. I know, I’m also not sure how I managed to get through the first serious chapter of my life without having a drink or 3. In actual fact, I didn’t make it through without the odd bump in the road. Starting roughly when I was 15, I started developing what would later become my own mental health issues. I don’t intend to dwell on this, nor am I going to break into rapture about it; bear with me and I’ll tell you what I can. The pressure that mounts on teenagers at that stage in life is simply ludicrous. We’ve barely learnt how to tie a tie by the time they’ve got us sorting out our life choices. Personally, I could level a lot of criticism at British education, but my biggest argument surrounds the weight and expectations students must face. Contending with a huge change in our bodies emotionally and physically, we have to deal with the burden of exams, all for the sake of a bit of paper. If it wasn’t for the context, the idea of pressuring kids into learning whole syllabus just to regurgitate a slither of it onto numerous sheets of paper would seem ludicrous. However, in school, it seems anything goes at times. In the end I surprised myself, achieving a good set of grades, allowing me to go on to the next chapter of my life, A-levels.

Before starting on that though, I think we could all do with cheering ourselves up after macabre world of GCSE’s. To help me do this, let me tell you about Friday Fight Club. As the eagle eyed amongst you will have gathered, this was our take on the Brad Pitt and Edward Norton 90’s movie. I won’t say who did a better job, but what I can tell you is that ours was far more violent. Every week, two challengers were pitted against one another, striving for the title of being the top fighter in the year. However, the fight scene did spread to other days of the week as this next story proves. Picture the scene, two burly boys facing up to one another, unbeknownst to the audience, this was to become the fight of our generation. To respect the rules of Friday Fight Club, we’ll keep their identities secret. As you can imagine by the gravitas I’m giving this anecdote, the fight got out of hand. The generic play fighting stage had ebbed away and now the main event had arrived. Like something out of WWE, one of the contestants decided that a chair to the face would see off his opponent. Well, he wasn’t wrong, but the aftermath maybe created a slight hint of regret. The impact sent its victim flying, whilst inflicting a considerable amount of pain. Quickly, the chairs damage was very, very noticeable. Almost immediately, a rather large black eye had made its home on the face of the unfortunate fighter. The other was banned from our common room and Friday Fight Club stopped. At least until after we’d all forgotten why it stopped in the first place.

Shall we move on to A-levels? No, didn’t think you’d want to, but this is how this reminiscing thing works I’m afraid. Grab the popcorn and strap yourselves in, this really is going to be a bumpy ride…

Right, here goes. Just a quick disclaimer, these were possibly the hardest 2 years of my life, so it won’t be full of happy memories. In the interest of not boring you though, I’ll shut up and get straight into it. Being 17/18 was the approach into adulthood and what a baptism of fire it would turn out to be. Year 12 went off, pretty much, without a hitch thank god. Along the way, I split up with my first long term girlfriend and started what was to be my second serious relationship. Looking back, they both taught me a lot about myself and moulded me into the person I am today. Whether they made me a good or bad person is up to you, I’m sure some of you would say they could have done a better job. Again, I won’t dwell on it, but they were both important times in my life that deserve a mention at the very least. Aside from that, was the ever-looming demon of my AS levels. School was never something I was amazing at, still isn’t, so it was to be quite the wake-up call. Politics, History, Geography and English Literature were my four horsemen of the seemingly present apocalypse. Now, I’m a great advocate of the political sphere, at that time, I was certainly not. There was nothing I loathed more than my morning Government and Politics lessons. For the life of me, I just couldn’t grasp the concepts, the laws or the choice of politicians’ hairstyles (look at Michael Foot or Margaret Thatcher and you’ll agree). I wasn’t about to let that stop me though. Whilst the other 3 would look after themselves, Gov Pol was something I really had to work at. From Collective Responsibility to the Fixed Term Parliament Act of 2011, I learnt everything I could. Come results day, the hard work had paid off, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t hate every single second of it. Now taking a degree in journalism, I guess a Politics A level isn’t the worst thing to have.

Education aside, again, I was faced with the black dog that is mental health. Through years 10 and 11 I’d been able to control it and somewhat subdue it to the back of my mind. However, as I’m sure many of you are aware, the struggles of A-levels soon rip apart any coping mechanisms you might have built up. Year 12 droned on and my mind and body could feel it towards the end of the year. The worst was yet to come, but it reared its ugly head that’s for sure. (Edit: Taking breaks from writing this I’ve realised that I come across as a slightly pathetic sap, I’ll endeavour to change that, but I can’t promise anything). I spiralled ever so slightly out of control you might say and was faced with some hard moments, unfortunately, the worst was yet to come.

So here we are, the pinnacle of the article in my opinion, but I’ll let you make your own mind up on that. Year 13 started harmlessly, suddenly, I was in the last year of secondary school with what I thought was the world at my feet. Yeah, big headed I know, but for a kid in the last year of school, anyone would think the same, wouldn’t they? At this point, I’d dropped the dreaded Government and Politics (thankfully) and put all my efforts into my three remaining subjects. Geography became a ball ache; English was an escape and History, well the less said about that the better really. We roamed Casterby, our personal fortress, and protected it from year 11’s with our lives. It was a great start, we were the purveyors of all those before us and no one dared to disrespect us. A little too much perhaps? Sorry about that. From cake sales to a full-scale redecoration, we made the most of our time. If walls could talk, I’m sure you’d be equally shocked and delighted to hear what they have to tell you. One of my fondest memories of my time in year 13 was the end of year party my room put together. Filled with anything we could buy from Co-op and a cobbled together banquet table, we put on a feast to remember. From Pringles to Jaffa Cakes, we had it all. Something else I’ll never forget is the time spent with my friends there. Prepare the sick bags, this could be about to get soppy. Events like the “Last Supper” were brilliant, but they were nothing compared to the people I spent time with in that building. They helped me laugh, made me cry and were always gossiping about something. Sounds boring I know, but if you lived through the moments I did in there, you’d feel the same. It was like one big happy family and for as long as I live, it’s something I’ll never forget. It sounds so simple and, in all honesty, it was. However, there was something about the magic of everyone having a laugh and a joke that made you detach from the outside world and just enjoy what was right in front of you. For me, that feeling can never be rivalled, no matter where I visit in life or who I meet, the camaraderie I shared with the people at school will remain firmly at the forefront of my memories.

I’d love for it to have all been sunshine and smiling faces, but that wasn’t to be the case. After attempting my driving test three times (nearly killing both myself and the examiner first time around) I started to notice that I really struggled in situations that involved too many people or where I was the focus. In typical Luke Green fashion, I ignored it and told myself everything was “fine”, a word I now despise. However, by about the halfway mark of year 13, my façade was about to break. I’ll spare you the details, but I wasn’t in a good place. My confidence was shattered and I was at an all time low. After having a period of being down in the dumps so to speak, I gave up on myself. In the middle of our room in Casterby I completely broke down. First starting to shake before it quickly developed into a full-scale panic attack. To cut a long story short, I didn’t do a great job of hiding it and my parents were called into school. Feeling the most awkward I have ever felt, I proceeded to talk about my feelings with them. Telling them how I never felt good enough for the school, how the pressure was sometimes unbearable. Whilst I’ll be forever grateful for what my school did for me, it was sometimes a killer. After laying everything out on the table, I immediately went to the doctors that day and so my “journey” began.

To start with, treatment was just turning up to a few meetings here and there to discuss what to do next, it seemed simple enough, but the hardest part was yet to come. About a month after the meeting with my parents, I had to do it all again only this time, I was telling a complete stranger. I sat in front of a doctor, my feet shaking, teeth grinding and my hands sweating. At that time, I’d feared nothing more than what I was about to do. However, I had a mountain of support sat next to me in the shape of my best friend. I think what I had to say may have shocked her and to some extent upset her, but I was just glad that somebody understood how I felt. As I sat there spewing my thoughts and feelings, it dawned on me that this position I was in was no good to anyone. Not me, not my mum, not Ella, no one. Telling a professional was the best thing I could have done, but I know it’s not as easy as telling people to do it. If anyone reading this relates to what I’ve said in any way, shape or form then please, do yourself a favour and get help. The hardest part is admitting to yourself that things aren’t okay. After that, it gets easier, I promise. Those first few months of coming to terms with everything were some of the hardest of my life, but the most worthwhile. It taught me so much about myself as well as those around me. Just to see that people genuinely cared about me made me smile, which is something I’d not done in a while before then. It can seem like there is no “light at the end of the tunnel” at times, that’s allowed though. I’m not going to sit here and tell you that one meeting will sort it all out and make you the happiest you’ve ever been, that’d be a lie. What it can do though, is start the ball rolling. Whether that’s a conversation with a friend or taking a walk on a day where you want to stay in bed. Battling mental health is about celebrating the smallest of victories and working towards fixing the bigger picture. Everyone has the ability and strength to do it, it’s just a matter of finding it and believing you can better it.

For fear of embarrassing myself further, we’ll leave that one there for now, but don’t worry, there’s more to come. I suppose what you’re really wondering is how my actual A-levels went though. Did he get into Uni? What grades did he get? Why is he still writing? I imagine the third one is the question most of you are thinking, but do not fear, I shall answer them all for you. Yes, I got into Uni (miracle I know). In terms of grades, I got what I needed and I’m still writing because it’s what I love to do. After the horror of A-levels my next challenge awaited, University. I’m going to try and make it less depressing…

When moving day arrived, to put it bluntly, I was shitting myself. I’d been on a summer break for what seemed like years, but now it was time to throw myself back in the deep end again and return to education. I’m not going to pretend for a minute that University and I are best friends, in fact, we’re probably mortal enemies. Living away isn’t me for starters and neither is meeting new people, so you can see where this is going. As I left my parents behind and wandered into the wilderness of Leeds, it was time to start anew. I wish I could follow that sentence with ‘and that’s exactly what I did’; however, that would be a lie. After a slightly awkward 2 night stand with a school friend, I released that a typical Uni life was not going to suit me. I buried myself in the books and tried to readapt to learning. That didn’t go terribly well either and I ended up getting 55 out of 100 on my first assignment, feel free to laugh. Again, the idea of a girlfriend popped up. As the psychologists amongst you have probably worked out, I’m absolutely shite at being on my own. In an effort to improve my mood, I started to think about trying to get back out there and return to what I knew, a relationship. At the beginning, I thought I was still in love with my first girlfriend, but as the cliché goes, I was only in love with the idea of her. Over the Christmas break however, a welcome surprise walked into my life. With a little help from one of my friends, I started talking to a girl who was a couple of years below me at school. At first, I still thought I was in love with my ex, so I quickly stopped talking to her (the first of many mistakes to come). A couple of weeks passed with no contact and on the horizon was my Birthday. Still despairing whether to leave Uni, I was hoping my birthday would give my mind a break for at least one day. To my delight, the girl sent me a message wishing me Happy Birthday. We started talking again and I very quickly realised that I liked this girl, but with everything going on around me, I was to remain apprehensive for quite some time. We continued to talk; she was the perfect distraction from the woes of University. Still struggling with my problems upstairs, I became more and more apathetic to Uni and Leeds itself. Still attending lectures and doing the required work, but with a lot less passion and desire. The end of first year couldn’t come quick enough. Throughout, I’d only made a small number of friends and really struggled at times to make it through the day. Over the Easter break, the mountains of essays suffocated me and the girl I mentioned earlier fell to the wayside, something I’m definitely not proud of. Again, I was alone, back where I started. As the year came to a close, I wanted nothing more than to forget this year had ever happened and to write it off completely. Looking towards my second year, I wanted to get the most out of it, so far, I’ve not done too bad a job I’d like to think.

That Summer was the best and worst of my life. Strange juxtaposition I know but stick with me. I spent nearly every night in the bastions of Britain, Wetherspoons. More Precisely, Brigg Spoons. It was a great time with pints (and Pepsi Max) flowing. A large mixed grill was the order of the night, followed by a trip to a local pub, rounded off by a late-night walk in the woods. I promise you it’s not as shady as it sounds. Along with all the frivolities Spoons had to offer, another thing happened that made the Summer so memorable. Remember the girl from earlier? Well somehow, she was still interested in me, even after my frankly pitiful performances the first few times. However, this time I was determined to make it work. After a number of dates and countless phone calls, I quickly fell for her. She really was and still is more than I could ever ask for. In fear of this turning into me boring the arse off everyone, I’ll fast forward a bit. We’re still together, 4 months to the day of writing this actually; there’s nobody I’d rather be with (maybe Emma Stone but don’t tell her that). Unfortunately, however, it wasn’t going to be a summer filled purely with things to celebrate. At the very start of Summer, my family was torn apart. I’m not going to discuss because, in short, I don’t want my dirty laundry aired on the internet, but just know it was fucking shit. Oh yeah, did I mention I had to go back to Uni after Summer?

A new leaf. At least that’s what I thought my second year of University would be. Right from the start, I knew that was not going to be the case. As the weeks dragged and my health debilitated, I hit rock bottom. Instead of having a balanced diet that day, I opted for something a little less appetising, 32 paracetamols. Not my best decision, but one that taught me a lot. After a prolonged period in the local hospital, I learnt very quickly who my friends were. For as long as I live, which was nearly a lot shorter than I’d originally imagined, I will never be able to say thank you to them enough. 4 days later, I was discharged, realising that now was when I had to make a change, no matter how difficult it was going to be. I quickly learnt that life is what you make it, regardless of your situation. A few months down the line, can I say I feel cured? No, I can’t, but I do know that things will get better in time. Now in my second semester and things are definitely looking up, I mean, they couldn’t get much worse now could they.

So, there you have it, the day after my 20th Birthday, a snapshot into my life as a teenager. I’m sure many of you reading this will be both shocked and delighted. Well at least I hope so, that’s kind of the point of all this. Anyway, the point I’ve been trying to make for the best part of 3,500 words is that your life is exactly that, YOURS. Whatever it is you decide to do with it make it worthwhile, but above all, enjoy it. You only come this way once and if you waste that opportunity, you’ll regret it forever.

if you are in need of some help, contact the following numbers:

Mind Infoline: 0300 123 3393

For people in the Grimsby area:

Samaritans: 01472 353 111

OpenDoor: 01472 722 000