Subconsciously Mean?

Something I’ve realized over the last week or two is that I’ve started becoming mean and hateful again. It seems to stem from politics, the recurring state of the world, my own misery, and the lingering weight of both new and past traumas. It’s all being accelerated by some of the company I keep.

These are my own doings. I’m allowing social media, the news, and hearsay to influence my emotions and my mind. That’s my fault. No one else’s. My reactions are my own.

I spent years trying to correct this behavior. Looking ahead, the path felt impossible, looking back at my past states of mind, the effort felt fruitless. It wasn’t until June of last year that I really saw the first changes in person.

I encountered a situation that I only recognized as a "test" after the fact. It came in the shape of a random woman who was struggling with her own mental health. Ironically, that’s the type of person I often attract. It leaves me wondering what kind of energy they see in me, but that’s a thought for another time.

To explain how I got here, I need to go back, or this is going to get messy.

The first big test came after my previous relationship ended in October 2024 in a way that was horrible and unforgivable. It led to the biggest breakdown I’ve had since returning from Afghanistan in 2014, Op Herrick 19. I was a mess. I had never felt so lost.

One night, about a week later, I couldn't bear the hurt anymore. I was alone at 00:11 during a security overnight shift, sitting in my car and staring into the darkness of the empty streets. I gave myself two choices:

1. I could take myself down to the grass verge and hang myself from that stupid tree I spent every shift staring at. It was a recurring thought from a life I can only describe as a series of "unfortunate circumstances" - and that’s the PG version.

2. I could book a one-way flight to Thailand and then Indonesia to retrace the steps of the most stressful yet happiest time of my life, which I had shared with that ex-partner.

After a few messages back and forth with my friend Amy, without letting on what was really in my head, I decided option two was better. If it made me feel worse, I could still do option one, just in a nicer country. (Sorry Germany, I mean no offense. Or maybe a little.)

So I did it. I booked the flight, one way, economy, 730€. I cried my heart (yes, yes, very unmanly of me) out as the song “My Tears Are Becoming a Sea” by M83 played in the background. It hit the 1:35 mark where it gets super dramatic right as I finished. Talk about timing.

My first action was to text my late father on WhatsApp. It’s a coping mechanism I use when I need advice or to repent. I feel no shame in it; he was the only role model I had. Right after, I texted Amy about the flight and the song. I finished with, “I hope my dad is watching me and guiding me through this.”

I won’t overwhelm you with travel stories today, but I want to share how it healed a part of my soul.

By June, I was in Bali. I met Kizzy - a wild, fiery girl from England who just wanted to feel loved again. We had a common interest and an equal amount of trauma, so we spent the next few weeks exploring together. At first, it was great to have company and share why we were there. I told her I was visiting places where I had happy memories of my ex to replace them with new ones of my own.

But two broken people trying to recover while not yet healed is like gas and an open flame. Volatile.

At first, disagreements ended as quickly as they started. We were conscious enough to understand what was happening and apologize. We were bringing out the unhealed parts of each other and working on them. But what I didn’t expect was that she was in constant contact with her ex, the person whose actions led her there. Their problems never stopped. She would drink to numb herself, and despite my best efforts to prevent it for her sake and mine, those nights were horrifying. I felt like I was going to lose everything I had set off to achieve.

But I knew she just needed to heal. She was so sweet on her good days, so I stayed. I’m not perfect, several times I had to jump on my bike and leave the restaurant or the BnB. She hated that, but I had to put myself first and refuse to accept the mental abuse and manipulation she was throwing at me. I thought nothing would phase me after my breakup, but she blew that out of the water.

Her ex never gave her a chance. He knew about me, and me him, that was fine, but he’d leave "breadcrumbs" knowing she would take them desperately. It was heartbreaking. She loved that man so much, yet she was just an afterthought to him. I wish you could have seen her smile, it was such a wonderful smile, she had a weirdly deep laugh as well that you couldn't help but love. But the moment she answered a phone call from him, I knew the next 12 to 24 hours would be hell.

That experience taught me so much patience. It taught me to stop raising my voice, to be more empathetic, and to hold space for someone even when they’re being mean. I learned to be silent and listen. By God, it tested me, but I don’t regret it. So, Kizzy, thank you for that. My goal was growth through experience, and that’s exactly what you gave me.

By the end of August, I returned to Germany to pack for my move back to Scotland.

This terrified me. I know the mentality in Scotland: the depression, the hate, the judgment, and the aggression. Germany was an improvement, but even there, I realized I no longer fit in. I didn’t care about workplace drama, who makes the most money, or ego in the gym. I cared about who was "soft" in a hard world. Who had done work on themselves. I cared about who was spiritually open.

Yet I was left wanting. And I realized that Scotland could only be worse. I’m easily influenced by my environment, I knew I’d either end up depressed or forced back into that common mindset.

I was right.

Which leads me to now. 

On one hand, I ended up in a heated argument a few weeks ago. I never raised my voice. I listened and used logic while allowing room for their emotions. This person was another pure heart tainted by trauma, but the outbursts eventually became inexcusable. After an hour, when the name-calling started, I stood up, gave a few seconds of reassurance, collected my things, and left.

In the past, I would have gone toe-to-toe, red-faced and shouting. That’s how people argue where I’m from. It took almost eight years in Germany to realise that wasn’t normal, it was a toxic trait I had carried all these years, it took the last 2 years in Germany, 3 months of Thailand and then 6 months of Indonesia to finally get control of it. Fixing it was a huge step for me. I’ve never wanted an improvement so badly before and I think I’ve finally got it. Now I’ll never let it slip my control again. 

Yet, at the same time, as I think I’ve done so much effective work on myself, here I am being hateful online and in person? I’m feeling uncontrollable anger toward strangers. I walk the streets thinking about "rattling" the next idiot who bumps into me because I feel like if I don't teach them a lesson, no one will. That I’m tired of bad ones always getting away with things whilst the rest of us suffer. 

But I don’t want to do that? I want to ask them what’s wrong. What’s hurting them? What’s gotten them so sad that the only option was anger? If it’s big, let’s grab a coffee between two strangers and talk. Let’s not be emotional with our anger. 

I’m a great fighter, and the damage I can do and have done scares me. I have nothing to prove. When you really hurt someone, it changes you, and that’s a lesson you can’t teach younger men, they have to witness it.

So why am I being mean again? Is it just the subconscious effect of being back in this environment? Have I not been paying attention to aspects of my mental health? Did I let influences feed what was not long ago a mere ember?

whatever it is, I don’t want it. I’ve made my mind up. Now that I’ve caught it, I won’t let it continue. I’ll douse these flames once again. 

One interaction at a time.