1066 All Stars

10. It’s Never Too Late

At 35, I understood that I still had a significant portion of my life to live. But I figured that my personality and values had been set. For better or worse, this is who I was for the rest of my life.

Then I entered therapy.

It is not overstating things to say that I am a fundamentally different person now to the one who entered the Priory in 2013. I learned to feel, to share and express myself. I learned to be sad, to be angry and to not hide from fear. And I learned that I could be happy.

A nugget of advice from a doctor many years ago, when first discussing my prescription to anti-depressants, still rings true; you hopefully live to be 70-80 years old. Taking a couple of years to sort out your mental health is a pretty decent investment no matter how old you are.

9. When You Are Down, Get Up

It is almost a cliché that those suffering from depression are recommended to exercise. But then there is a reason some things become cliché. It is because they are true.

You cannot exercise away being depressed. Try as you might, you cannot literally outrun the Black Dog. Indeed my own flavour of depression was caused by thought driven anxiety rather than any underlying chemical imbalance.

But there is a fundamental truth in getting up and trying, even, and perhaps especially, when it is the very last thing you feel like doing.

Depression feeds on low energy, low motivation states. So get active, clear your mind, see the world around you rather than just the one in your head. Let life in and let the dog out.

8. Trigger Happy

A key aspect of recovery is developing an understanding of your illness. What are your triggers? What events, words or situations cause you anxiety?

Once identified though, that is not a reason to avoid them. Avoidance leads to isolation which in turn leads down the road to depression.

Instead, be understanding and kind to yourself. Or if it is easier, think what you would tell a loved one if they presented with the same symptoms you are suffering.

If social events triggers your anxiety, start small. Maybe meet with one or two friends, ease yourself in to the company of others, then gradually build up the circle until you feel able to cope with a larger setting.

Does decision making cause anxiety? Do you feel like you are constantly at risk of making the wrong choice, always fearful of living in regret of the path not taken? Challenge the thought, find a healthier way to look at it. Did you miss out going left because you turned right? Perhaps, but turning right was pretty awesome too.

7. It’s All In Your Head

One of the most difficult aspects of depression in particular is the lack of outward visible signs. Depression and anxiety are illnesses of the mind, like walking round with your very own doubt squad, constantly telling you what you are doing wrong.

The outward signs that are visible are easily dismissed. Tiredness, irritability, lack of enthusiasm, dietary changes etc can all be attributed to other, less serious complaints. Tired? Must need more sleep. Irritable? Don’t be so grumpy. Eating too much? Have a salad.

And so sufferers will often put on a mask in the company of others, becoming adept at hiding their true feelings and emotions, less to protect themselves and more to meet the expectations of others. It is a crushing irony that those most in need of help go out of their way to avoid hurting the feelings of others.

Depression and anxiety might be all in your head. That’s what make them so frightening.

6. A Problem Shared

The core driver of anxiety is fear of the future whilst the core driver of depression is rumination or regret of the past. Contentment comes from finding a way to walk the middle ground of acceptance.

One tool to help is to share your feelings. This can take many forms. If you have a network of friends and loved ones, talk to them about your thoughts and feelings, be honest. They may help you see the problem in a different light, find a new way of looking at things that your anxious mind could not see.

If you are not comfortable with this approach, or do not have such a network, consider writing your feelings down. Explore them, understand them, demystify them and in so doing take their power over you away.

Talking or writing about your issues is not an excuse to wallow. The desire to share or explore a problem should be driven by a desire to overcome it, not simply to find a sympathetic ear. Procrastination is simply another driver of depression and anxiety.

5. You Are Not Alone

Depression can cause us to feel isolated from the outside world. As it tightens its grip, you start to feel apart from the world. Happiness appears meant for someone else but not for you, as the song once said. Whatever you portray as an exterior, on the inside you begin to retreat within yourself, wanting nothing more than to shrink out of sight, wanting to be left alone and yet craving attention. If you could just curl yourself up into a small enough ball in the corner, maybe nobody will notice you.

And before you know it, you have drifted out to sea. The isolation you feared come true from your own actions. Nothing matters. Life has no meaning. No one understands.

And yet they do. Mental illness affects 1 in 4 people. Yet for some reason a stigma persists such that we can tell people all about how we broke our leg, how we had the flu or even show people some disgusting rash you’ve developed. And yet still we are wary of admitting that we find it difficult to cope with stress or that we have low mood.

Well it is time to stop the stigma. Mental illness is real. It affects people on a daily basis. It destroys relationships, it blights lives. Sometimes, it even ends them.

You are not weak and you are not alone.

4. This Too Shall Pass

In the midst of depression, or when the howling winds of anxiety are blowing a gale, it can be tempting to think that this is all life has to offer. Mental illness can feel like a vortex with you at the centre, no hope of escape.

It is important to remember that these are moments in life, not life itself. Since leaving therapy, I have felt happier and more free than at any time I can imagine. I have also been wracked with anxiety and been stuck in the depths of depression.

But no matter how dark these moments seem, I have come to understand that they are fleeting. I know I can be happy because I have been happy, and so can be again.

No matter how heavy the storm, even the darkest cloud must soon give way to sun.

3. Life Is A Journey

There can be a tendency in life to think that we must achieve a certain set of goals or metrics to be judged by. I should be earning x amount of money. I should be thinner. I wish I was more attractive.

And so it is with mental health. I should  be happy. I musn't worry so much. I should be better by now.

But life doesn't work that way. There is no right or wrong, no set path. The joy of life is to be found in making our own way, sometimes stepping off the beaten track to smell the flowers by the side of the road.

I haven't found the dream job. I'm still a couple of pounds heavier than I would like. My kitchen could do with a clean and I never did get round to putting that picture up on the wall. It doesn't matter. I do not have to judge myself. This isn't a test to be passed or failed, it is an adventure to enjoy.

Sometimes you will stumble and fall. Sometimes you'll head off in completely the wrong direction from where you planned. Sometimes you'll just sit down and get your bearings. Sometimes you'll get lost. You might not ever get to where you were trying to go. It doesn't matter.

Life is a journey, not a destination. Just try to enjoy the ride.

2. You Are Not Your Illness

It is very common for people to assign labels to behaviour, especially our own. 'Oh that's so me!' we might say. Or, 'I'm just like that.' Perhaps even, 'I'm not that type of person,' or ,'I'm no good at that.'

Often these comments are meant in jest, some typically self-deprecating British humour. But there is an undercurrent to them, especially as it pertains to mental health.

We come to define ourselves by these statements as if that is all we amount to. Our lives, so complex and involved, boiled down to a few words captured in a meme.

Depression and anxiety will always be a part of me. In many ways, they have helped shaped the person I am today, good and bad. But they do not define me.

1. You Can Change

It took me a long time to accept the fundamental truth behind my recovery. But once I did, it was liberating.

I could change.

Acknowledging that you are suffering from mental illness is a bold step. Seeking help is one of the bravest things you will ever do. The key to a sustained recovery is accepting that you are not apart from your illness, you are inextricably entwined with it. 

Part of this may involve making changes. But change is hard and many of us resist. It becomes easier to remain where we are, endlessly procrastinating, forever pedalling the cycle of resentment rather than accepting the truth.

You can change.

The oak tree casts an imperious shadow, standing tall and stout. It is to be admired for its strength and its resilience. Yet in gale force winds the oak, so rigid and fixed, finds itself toppled, ripped from the ground and broken.

You are not an oak. You are not fixed to one spot. You are free, you are flexible. In the winds of change, learn to bend like the reed.

You must become the change you want to see. It is your life, go and live it.

I made a commitment to myself that my blogs would be honest. I didn’t really feel like writing this as there is nothing positive to say and yet it feels important to me to document this moment in time. This is how I feel.

I have an overwhelming sense of sadness.

Sadness is a strange emotion that I suspect not everyone understands. If you tell someone you are sad they will likely ask ’what’s up?’ or take it as a personal crusade to ‘cheer you up’. Others may simply write you off as grumpy or miserable, as if a choice has been made to deliberately not enjoy life.

But sadness is one of the core emotions. We are allowed to feel it, dare I say we are supposed to feel it. But persistent sadness is a different issue. For that is the path that leads to depression.

There have been a couple of specific incidents that have caused me anxiety in the last week. A constant cycle of rumination and self-recrimination have left me feeling exhausted. Life of course goes on and yet I find that I want to hide away, tuck myself up in bed and wait for the world to pass by, hoping nobody notices. If my life were a videogame, I want someone else to take the controller, just for a time, until this level has passed.

I am conscious that these thoughts are unhealthy and undoubtedly I have the tools to change them. And yet I find myself locked in a spiral, feeling helpless as the crushing weight of the world bears down on me. I have always been aware that therapy was not the end, that the black dog would always be chasing me. For now, it seems I am unable to outrun him.

I am tired. Not in the ‘why don’t you get an early night’ sense. I am tired of trying, I am tired of resisting. I am tired of the noise. I am tired of the constant sense of unfulfilled duty. I am tired of the demands, I am tired of the decisions. I am tired of the guilt, shame and self-recrimination. I am tired of feeling tired.

This is not a tiredness that finds relief under the covers. This is a tiredness of thought. I am pedalling the cycle of rumination, well aware that only I can make the decision to stop.

But it is hard. And it makes me sad. And I am tired of feeling sad.

I was intrigued by the thought that I hadn't written a blog in a couple of weeks and wondered why.

When I stop to think about it, I generally write blogs for two primary purposes. Number one, where I have a specific mental health point I want to address, such as the importance of change or addressing stigma. Number two, when I am reflecting on a period of low mood.

But rarely do I blog simply about being happy. Well I am happy, so I'm going to blog about it.

So why am I happy? There is no single reason. I have lost over a stone in weight in the last year and, perhaps more importantly, managed to maintain my weight. I have found an honest to goodness hobby that I enjoy, writing weekly retrogaming articles. These are undouubtedly contributing factors.

But life continues to have its stresses. Marriage, children, owning a home, building a career, these things bring joy but they also bring challenges. It is only natural every now and then to stop and wonder if you shouldn't have turned left instead of right.

But there also comes a point when you simply have to accept. It is no good buying an apple and then complaining that it doesn't taste like an orange. This is the life I chose for myself. I finally feel ready to start living it. 

In a sense I feel I have begun to embrace who I am. Perhaps I am not as funny as I used to be. Perhaps I'm not so impulsive. Perhaps I have become, dare I say it, rather boring. So be it. One thing I am sure of is that I have also become a lot nicer. I rather prefer the new me to the old. My experience of depression and anxiety has helped to make me the person I am today. But they do not define me.

Part of a sustainable recovery is having those around you that help to foster a positive environment. During therapy, we would often discuss the importance of a strong support group but deep down, I always felt that this was a path I was walking alone. I have never had a wide circle of friends, preferring to seek out and build one-on-one relationships with specific individuals. And so I convinced myself that I did not have a network I could rely on. I was wrong.

I have the support of my wife. I have the support of my children, whether they are conscious of it or not. I have the support of both sides of the family. I have a close circle of friends, some old and some new.

Sometimes support comes in the shape of a deep and meaningful. Sometimes it is being there to pick you up and help you to try again. Sometimes it is about making you laugh even when it is the last thing you feel like doing. Sometimes it is about letting you cry. And sometimes it's just about hanging out and watching Star Wars.

I am grateful for each and every person that has chosen to be part of my life.  Some of you I have known forever. Others only for a short time. But it doesn't matter. It is not how often we have made the journey but what we do when we get there.

Thanks for coming along for the ride.

We’ve all heard them haven’t we?

Chin up. Pull your socks up. Look on the bright side. Think positive. Think how lucky you are.

After all, depression and anxiety aren’t real illnesses, are they? It’s all in your head.

And the thing is…that’s true. In a manner of speaking.

But let’s take a step back. For most of my life, I had no idea what depression and anxiety were. Sure, I had moments when I felt down and I would get stressed out about things but didn’t everyone?

After a while, being grumpy and miserable became the norm. It was simply who I was, a role that I eagerly fulfilled. But I started to recognise that something was wrong when I lost interest in activities that I previously loved, the tipping point a drive home from work, the wife reminding me of a Liverpool match on the tv later that evening. I realised that I didn’t care about it, that I would rather just sit and stare at the wall. That was when I first sought help.

Being prescribed anti-depressants was a validation of sorts. I had a problem, serious enough that medication was required. And whilst they helped to stabilise the worst of my mood swings (at least once I found the right medication for me), it did not address the underlying issues.

Depression became almost a badge of honour. Why don’t you come out tonight? I’m depressed! Why don’t you try to lose some weight? I’m depressed! Why not look for another job? Depressed, depressed, depressed!

But things became worse. In addition to low mood, I found that I was constantly stressed. Every decision was agonising. I couldn’t see a way out, I felt like a hamster stuck on the wheel. And so I carried on the routine.

Work, home, food, sleep.

Then the routine slowly began to change. Work, more work, home, food, sleep.

Then work, more work, home, more work, sleep.

And in between those non-work moments, I was thinking about work, churning over in my mind a conversation, an e-mail exchange, my ever expanding to-do list, that enormous oh-my-God-if-they-ever-find-out mistake that I was sure I had committed.

As my performance deteriorated, I found the courage to speak out and obtained a referral to a psychiatrist. He confirmed that I was suffering from depression and anxiety. But good news! The prognosis was good, I could get better.

Only I didn’t want to.

I had convinced myself that I was fundamentally flawed. Didn’t this man understand? I had depression! This wasn’t something I could stop having, it was a fundamental part of my being. I was broken, there was a hole right through the middle of me where happiness was supposed to live.

It was in therapy that I came to truly understand my illness. Depression and anxiety were not fixed states. My thoughts and my actions, accumulating throughout my life, had led me to this point. My anxiety and depression were mental states, brought on by a crippling lack of self-confidence, negative automatic thoughts, life-long patterns of behaviour and avoidance.

I resisted at first, unable to accept that my illness could be overcome. I wanted to be ill because then I didn’t have to face up to the reality of life. I wanted to wallow, I wanted the sympathy, I wanted the excuse to not have to truly exist.

Eventually, begrudgingly, I came to understand and accept. In a sense, I had made myself ill which meant in turn that it was up to me to make myself better.

It turns out that depression and anxiety had all been in my head. But that’s what made it so frightening.

It has been a difficult road. Understanding my illness allowed me to change. I began to shed the masks that I wore to hide my feelings, began to express myself, challenged the negative thoughts, learnt to live in the moment, rather than ruminating on the past or procrastinating on the future. It is an ongoing journey but I feel liberated from the prison of my own mind.

It can be difficult to know what to say to a loved one who is suffering. How can you possibly help when they are not ready to help themselves? But you don’t have to fix, you don’t have to mend, you don’t even really need to understand. Just be there to listen.

And to those suffering, locked in the cycle of regret and procrastination, my message is simply this;

You can change.

* When I first started blog writing, I made a conscious decision to write unfiltered. However I felt, good, bad or indifferent, that is what would end up on the page. It was a way of exploring my truest, inner most thoughts and feelings, to get them out, examine them and understand them.

Looking back at some of these posts, I am almost tempted to be embarrassed. The strength of feeling on display is occasionally uncomfortable. But they are an important record of where I was at that moment in time in my ongoing recovery from mental illness.

* Against that backdrop, last week I wrote two blog entries, one in my parenting series and one standalone piece. For the first time, I have since gone back and deleted them without retaining any record of the text.

Why? What has changed?

In principle, nothing. I still intend to write honestly and to share my blogs with others in the hope that being open with my experience of mental illness will give someone else who is struggling some comfort that they are not alone and that what they are going through is normal.

Most of my blog writing is underpinned by a desire to understand and change course. These entries though strayed from that concept. They were written whilst in a low mood based on a specific set of triggers. Instead of using the blogs as a means to challenge these thoughts, I dwelt on them, the blogs becoming a negative feeding frenzy. They did nothing to address the underlying symptoms, there was no balance or critical reasoning, only the guilt at having written them prompting me to challenge the thoughts and behaviours that led me to write them in the first place.

I retain some semblance of guilt in deleting them though, almost as if I am hiding the feelings of the moment. But that is preferable to the ongoing anxiety of knowing they remain published.

* This weekend brought a family day at Chessington. I was reminded earlier in the week that a similar trip the year before brought with it feelings of anxiety as I struggled with not knowing where to go, who to see, what to do.

There were no such advance feelings this year, instead I looked forward to it as a day of activity with the kids. However calmness soon gave way to anxiety and regret.

We left the house far later than planned, immediately putting me mentally on the back foot. We were able to collect free drinks bottles from the restaurant but that was on the opposite side of the park from the car park. I therefore made the decision that we would not go on any rides until drinks were collected, thinking we would tick that box and then have the day free.

Instead, I became agitated as the kids dragged their feet, wanting to stop, look and take everything in. With an hour gone, we had collected our drinks but achieved little else. I began to feel like the day would be a failure.

It is a microcosm of the types of pressures that swirl round my head on a daily basis. Judgement mixed with procrastination causing me anxiety. When I recognised the feelings and actually stopped to observe life in the moment, I saw that the kids were enjoying themselves pottering around. They had no agenda, they would take each event as it came. I was projecting my own thoughts and expectations onto them, trying to enforce what I thought they should be doing for fun.

I leave the day with a semblance of regret but also with a sense of achievement at having identified and corrected a behaviour as well as a determination that next time I shall embrace mindfulness and simply live in the moment.

* This weekend also marks the 2 year anniversary of my redundancy. I was aware of the impending date but other than that it did not intrude on my thoughts. 12 years in the same job was a significant part in the story of my life but it very much feels like a chapter that has ended.

* Just over a year ago I self published the first of three books. I was immensely proud of myself at the time but looking back, I have a sense of acute embarrassment. Who really wants to read my blogs, let alone pay for them? It seems like a folly in many ways.

Of course if someone wants to pay for it, that is their choice. I haven’t coerced them, they have presumably read the blurb and thought it sounded interesting. But the thought persists all the same.

Mental illness has blighted a significant proportion of my life. Depression and anxiety, whether or not I knew it at the time, robbed me of my confidence, made me feel inadequate and drove me to the brink of submission.

Looking back now, as I continue my journey on the road of recovery, there are parts of myself that are almost unrecognisable from who I was.

But I want to let you into a guilty little secret, the ‘unspeakable truth’ of this piece. Are you ready?

I didn’t want to get better.

There. Look, I’m going to say it again.

I didn’t want to get better.

What an outrageous thing to say! How could I not want to get better? Doesn’t this simply reinforce the image that those suffering from depression are good for nothing layabouts?

But it isn’t as straight forward as that. You see this reluctance to get better was all a part of the illness.

Depression reinforces all the negative thoughts you have of yourself. I felt stupid, inferior, fat and ugly. And so these things must be true. I projected these thoughts onto other people, which in turn caused me to withdraw from them. It wasn’t like they would miss the company of this stupid, inferior, fat, ugly guy anyway, right?

And so in the deep, dark corner of the mental jail I had created for myself, I was all alone. Except for depression, always there to keep me company.

After a while I became used to it, being depressed became reassuringly familiar. This was just who I was.

Even when I entered therapy, I didn’t want to believe what I was told. I was broken beyond repair, fundamentally incapable of being happy. I had to be. I needed to be.

Only I wasn’t. It took a long time but gradually I reached the point of acceptance that I was not a fixed state. I was ill and I could get better. I could change.

The path of recovery could not have been walked without the expertise and support of professional therapists. 1 in 4 people in the UK suffer from mental illness and yet still we are reluctant to talk about it.

Why? If you hurt your leg or had a problem with your liver you wouldn’t think yourself weak. You would see a doctor. Why is the mind so different? Why do we consider physical health to be more important than mental health? It doesn’t make any sense.

You are not weak, you are not broken and you are not alone. But you can get better.

The first step is to help yourself. Friends and family will support the best they can but if you want to make a full, sustainable recovery, you may need professional help. So talk to someone; the GP, a counsellor, a therapist. Understand your illness, get a proper diagnosis. We’ll still be here when you get back. Life isn’t going anywhere.

And forget those thoughts of being selfish or wallowing or that you should ‘just get on with it.’ Should someone with a broken leg stop being such a wimp and just walk it off? Of course not. The leg needs time to heal. So does the mind. It is not selfish it is self-care. In a way the selfish thing is not dealing with it, instead leaving others to pick up the pieces. Only you can set you free.

So do something amazing today, be kind to yourself.

It is time to start looking after the most important person in your life.

You.

What does mental illness look like to you?

Someone who sits in bed all day, unable to face the world?

A person who goes around crying all the time and is never happy?

Or perhaps even a nutter who shouldn’t be alone with children?

The reality is far less interesting. For you see, mental illness looks like…me.

Or your brother, sister, mum, dad, uncle, friend, cousin. Even your son or daughter. Maybe even you.

1 in 4 people in the UK suffer from some form of mental illness. That’s an incredible number isn’t it? But despite what the newspapers, television programmes or social media might lead us to think, we’re not all nutters and weirdos. Most of us are normal people going about our business.

Let me ask you a question. Before I opened up about it, did you know that I suffered from depression? What about anxiety?

And here’s another question. Do you know that I still do? Or did you think I was all cured now?

How many of you have stopped to ask? How many of you even know what depression and anxiety are?

Depression is not being in a state of permanent sadness. Sufferers do not walk around constantly on the edge of tears. Most of us are not bed ridden or house bound recluses. Depression doesn’t care if you are happy or sad. As a matter of fact, depression is in some ways the complete absence of emotion. Life loses meaning, there is no joy to be found, no matter how we may be blessed. We exist because we have to but we do not live. Not really.

But mental illness isn’t a real illness, is it? It’s all just in the head. It’s not like having cancer or breaking a bone. That’s real, I can see that, it’s physical.

Well let’s put that myth to bed.

Mental illness is real and believe it or not, it is physical as well as mental. Quite apart from the complex chemical imbalances that cause depression in many sufferers, symptoms include the very real physical properties of loss of energy, poor concentration, changes to diet and changes to behaviour. Sufferers may withdraw from life, isolate themselves.

But even without these physical manifestations, the mental anguish is difficult enough. Imagine being told every day that you’re no good, that you’re stupid, that you’re ugly, that you’re fat, that you’re a failure, that you get everything wrong, that everyone hates you, that you don’t deserve happiness, that you can never change.

Now imagine that this voice is your own.

That is what it feels like to live with depression and anxiety.

But if it’s all in the head, just stop thinking that way, right? Just forget about it, don’t take things so seriously, pull your socks up, get on with it, think how lucky you are!

Oh if it were that easy. Depression is not feeling down because your favourite programme just finished or because they didn’t have any beans at the supermarket. Depression is a persistent, pervasive lowering of mood. It can come quickly, perhaps triggered by a specific event, or come on gradually.

And anxiety is not worrying that you’ve run out of milk or that it might rain at the weekend. Anxiety is a state of hyper stimulation, locked in a constant state of readiness for an event that will never come, expecting the worst.

Stress is not the enemy. Stress is a friend that gives us the impetus to move forward. But anxiety and depression hit when the stress becomes too much for too long. Like a kettle constantly at boiling point but never able to shut off. Or the elastic band, so pliable until you pull too hard for too long and it snaps in two.

Mental illness destroys lives. Sometimes it even ends them.

I am lucky. I had the opportunity to undergo therapy. I spent three months in a mental hospital, surrounded by patients with a broad spectrum of illness; from depression to OCD, bi-polar to self-harming.

In some ways my mental illness cost me my job. At least it didn’t cost me my life.

But two years on, I am far from cured. I am wracked by anxiety on a daily basis. Depression remains an uninvited guest, constantly banging on the door to come back in. Sometimes I let him, it becomes too difficult to say no. But it’s even harder to get him to leave.

I decided to be open about my illness because I wanted to change and to show others that mental illness is nothing to be ashamed of. But many others are fighting their own private battles or suffering in silence.

Together we can end the stigma around mental illness.

Mental illness is not mental weakness.

Before being made redundant, I was utterly miserable.

Therapy helped me to understand some of the underlying thoughts and behaviours that had fed my depression but on a more practical, daily level, my work / life balance had disappeared.

Work become a daily endurance test but I thought I understood some of the issues. I was spread too thin; I took on too much; I didn't have enough staff; I wasn't fully trained; I had a vague job title; there was little support.

But all that changed. In my current role, I have a clearly defined job title; I have limited responsibility; we have a full compliment of team members; I have areas of defined speciality.

And I am...not happy.

Why? For a long time I put this down to a hangover from my redundancy, and there remains a grain of truth in this thought. I identified a feeling of loss associated with the ending of a long term relationship, exacerbated by the fact that I wasn't the one who ended it. I missed the status, the familiarity and even some of the responsibility that used to drag me down.

But there is more. I wasn't just unhappy at work, I was unhappy at home. In fact I would often find that I was happier at work, weekends becoming a slog to grind my way through, full of bitter self recrimination at my own parenting skills, or lack thereof.

Slowly though, the truth began to emerge. My old job had taken over my life. Much as I claimed to hate it, I would often work late in the office or bring work home. Now, I am out the door at 5pm and back at home before 6. I have more time than ever to spend with my family. My priorities have changed.

And therein lies the problem. Work had come to define me almost exclusively. My self worth had become tied up in how much I earned, what my job title was, the level of respect from my peers. With the transition out of therapy and back to work, I had the opportunity to redefine myself. My worth would not be judged by others but by myself.

Only I couldn't. I continued to look for validation from others but in it's absence found no substitute. I struggled to redefine my life goals and targets.

I had become a family man but didn't know how to be one. But this should not come as a surprise. As I learned to my cost, being given a title does not instantly make you that role. I had been designated an analyst, a team leader and a manager amongst others but that did not make me these things. I had to learn. I had to try and fail and try again.

And so it is as a parent. By definition I must now take the role of a family man. 

But first I must learn how.

Anxiety is...

...trying to block out my 3 year old talking to me because I can't hear myself ruminate

...like a continually inflating balloon, wary of invisible pins, oblivious that unless it deflates, it will pop anyway.

...like a loose thread. Pull on it and you're likely to unravel

...like if your mind is a radio, constantly changing stations, looking for Blame FM

...like being stuck on a hamster wheel. You want to get off but you're too scared to stop running

...the sense of constantly being judged, when in truth the only person passing judgement is you

...like a phone that you wish would stop ringing but you're too afraid to answer

...like a glass of water; full to the brim, you feel as though a single drop will make you spill over

...the voice that says you can't do it. Depression says there's no point. Recovery says do it anyway.

I don’t remember when he first came to stay with me. I just opened my front door one day and there he was, looking up at me.

A little Red Dragon.

I loved that little dragon. He was so small and cute. I would leave him at home when I went out and we would play together all night, laughing as he tried to snort out fire but only managed little puffs of smoke.

I didn’t really notice at first but as time went on, the Red Dragon started to grow bigger. Every day when I came home he seemed to have grown and he demanded more and more of my time.

After a while, he decided that he didn’t want to be cooped up alone all day and so he insisted on coming to work with me. I knew that my colleagues wouldn’t understand, so I hid him under my desk. Every now and then he would poke his nose out and I would try to shove him back down before anyone noticed. I got used to the strange looks as a puff of smoke emerged from under my chair.

But pretty soon he got restless. I knew I had to let him go free but he refused to go. And I wasn’t sure I wanted him to. I had got used to him being around, even if it made things harder.

It became too hard to hide him from friends, so I stopped going out.

Whenever I would try to read a book, he would snort out a flame and burn it. So I stopped reading.

Whenever I tried to play a game, or watch a programme, or write a story, he would flap around the room making noise, snorting out flames so that I couldn’t concentrate. So I gave up.

Then one day when I came down the stairs, I saw he had invited a friend round to play. A Black Dog. And before I knew it, he had moved in too.

And then it happened. He was too big to keep hidden under the desk at work and one day he broke free. He made such a scene, flapping his wings, snorting fire. Everyone was amazed that I had this Red Dragon, they had no idea I had been hiding him. I was mortified that he had been discovered.

That was when I decided I needed help. I went to see a dragon expert to tell him of my problems. He reassured me that my Red Dragon was quite normal, in fact more people owned one than I realised. He suggested that I take him to a specialist dragon clinic to understand how to better manage him.

It was there that I discovered that there are all sorts of different dragons. Big ones, little ones, fat ones, thin ones, blue ones, green ones. And my Red Dragon.

Talking about my Red Dragon with other people who owned one seemed to help. After a while, my dragon didn’t seem that big after all.

I came to understand that I couldn’t get rid of him. He would always live with me, and his friend the Black Dog would likely pop round for visits occasionally too. But I learned that I needed to show him who is boss.

He still insists on coming everywhere with me but I try to be firm. Sometimes though he gets his way and tags along.

But I don’t hide him anymore. I am not embarrassed or ashamed. If he makes an appearance, I just explain to people who he is.

My Red Dragon.