1066 All Stars

Where it all began

I had been on anti-depressants for about five years but I never really understood quite what depression was. Despite the tablets, over time I had become more withdrawn, the activities I used to enjoy no longer appealed. Life had become something to be endured, a roller coaster that I wish would stop so that I could get off.

Tipping point

The point of action came at work following a disappointing mid-year review. I had been spending more and more time at work, even working additional hours at home and yet I was aware that my performance had begun to suffer. And now here it was in black and white.

I spoke to the HR team who in turn referred me to Occupational Health. It acted as a validation of sorts; there was something wrong. They suggested I take some time off and speak to a psychiatrist and so, after going through the NHS mental health service, I eventually made an appointment.

The psychiatrist summed me up within that 45 minute meeting; I was suffering from anxiety and depression. But the prognosis was good, there was hope for a full recovery and he recommended that I go to the Priory at Roehampton.

First impressions

Whatever expectations I had of therapy were smashed on the first day. My first session, a group therapy, showed me that the other patients were just like me; ordinary people who had given too much for too long until finally something had to give.

Initially I expected to be in therapy for two weeks. I would have treatment, get better and go back to my life. Back to my job. For the first few days, I even tried to maintain both therapy and work, before realising that therapy would be a full time task. Before I knew it, two weeks became four, four became six. In the end, I would spend three months in therapy.

It was during that first group session that another patient remarked that they were ill. This seemed strange to me. I did not consider myself as ill. I had no physical ailment, I was simply having difficulties. Surely I just needed a break, perhaps to learn how to do things better and then I would be back to normal.

The journey

I resisted for the first two weeks. But by week three, my defences started to crumble to be replaced with a sense of frustration. I started to question why I wasn’t better yet. In fact if anything I had started to feel worse. How could this be?

But I came to realise that this was part of the process. Depression manifests differently in each of us. For some, it may be triggered by a single traumatic event. For me, it was an accumulation of events throughout my life, some minor and some major, building into an anxiety that spiralled up whilst at the same time my mood spiralled down. I had to tear down the walls I had put up in self-defence, rebuild the jigsaw puzzle of my mind. It was time to be kind to myself.

Taking off the mask

The Priory provided an environment of safety and support. In the outside world, it was often easier to slip on a mask, to be the person that others expected me to be. But here I could be myself, surrounded by like-minded people and professional, empathetic therapists. Each session was different – from assertiveness to schemas, anger management to mindfulness.

And creative writing, sessions built around free-form writing to help us tap into our emotions and that helped to reignite a passion for writing that I thought long since extinguished.

But the journey is not walked alone. I was assigned a key worker, there to help, guide and support me at every stage of my recovery, together with a 1-2-1 therapist, helping me to really understand the roots of my mental illness and, just as importantly, how I could work to overcome them. And friendships were formed, we as patients helping and supporting each other through recovery and beyond.

Reflection

When I first entered therapy, I did so with the mind-set that I was flawed, that there was something missing within me that would prevent me ever being happy. In a way I hoped that this was true; I didn’t want to get better because getting better meant facing up to real life. I wanted to escape. I wanted to wallow.

But gradually therapy helped me reach a fundamental truth, one that, once I was ready to accept it, would be liberating; I could change.

I was not weak, I was not flawed and I was not broken. I was ill and I needed help to get better. Finally I began to understand the thinking errors and behaviours that had led me to this point; black and white thinking, avoidance, catastrophising. Once I accepted that I was the cause of my illness I began to accept that I could also be the cure.

But there was no magic pill. The Priory does not offer a quick fix for depression and anxiety. Instead therapy is a tool box of coping strategies, to be opened when required. I had to become the change I wanted to see.

It is a terrible irony that those most in need of help are the ones least likely to ask for it. I had not recognised that I was ill, I thought I was simply weak, stupid, inferior. So what advice can I offer someone who is struggling and wondering if they should seek help?

1. It is not weakness to ask for help. In fact, it is one of the bravest things that any of us can do.

2. You are not alone. Mental illness affects 1 in 4 in the UK. It is more common than you might think.

3. Things can get better. You can change. I know it because I have seen it, I have done it, I am living it.

Life after therapy

My life has changed immeasurably since leaving therapy. I never did return to my job, my role made redundant whilst still in therapy. But eventually I returned to work in a different environment, which presented a new challenge, the strategies learnt helping me through.

Sadder times lay on the horizon as a few months later my Dad lost his long battle with Motor Neurone Disease, the most difficult part of which was perhaps the knowledge that he never got to meet his grandson, born three months later.

And I achieved a life-long ambition as I carried on the writing that I started at the Priory and published my own book, a collection of blogs and short stories, charting my experiences of mental illness and the many lessons learned in therapy. I have since published two more books and hope to release a collection of children's stories later this year.

I am forever indebted to the support and advice I received at the Priory. I am not cured of depression and anxiety. I never will be. These are issues that I must face and challenge every day. But life is a journey, not a destination.

And I am determined to enjoy the ride.

'Wow, look at me, Oven! Look at all my shiny rings!'

'That's very impressive, Hob.'

'Look how high this big one goes. WHOOSH! Ha, ha, ha!'

'That's certainly very impressive, but don't you think you sho...'

'Hey watch this, Oven. I can make it flame really big then really small. Whoosh, whee, whoosh, whee...'

'Okay, I get it. I'm sure that's great fun but be careful not to burn yourself out.'

'Burn myself out? Ha, ha. Don't be silly, Oven. Just because you're electric and don't have cool gas fire like me.'

'I can assure you that I am not jealous young Hob. Nonetheless, I would caution you against burning hot all the time. You only need to use your gas when something needs to be cooked.'

'What? No way, man! I can fire up all day long! When that pan needs heating, I'm going to be ready for it. I don't need ten minutes to warm up like you old man.'

'Okay Hob, I've made my point.'

'Yeah, see you later old man, why not have a little rest until mum needs to cook some potato waffles or something. I'm going to fire up my hobs ready for dinner. Vroom! Vrooooom! Vroo...*cough* *splutter*...'

'Hob, are you okay?'

'*cough* Yes...I'm fine...I'm just feeling a little...*cough*... *splutter*...*whoo*...*pfft*.

'Hob? Hob!'

*** Three weeks later***

'Hob, is that you?'

'Oh, hi Oven. Yes, I'm back.'

'How are you feeling?'

'Um, okay I guess. They had to replace some of my parts. Apparently I burned them out.'

'I see.'

'I guess you're going to say I told you so?'

'Well I did, but that isn't the point. The main thing is that you're all better.'

'You must think I was pretty stupid, thinking I could burn hot like that all the time?'

'Stupid? No. Reckless? Perhaps. But then we were all young once.'

'Wait, do you mean..?'

'Yes Hob, I was once a young oven, cooking on gas. I thought I was impervious too. I kept my temperature hot all day long, just in case I was needed.'

'What happened?'

'I burned all the dinner! And then finally I burned myself out. That's when they replaced my parts with electric. More efficient, apparently.'

'I never knew.'

'Life is a lesson young Hob. We learn as we go.'

'Yeah, that makes sense.'

'So your gas burning days are behind you?'

'Yeah. I'll save it for when it's really needed.'

'Good for you.'

'Er, say Oven?'

'Yes Hob'

'I still really want to burn, even though I know it's bad for me.'

'Would you like to know a secret, Hob?'

'A secret? Sure.'

'Sometimes I just want to burn too.'

'You do?'

'Certainly.'

'How do you stop yourself?'

'I just try to remember why I'm here and what I am needed for. If I ran out of fuel when I was needed I wouldn't be a very good oven, would I?'

'I guess not. Say, Oven?'

'Yes Hob.'

'I'm kinda tired. Think I might switch off for a while if that's okay.'

'That sounds like a good idea Hob.'

'Say, Oven?'

'Yes Hob.'

'Thanks.'

'You are very welcome. Good night.'

As he turned out of the corner, shifting into 5th gear, the grandstand came into sight. Foot down, he accelerated down the straight, the engine whining but responding to his commands, driver and vehicle as one, a perfect union.

His wasn't the best car, he knew that. It wasn't the fastest. It wasn't the biggest. It wasn't even the best looking.

But it was his.

He had been driving this circuit for years. He had started out in the garage, cleaning up, fetching parts, learning his craft. Eventually his chance had come behind the wheel and he grasped it firmly.

Others had come and gone, moving away to more complicated tracks but he had remained loyal to his team. He knew every undulation, every nook and cranny. He knew the trick of getting the dodgy starter motor to engage and just when to lift off the accelerator to make sure the car didn't slide off the track.

But recently things had started to change. It was a gradual process that soon snowballed. It started with the track. What had once been simple, familiar had started to change. A new stand here, a raised corner there. All to attract new sponsors they had said. And it had worked. The field had doubled from 10 to 20 cars and the stands had never been so full.

But that meant other changes. Increased competition meant that races were tougher and he soon started to fall back into the pack. Where once he led from the front, now he found himself scrapping in the middle order until finally he was reduced to the backmarkers.

And the team started to change around him. New engineers, new owners, new roles that he didn't understand. New owners brought more money but more money brought more pressure. 'Shouldn't we be doing better?' they would ask. 'Why are we making so many mistakes?'

They didn't understand. None of them did. It had all become so complicated. New buttons, new gear ratios, new tyre pressures, new sensors. He didn't understand half of it but he didn't dare tell the owners in case they thought he was stupid, that he couldn't do it anymore.

Where once he looked forward to the release of a race day, now he came to dread the whole weekend. His passion had become a grind, his hobby a chore.

I am a failure. Why aren't I better than this?

'Why don't you give it up?' his friends asked. 'Why not do something else?'

Because this is all I know. All that I am.

As he accelerated down the straight, he checked his mirror for the car to his left, jostling with him for 19th place. He gripped the wheel, cursing as his fingers tried to adjust the myriad settings the designers had added this year.

'We need to manage the tyres,' came the message over the headset.

'Adjust the brake bias,' came another.

'We need to push for a points finish.'

He shifted down, gripped the wheel and moved over to the racing line, hitting the apex, taking the corner full on, ready to accelerate out of the corner and...

The car spun violently as it clipped the car behind, lifting into the air before crashing back down, screeching inexorably towards the concrete barrier where it thudded with a sickening crunch.

As the blood trickled down his face and the pain shot through his mangled, broken leg, a single thought drifted through his head.

'I failed...'

***

The physical rehab was hard and it was painful. But the body heals, even when it has been broken. But the mind? That takes far longer.

He wanted to come back straight away but they wouldn't let him. 'There is no rush,' they said. 'The car will be waiting for you when you are ready.'

They made him talk to someone. A therapist.  He didn't understand why. It was just a crash, could have happened to anyone. But they kept pushing and pushing. 'How do you feel?' they would ask. The answer was always the same.

Like a failure.

Two weeks became a month. One month became two. And then finally he began to understand. He wasn't a failure.

I was ill.

He had thought he had become too old, to slow, that he had been surpassed and left behind. Everything seemed too complex. He wasn't smart enough, he wasn't quick enough. He wasn't good enough.

But finally the layers began to peel and he understood. His fear had held him back. Fear of failure. Fear of admitting weakness. Fear of asking for help. His body had been broken but it was his mind that needed to be fixed.

After three months, he was ready to get back in the driving seat. He was looking forward to racing again, but this time on his own terms. That was when they told him.

'We've got a new driver. We don't need you anymore.'

Why? Why didn't they want him? After all he had done for them, all he had sacrificed, this is how they treat him? Discarded when he needed them most.

He allowed himself the anger but he would not allow himself to be defeated. He understood what he was worth. He was not defined by the car.

He took some time away to gain perspective but the call of the track was too strong. Eventually he contacted a rival team to see if they had room for him. 'We can't offer you a seat,' they said, 'but you can come and work in the garage.' It would do. It was a way back in. Of course, he never told them the full story.

And he was happy. No more pressure. No more stress. That was for others, he could just do his job.

But after a while, he started to miss it. Being a driver was intense, it had made him ill. But it also made him feel alive. 

With the new season approaching, the car needed to be tested. He thought about asking for some track time, a chance to get back behind the wheel. This would be the moment when he could start to claw back some of what he was.

But he couldn't. As much as he missed it, as much as he wanted it, he was scared. And so he stayed in the background, unsure of what his role was, frustrated and bitter and yet scared to move on.

And then it happened.

The car had been in good shape. This was shaping up to be a good season for the team. Their lead driver had been recording superlative lap times and as he took the final corner, it looked set to be his best yet when suddenly he lost control, the car skidding and thudding awkwardly into the barrier.

The drive was not seriously hurt but damage to his wrist meant that he couldn't race.

He was in the garage when they found him. The owners didn't usually bother him down here. There was no need. He wasn't anybody important. Not anymore.

'How can I help you?' he asked.

'We need you to drive'

Anxiety and depression ruined my life, I cried, I cried.

I thought I just needed to work a bit harder, I tried, I tried.

I told myself this was just a phase, I lied, I lied.

Anxiety made me think I was no good, I failed, I failed.

Depression left me cut off and adrift, I sailed, I sailed.

I had become a prisoner of my own mind, I was jailed, I was jailed.

But with help and support I saw there was hope, I could change, I could change.

Things could be different, I could try a new way, it felt strange, it felt strange.

The horizon that always seemed so far away was in range, was in range.

The past was gone, the future was mine to find, to find.

By living each day right in the moment of my mind, my mind.

I learned to forgive and look after myself, to be kind, to be kind.

A glass of water, no room left to fill.

One more drop may see me spill.

A kettle crying out its angry pitch,

Boiling point reached but no off switch.

A car alarm blaring with no-one to hear,

Expect the worst, live in constant fear.

The battle must be faced, I don't get to choose,

Sometimes I win, sometimes I lose.

This is my life each and every day,

Living with anxiety, I must find a way.

One day I woke and found myself stuck in a deep, dark well

How did I end up here? It was difficult to tell

Things had been just fine, at least that's what I thought

Turns out that I had missed all the lessons that life taught

So I sat in the dark well with no way to climb back out

Stuck with my own thoughts, negativity and self doubt

No-one knew I slipped into this well of my own mind

If they didn't know to look, how could they ever find?

But then one day the floor gave way and I slipped down further still

My confidence had all gone, my energy, my will

I sat there with my thoughts, thinking of the ways

I had gone wrong, made mistakes, made my bed to lay

The game that cost too much, the books I never read

The things that I missed out on, the life I never led

Even if a rope were lowered, to lift me from the gloom

I would have turned my back, I couldn't leave this place so soon

I shrank into the well, hiding in the dark

No-one could know my secret, my shame, my stigma mark

But then one day a vision came, like sun through dark, grey clouds

To offer me a chance anew, to see if I could be found

He said, 'I've come to help you,' this vision from the sky

I said, 'You can't, there is no hope,' and he said, 'Just let me try.'

And he showed me a new way to think, at first it all seemed strange

But gradually I understood that all of us can change

And so I started to climb out, with the help of those around

I pulled and scraped until finally I was out on solid ground

There have been many days since those times gone when I have looked into the well

Wondering if I would ever go back, wondering how I fell

But I remind myself, in times like these, just how far I've come

And there are more roads yet to walk, more adventures still to come

Perhaps this tale is familiar, to someone close to you

The well can seem too deep but you can climb out too.

***

I hope you enjoyed this poem, thought it worth at least a look

So perhaps you'll go to Amazon and buy one of my books!

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Mr-Scott-Delonnette/e/B00QBWP772/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1421356682&sr=8-1

The wonderful thing about Depression

For Depression is a very real thing

Your head feels like its made of rubber

Your life loses all of its spring

You're lonely, empty, lost all your fight

Forgotten how to have fun!

But the most wonderful thing about Depression

Is you're not the only one.

The end of 2014 gives me pause to think back on the key events of the last 12 months and how each has impacted on my mental health.

* The single biggest incident was undoubtedly the death of my dad. In large part, I said everything I wanted to say here and here. Perhaps all that is left to be said is this; there are many ways in which I am like my dad. I continue to work on the ways in which I am not.

* Returning to work was always going to be a defining event but I did not appreciate to what extent. The process started in late 2013 with temp work but my return to full time work was sealed in January as I returned to the financial sector four months after being made redundant. Perhaps the most difficult aspect was the sense I had that I must hide my illness. Had I been granted the opportunity to return to my previous employment, as I had expected to do, my colleagues would have been aware of the circumstances, I could potentially have a more open dialogue. Moving to a new environment, I felt a pressure to perform, to justify my place. After my last experience, I was reluctant to share for fear that it would hinder my progress.

This approach came with its own drawbacks of course. By hiding who I was, my anxiety was internalised. I was denying myself the opportunity to apply the lessons learned in therapy. Those around me likely would have no idea but I was continually battling a conflict between outward professionalism and inward turmoil.

As time has gone on, I have begun to open up to selected colleagues. But my guard remains up.

* Having a baby is a stress all of its own. But having a new baby when already having 3 year old twins and trying to recover from mental illness presents a whole new level of challenge. When he was born, I found myself looking after the girls. It was difficult to bond and it built a level of guilt and resentment which manifested in anger and sadness. As the months have passed, I have found it easier in some ways. As a baby becomes more responsive, it becomes naturally easier to interact with them. But the stresses remain.

Having children is the most enriching experience that one could hope for. They bring joy, laughter and love. They inspire me to see the world in new ways. They make me want to be a better person. But it would be remiss of me not to acknowledge that they are also a contributor to my stress levels. Part of this is a reluctance to move on from the life I had before and accept the life I have now. I still want to play my video games. I still want to read. I still want to watch films and stay up late. But within reason, these things are on hold. The single most important thing in my life are now my children. Mindfulness teaches us to live in the moment, to accept what is without judgement. Sometimes I get it wrong. And I accept that.

* One of the aspects of my mental illness that became apparent to me in therapy was a sense of inferiority. Dreams and aspirations were things that other people got to live out but not me. I wasn't good enough. I wasn't talented enough. I didn't work hard enough.

One of my dreams has always been to write my own book and be paid as a published writer. I fell away from writing some years ago, in hindsight some early signals of mental illness sapping my desire. But my time in therapy helped me to reconnect and this year saw the self publication of three collections. And people actually bought them and everything!

Beyond the books, I looked for avenues to write. My website has continued to expand with new blogs. I started a thread on the Sports Interactive forums, charting my mental health issues as they manifested in Football Manager, which has been well received. I have been published in literary journals, online papers and websites. I have written a number of stories for my children that I am incredibly proud of. 

Yet even now my mind wants to take this achievement away from me. The books are self published, a genuine publisher has not seen my work and paid me to write. The occasions when I have seen my books in print make me feel awkward that someone actually paid their money to buy my drivel. I feel guilty for making them waste their money.

But these are aspects of my illness speaking. Self publishing is a valid tool for would be authors in the age of the internet. The fact that people have bought it is a compliment. Could the books be better? Sure, but so could anything. They represent a point in my life, not the culmination of it. I continue to write because I like it. I will continue to publish because I can. And hey, maybe one day the right person will read it and like what they see.

* I have been overweight for as long as I can remember. Part of me accepted that I was simply fat. But therapy has shown me the fundamental importance of change. We are not a fixed state. What we are or what we feel in any one moment does not define us for eternity. We can change.

This year I set about a healthy eating plan and, inspired by a family member, decided to chart my experience in blog form, exploring how a healthy eating regime affected my mental health. Four months down the line, I have lost 18 pounds and am still following the core tenets of the regime I set down for myself. To my surprise, I have embraced a change in diet and actively look for opportunities to exercise. It is a very practical reminder to myself that we can change and I look forward to continuing the plan into the new year.

* Christmas brings its own unique pressure. I wrote about my feelings here. The reality was a combination of both joy and stress, a microcosm of my year perhaps. On the one hand, there is nothing better than living vicariously through your children as they revel in the joy and wonder of opening presents, seeing flashing lights and dreaming of what Father Christmas might bring. On the other, there is a nagging doubt about whether we spent enough, why I can't simply relax, whether I am ruining my family's memories.

I recognise the thinking errors. Black and white thinking, catastrophising, the negative bias filtering out the good and focusing on the bad.

* And so where do I find myself at the end of the year? It is 15 months since I left therapy. Is anything different, has anything changed? It is a fair question to ask. In some ways, my anxiety has never been higher. I remain quick to anger. My mood can swing from high to low in the blink of an eye. There are times when I feel I can't cope, that the simplest decision is crippling.

And yet I am aware, which is an achievement in itself. But awareness by itself is a dangerous animal. Awareness of our triggers can leave us susceptible to them, walking a path whereby we accept a limitation, define ourselves by what we are not. Yet awareness can also give enlightenment. For awareness brings recognition and the opportunity to change.

I am not where I want to be. In some ways, I am not where I expected to be. But perhaps I must also acknowledge that I am ill. The completion of therapy does not represent a cure. I did not suffer a broken leg that can simply be healed and rehabilitated. My mind has spent years practising unhealthy behaviours to the point that my natural reactions are almost to sabotage myself, to see the worst. Everyday I must choose to change, to undo the knots of depression and anxiety, to plough a new furrow in my mind of balance and acceptance.

And so I do not approach the new year with a misguided expectation of positivity. Life owes me nothing, it is up to me to become the change I want to see.

It is quieter now, the storm has passed by

There's no need to pretend or to silently cry

Yet in the distance the Dog barks still

There is no quick solution, no magic pill

Somewhere inside my soul still weeps

The wound never heals, the Dog never sleeps.

Dashing through my mind

In a negative, repetitive way

My confidence is long gone

It has been chased away

Thinking I'm no good

That I can't get anything right

It's time to start taking back my life

So I'll sing this song tonight!

(chorus)

Mental health, mental health

Chase the blues away

Oh! what fun it is to live

In a mental healthy way

Mental health, mental health

Chase the blues away

Oh! what fun it is to live

In a mental healthy way

Depression came around

But he stayed for far too long

He told me that I'm weak

That I could not be strong

Then anxiety popped round too

My mind became a cell

Is there any escape from the jail of my mind?

It became too hard to tell

(chorus)

Mental health, mental health

Chase the blues away

Oh! what fun it is to live

In a mental healthy way

Mental health, mental health

Chase the blues away

Oh! what fun it is to live

In a mental healthy way

When I thought there's no way back

That no-one else could hear

Therapy showed the way

To tackle all my fears

The road was long and hard

And sometimes it felt strange

But I kept on going and now I see

It was down to me to change

(chorus)

Mental health, mental health,

Chase the blues away.

Oh! what fun it is to live

In a mental healthy way.

Mental health, mental health,

Chase the blues away.

Oh! what fun it is to live

In a mental healthy way.

The fog that once was here

Has finally dispersed

The Black Dog is not gone

But I no longer feel cursed

The thoughts might still be there

But I can ignore what they try to say

And concentrate on living my life

In a mental healthy way

(chorus)

Mental health, mental health,

Chase the blues away.

Oh! what fun it is to live

In a mental healthy way.

Mental health, mental health,

Chase the blues away.

Oh! what fun it is to live

In a mental healthy way.