AM I SURVIVING THE DARKNESS?

Are you in the dark? Do you know it yet?

When my wife asks if I’m ok there’s several ways she does it.

• The day to day — Hi, you ok?

• I heard a noise, what have you done — are you ok?

• You’re talking rubbish — are you alright?

• I’m worried about you — are you ok?

There are probably more but they all come with their own unique tone and amount of Love. And I absolutely Love her for it. My wife and I have been married for thirteen years and I love her deeply. She knows me and she has allowed me to be myself and work on myself. While she hasn’t experienced these things like I have, she empathises and allows me to be open about it, and is open with me about it, I don’t have to hide anymore. I still hide to an extent but never as much as I used to.

But it’s the last type of ‘are you ok’ that gets me every time. She sees me and knows me so well that when that one comes out I immediately know that I’m not hiding the truth very well anymore, I can’t keep it from showing in my demeanor, in the tone and choice of the words I say, in the look on my face and as the cracks seem to widen and the truth can be seen by her and those who know me well enough to see it. And it’s when she says it in that way that I get a sudden feeling of failure and shame. I should be relieved that it’s out there and can now be talked about, but no. I’ve been found out and I can’t hide from it anymore. Shame on me, I should have been better at hiding it so I could deal with it on my own and no one would be any the wiser. It must be said that with time this is becoming slightly easier to accept. I’ll hear the words and know it’s good for me, and I’ll be relieved and adjust appropriately. If I’m in a darker place the reaction is still that of shame and anger. It is lifelong work to allow yourself to openly work on yourself rather than hiding the problems and trying to fix them in secret. Hiding the problem ultimately allows me to do absolutely nothing about it and pretend that I am ok. All the while getting worse daily for me and those that I love.

Depression is something that has been with me for as long as I can remember. It started out as sadness, quietness, shyness and confusion as a child. These feelings grew as I did and circumstances changed. However it seems something simple like a child’s sadness was turned into ‘grumpy’ by others. I did not choose this nor did I want this label but it stuck. ‘Don’t worry about him, he’s just grumpy today’ or ‘cheer up grumpy pants and stop being so grumpy’ etc. It turned into mocking in an attempt to cheer me up, which only turned the sad mood into anger at being mocked. I would be mocked or wound up until I would flip out in a fit of rage, throwing things or attacking people. I don’t remember anyone ever asking, why are you unhappy?’’ This doesn’t mean it didn’t happen, I’m sure they did, and I’m sure the answer of ‘I don’t know’ was frustrating. Add an all boys boarding school on top of that and I learned very fast how to hide the truth of what’s going on behind the tough exterior I built. I hid it from parents, school mates, bullies, teachers but most of all I hid it from myself. I got so used to putting on a ‘brave face’ that it became me. I was no longer my authentic self but the me that fits in, blends in, gets on with it, survives. I look back at what I remember myself to be like and wonder ‘what happened to that kid’. But this is unfair because I look back now and it is easy to see only struggles. I have to remind myself that amongst all that there was so much fun, love and happiness. The years of darkness have tainted my memory of the past. I have a hard time remembering my childhood but rather than looking back and thinking ‘I survived that shit like a little legend, and it could have been way worse’. I look back and think ‘why did I have to survive that shit at all?’ It should be both with a big dose of ‘shit that was fun!’, and here I am, wiser for it. Is it the looking back from so far away from within the darkness that makes it all seem like a survival trial.

If survival is key to any situation you find yourself in, what is the cost? And once survived, what happens next? You’re not you, and you have to potentially go out into a new world as the wrong person, who is lost and always trying to please, to be accepted to blend in, to survive in a place where survival isn’t necessary. You just need to be. But you can’t, because you don’t know how. And the darkness is more present now. You have been holding it back for so long that you can’t do it anymore and seeing as you are not you, what does it matter if the darkness is allowed in? And you lose faith, and the more you lose the more you don’t care and the darker it gets. You are depressed, it shows and people are noticing!

By the time I made it back to Australia in 2004 I was triumphant in surviving the previous couple of years of panic attacks, fear, depression and anxiety about getting out of England as fast as possible. But something wasn’t right. I was happy but also sad, angry and hugely disappointed that I didn’t walk back into the life I had left behind two years ago. Everything had changed and I felt like I was just as lost as when I was trying to get there. I got a good job as a Tree Climber and was working hard, learning loads and making new friends and a new life for myself. Rugby was over for me because of a knee injury and ACL reconstruction. So I felt I had lost a big part of my identity and was struggling to create a new identity as a tree climber and someone who has their shit together. I really, really didn’t. But I was going to try and make it seem like I did anyway.

A year or so went by, I was still having night time panic attacks but they were few and far between. But something else was becoming more and more present in my life. Something dark and manipulative. It was changing me subtly every day. Things were starting to unravel and I felt once again like I was sick and dying. I was withdrawing, avoiding situations and people and ultimately losing myself. I would only get out of bed for work or a pre arranged obligation. Obligations were mostly work or pub.

When I finally took myself off to the doctor it wasn’t because I thought I was depressed. I went because I was constantly tired and feeling run down and sick. I believe the phrase is ‘sick and tired of feeling sick and tired’. Bearing in mind I was fully into drinking myself into a hole as frequently as I could and my diet was horrendous. But, for the second time I found myself in a doctor’s office asking for help. Fortunately this time the doctor was a kind caring human who I will be forever grateful to. I talked to him about my tiredness and sickness and he listened, and before I knew it I was describing all the things that had been going on for the last few years. (refer to previous blog — Panic attack)

And for the first time I felt empathy from a doctor and a real sense of wanting to help me out of the situation. Rather than making me feel like I had an imaginary problem that I should toughen up and get over. You don’t have to just survive anymore!

I was diagnosed with depression and panic disorder. My ego took a sudden and violent attack that I wasn’t ready for at all. Antidepressants were prescribed and a visit with a psychologist was highly recommended. I left the office with a prescription, a handful of leaflets and a feeling of disbelief and numbness. I was warned not to drink alcohol on the medication as one drink would seem like ten. Other than that there was unfortunately no other health advice, no mention of dietary changes or lifestyle.

As I aimlessly wandered the streets of Melbourne I was trying to process what was going on. I took it badly. Not only was I proven to be depressed but I needed to be medicated because of it. I was broken and needed fixing with drugs. I was that guy that couldn’t handle his own shit so needed to be medicated. How depressing.

I go to the pharmacy and get my little happy pills and go home. I take the first one with the understanding that it will take a while for them to start to work their magic and that there may be side effects. By this point in my life taking pills of unknown origin was not unusual so this was easy. I didn’t however call the lady from the leaflet to make an appointment to talk about it all. I was most definitely not ready for a psychologist. I was also definitely not ready to slow my drinking or adjust anything else in my lifestyle.

This diagnosis and prescription was now added to the ‘dirty little secret’ list. I was ashamed deeply that as a man I was reduced to medication and psychologist appointments. I was never going to tell a soul, I was too ashamed. I carried on as usual. I relied solely on the pills fixing me with zero effort from me. I took no ownership of my problems and I was still in complete denial that it was a problem. Even after all the years of panic attacks and depression I was still completely ashamed of it all and still completely convinced that it would work itself out and I could carry on as normal. And no one can find out, ever!

As time went by I noticed that I felt less tired and less sick, but still not right. My constant sarcasm was less constant and had less bite to it. I always thought I was being funny but it turned out that I came across as angry and rude. And people were noticing how angry I appeared to be all the time. Things started to get better, I was less angry and from time to time I laughed and a co-worker commented on it and Immediately guessed that I had been taking antidepressants. I was so taken aback by his guess that I could only be honest. And to my absolute surprise he was cool with it. He recognised the difference in me because his sister was taking them too. I assumed that when people found out they would think less of me and take the piss. Especially in the tree climbing industry I was expecting lots of ridicule and distrust to be able to do my job safely. However he thought it was great and kept it to himself and we didn’t speak much of it again. I haven’t seen him for years but I still love that Man.

Part of my refusal to accept my situation was that I wasn’t going to stop my social life because of it. I wasn’t going to stop drinking because of some tablet. So I kept going out, to pubs and clubs and drinking heavily every chance I could. As it turns out, being medicated and self medicating do not mix well. I went from fun social guy to sleepy angry guy. All of a sudden I’m falling asleep in pubs after three or four warm up pints. I’m being thrown out of venues before dark for falling asleep, or I would be woken up and told to go home by well meaning people and my reaction would be defensive and angry trying to cover up the fact that something was wrong, desperately trying to keep the facade of normality.

At the time, being the last man standing and having the full amount of fun in one night was the main goal and a big priority, so I had a new problem. The pills were helping and I knew it. My social life was everything to me. So for the first time I decided that I needed to be smarter about all this. I came up with a plan. It was a drinking survival plan. Not a mental health improvement plan. A plan to maintain the fun. It worked but not very well. As it turns out alcoholics can make all sorts of well meaning ‘plans’ that purely revolve around the ability to continue drinking more.

While this is going on I am having to go and see my doctor to get repeat prescriptions so he can check in on me. I am so grateful for this guy and the care and attention he paid me through those years. Every visit he would ask if I had made the appointment to see the psychologist. And it weighed heavily on me. I knew I had to do it. I was scared, I was ashamed that things had got to this. This is me, I’m not the guy who needs this sort of medical and mental interventions, It’s just not possible! I’m not that guy!

But the drinking and hiding from the truth drove me deeper and deeper into the darkness and it began to become unbearable. All I could think of was making the call, and it made me very anxious all the time. So after way too long, I made the call. Not to the recommended person but a local person whose practice I walked past most days. Unfortunately she was too busy to see me, but she recommended someone from the other side of town. I liked that idea. I could go to a place where no one would recognise me and I wouldn’t get found out. I booked in and nervously awaited my appointment.

She was lovely. Her practice was in her home in an office downstairs. I was allowed to make a cup of tea and relax before we started. We talked, she was nice, I was clearly nervous. I told her the full panic story and more. Afterwards I felt relieved. Relieved that it wasn’t awful, relieved that she was nice and didn’t judge me and relieved that I could finally talk about everything in private without anyone finding out. There was still shame. I was still sneaking around ashamed of what was going on but it was ok because I was secretly fixing the problem that no one knew about anyway, so all good. Right?

I continued to see the psychologist and I continued to hide it from everyone. I continued with my excessive drinking habit and I thought I was doing better.

Whilst going through all of this. I don’t remember anyone checking in, or pointing out that it seemed like something was wrong. I must have hid it well, they may have put up with me without saying anything. I suppose I’ll never know. What I do know is that it is a lot easier now. There is a lot more awareness of mental health issues and more importantly way more understanding and acceptance these days.

There’s a lot of detail I have left out of this part of my story. There is a lot more to this story. I am telling my stories because I am surviving the best I can. I am worried that whilst we have a very high level of awareness, not enough people are taking the next step and telling their stories. We need to tell each other what goes on behind the curtain. Awareness on its own is great but awareness of the experiences is what is needed now. We need to share so those that don’t know can find a new level of awareness and empathy. We need to share so that those who are deep in it can feel like there are others in the shit with them, people they can relate to and turn to. Our stories must educate everyone so that we can save more from the darkness.