So, first thing first (obviously), if you’ve come across this from my other blogs please feel free to share or whatever but if I’ve sent you the link personally please just read this and don’t share it right now. The reason I’ve shared it with you is probably one of three main reasons;
1 – Because I feel I owe you an explanation of who I am, however, this isn’t an excuse for what I may have done.
2 – Because I’ve been less than honest to you about me and feel I need to tell you more of my story.
3 – Some other reasons, such as I value you as a person or I can’t speak the truth face to face to you because I’m not quite ready yet, for example.
Whatever the reason, I get something from sharing it with you but please don’t share it to others yet. I’m not ready to speak to everyone about it and I’ve come to realise just how important trust and honesty is. So this is me finally being truthful and honest. So if you don’t think you can do as I ask please don’t read any further.
(Apologies in advance, this is probably going to be quite jumbled and still have bits missing but I promised myself no editing initially, just correcting spelling when I spot it).
It’s the 20th of October 2017 and an unknown man opens my car door as I’m slumped against the window half asleep, half crying. I should have been at home, tucked up in bed getting ready for another day at work, but I wasn’t, I was 150 miles away in a motorway service station with two unlit gas canisters letting out propane and butane. I’d had enough, I couldn’t cope with being a disappointment and a failure anymore, I couldn’t cope with being the person I’d become.
I’ve struggled with depression throughout my life but this was the worst I’ve been. I’m relatively successful professionally, I have a responsible job and had had good feedback for what I do. But things had started to slip months, if not years, back. Despite all my experience of depression and mental health in general, I’d yet again failed to follow what I know to be the most important thing, reaching out and speaking. I’d like to say I’d battled in secret but I hadn’t, I’d been slowly giving my life up without a fight, slowly spiralling out of control; continuing with the old bad habits, telling people I was fine, sliding between social groups pretending I was doing okay when I was just sitting in the corner saying nothing. Feeling nothing. When people began asking questions I’d move to another group and continue the bad habits, not speaking and when I did, not really saying anything.
I’ve had a lot of challenges in my life in the last two years, I’ve lost two grandparents, one of whom I lived with after my parents split when I was a child and I didn’t see her as much as I could’ve in her final years, on-going problems with burglars, bad news at work, problems with my physical health, financial problems due to reckless spending and bad decisions, and my dog passed away. Man, I miss him :(.
“Yeah but what about your grandparents?” Of course I miss them, I owe my life to them and both were beautiful people. But losing my dog had a massive impact on me and I didn’t realise it at the time. He was the person who’d always show affection no matter what I’d done or how I felt, even if he was just after food or some warmth. He was the person I spoke to when I’d had a bad day or needed to figure things out. It might sound strange to some (or most) but speaking to him allowed me to listen to my own problems, get them off my back and lift a little of the weight off myself. I struggle to figure out my own problems in my head and speaking them out loud allows me to see things a little more clearly (it’s also one of the reasons I write, like many others). He never answered me back but I swear he knew when I was feeling bad and he’d come over, put his head on my lap and just look into my eyes. Then there was my physical health. I’d been suffering from bouts of extreme fatigue, tiredness, brain fog and severe pain in my joints that meant that it could take me 20 minutes to get out of bed and some days I could barely move. I saw a GP and he said my physical condition was psychosomatic and prescribed me antidepressants. I knew it wasn’t. To cut the long story short after 12 months of tests, multiple trips to the hospital and finally seeing my preferred GP I was referred to a specialist and eventually diagnosed with an autoimmune disease that I’ll have for the rest of my life and there is no cure for. I blamed myself for all of the above, looking back there was little I could do about most of them but it’d be foolish to say that me and my depression are separate things; we’re very much intertwined, I fed my depression with some of my decisions and lifestyle choices and it grew and gradually started taking over me.
As the weeks went on I became more detached from what was going on, with work, with friends and life in general. I struggled to be around friends and family. I’d spend evenings in my car sitting in clifftop car parks staring out at sea. One particular car park was where I’ve spent many hours over the years, relaxing, reflecting and clearing my mind but gradually that time of relaxation became a time where I’d tell myself how worthless I was, how everyone thinks I was putting my illness on and because of that I was no use to anybody. My quiet, peaceful half hour parked up regularly became a dark, dark 4 hour stay thinking of death and finding reasons why I would be better off dead. I was just about managing at work, it gave me a release from my thoughts and as I was sitting across the room speaking to clients I had a role, a purpose and the blackness would lift for a little while but when work was done the darkness came back. I’d drive from work, literally past my house and back to my thinking spot and repeat the destructive processes until late at night.
Gradually the thoughts got worse and worse, I didn’t just think about death sitting in my car in the evening parked up, I was thinking about it all the time. We all have those brief thoughts of “what if I turn right into oncoming traffic” or something similar (we really do, you’re not weird) but those are normal thoughts; being aware of our own existence and frailty. But I was thinking all these all of the time. My drive home from my thinking spot involves turning under a little railway bridge by the coast and I’d thought about going straight into the bridge as fast as I could and ending it all but I told myself that I couldn’t because crashing there would affect other people, other drivers, people who used the railway and I’d already hurt enough people by my actions. So I changed my route and took a detour home. I was scared of myself.
Eventually, I began to spend nights in my car because I was afraid of having to explain things to people (who would be hugely supportive but I couldn’t see that at the time because I felt such a burden, a disappointment and people would be ashamed of me). I wasn’t able to, I wasn’t strong enough, all I could think of was, “why would people care? I’m pathetic. The whole world was smoothly going by, without any problems, why would anyone want to get involved in my mess?” I wasn’t part of the world, I was in it, I existed, but I didn’t belong there.
As my physical health fluctuated my mental health slowly declined and I spent more time alone in the pub getting out of my mind to dull the physical and emotional pain. I woke up on Friday 13th of October in pain, another flare up of my illness, great. I couldn’t get out of bed and manage the stairs, there was no way I was going to be able to go to work. So, yet again, I rang in sick and spent the time sleeping and catastrophizing about my life. Yeah, my life wasn’t great at that point, but everything was a million times worse in my head. I wasn’t at work, “people don’t believe you anyway, you’re not at work, you’re letting people down again, your colleagues who have to cover for you hate you for it, the people you’re supposed to be helping will die because you’re not there etc”. This went on over the weekend (I still managed to get to the local pub once and made the usual bad decisions of excess).
On Monday I woke up and physically felt better, the flare was over but mentally I wasn’t up to going to work, what was the point? “I’m rubbish at my job and everyone hates me.” So I didn’t go in, and I didn’t ring in work to tell them I wasn’t going in, what was the point, they expected the worst of me? So I packed my camping rucksack with some clothes, food, meds, a few camping supplies and all the money I had immediate access to. That was it, I’m going away and I’m not going to disappoint or hurt anyone anymore. I turned my phones off and drove. I spent 5 days driving around the south of Scotland, the north of England and the Midlands, sitting on cliff tops, smoking, drinking, then sleeping in the passenger seat, no contact with anyone who knew me.
On the 19th I spent 12 hours sitting on a cliff top, contemplating on what to do, finding reasons to jump off, and very few reasons to not do so. I came to the conclusion that it wasn’t worth the risk, because if I thought my life was bad now, what if I jumped and survived, how bad would that be? I picked out my phone from my pocket, turned it on, and nothing, no messages, then a couple voicemails that I deleted without listening to. The fact that I didn’t have any text messages was proof that nobody cared (I had voicemails but I was purely focussing on the negative, again). Then a notification from Google, today is “Steven’s” birthday. I’ve known Steven for about 15 years, he was a friend of my brothers but we’d become pretty good friends ourselves but we (I) drifted away from each other. About a week earlier (I think, time was so difficult to keep track of) he came out to jump start my car quite late at night because I’d been sat in it, having one of my thinking episodes for hours, and the battery went flat. He came out to me within minutes and sorted it for me. He asked if I was okay when he was charging it and I replied with the usual lie, “yeah, fine, just tired.” That notification from Google made me think of our last encounter and the fact that he came to my need so quickly. Maybe people do value me, maybe people do care. I left the cliff top and went for a nap in the car before I set off driving for home.
As I got closer to home those negative thoughts came back. Time alone with depression is terrible; it feels as if that’s what you want, what you deserve, what you need, but really it isn’t. It makes things ten times worse, it lets those horrible feelings brood and grow and that’s exactly what happened. By the time I got near home I had convinced myself that it wasn’t worth it, I definitely wasn’t worth it. I couldn’t open that front door and explain what was going on with me and even if I could, nobody would listen because I was a waste. So after driving for two hours I went to a local pub, sat in the corner for an hour or so, saying very little, and then left. I don’t remember who was in the pub, or what exactly I did when I was inside. I remember a friend who works away was there, I think my brother was in and a fair few others but I can’t recall any finer details. After leaving I drove for two miles and slept in my car in a layby for a couple hours. I was less than five minutes away from home, my family who loved me, fresh food, running water and a bed but I couldn’t face my life.
I drove around the Midlands for the next twentyfour hours, I had my “final meal”, I costed it up on a website using the free Wi-Fi at a service station (I wasted all my internet allowance getting wrapped up listening to depressing songs) and had just over two pound left which meant I could pay to have a shower at the services. So that was that, I went for my shower pulled some creased, clean but slightly smoky smelling clothes from the boot and got changed, drove to the 2 Michelin Star restaurant for my last ever meal, alone, how apt. I can’t remember what it involved but remember thinking I’d wasted the last of my money and still being hungry after 7 tasting courses but that was that. I drove to a service station and sat there for 2 hours before moving to another because I didn’t want to get a fine. Yeah, I know how silly that sounds, contemplating suicide but worried about a fine but that’s how conflicting my thoughts were. I pulled up at the services, went to the toilet, opened my boot and got the two gas canisters out and got back in the driver’s seat. I opened my window a crack, telling myself that I just needed to set the gas off and go to sleep and that I couldn’t sleep without a window open (which is true, I sleep with a window open, or have to have supportive medication to sleep). So I did exactly that. “Just go to sleep and everything will go away, no more pain, no more letting people down, no more being me.”
I came round on the floor feeling groggy and at the feet of a man I’d never seen before, he asked what I was doing and I mumbled some sort of reply. He was going to ring the police but I begged him not to. I don’t know why, because all of this was clearly a confused cry for help looking back. Instead, he took me into the service station and I told him everything. He sat with me and I texted a few people, one of my bosses at work, my mother and two friends; one I’ve known for years and another I’d known for a few months. I don’t know why I chose those particular friends but there must be some reason. After a coffee, a chat and watching me text these people the fella asked me what I was going to do. I explained that I had no money, no bank card and less than a quarter of the diesel I needed to get home. He bought me another coffee and filled my car with diesel before following me up the motorway to ensure I was going the right way. I pulled over a couple times and he did the same, making sure I was okay, but I was just texting back to people who had replied.
Eventually, I got home and after ignoring phone calls from my mother and others whilst driving, I finally picked up the courage and answered her. Well, she spoke to me mainly, I still wasn’t quite ready to speak to her and she’s one of the people I’ve invited to read this and I just want to say how grateful I am to have you in my life.
All of this could’ve been easier if I was honest to myself and others around me and spoke sooner. One of my friends I text rang the local mental health crisis team and one of my bosses at work. The local police came too, to check up on me and we agreed that if I left the house during the next 24 hours that I would be treated as a missing person. I saw the crisis team every day initially and for two months in total. I saw the consultant psychiatrist twice and I’m still seeing an NHS Psychologist and attending a local peer support group as well seeing a private psychologist. My problems are still ongoing, I’ve made more bad decisions but less frequently, my physical health won’t ever be good but with the help of the above, I’m learning. Learning about my mental health, learning about my physical health, learning how to cope and learning how to be a better person. My work has been hugely understanding and supportive, allowing me to return back to work with plentiful support and time off to attend appointments. My mother has been amazing and I honestly don’t think I’d be alive without her.
There’s still masses of information I’ve missed out but this a (lengthy) brief introduction to me and there’ll be more about me and mental health-related posts in general in the future.
But please, anyone who can relate to any of the above right now, speak out, tell someone how you feel. I implore you to do it. Hiding the truth from others because of some wrongly attributed sense of shame does no good to anyone. Shine on and speak out to whomever you feel comfortable; family, friends or professionals. Becoming well might be hard, but it’s always harder when you fight alone. Speak out and let honesty fight in your corner with you.
Trying to break the loop 